Chapter 7 - Twenty-Two Hungry Men Choose a Side
Christmas morning at Ironwood should have been quiet.
Instead, all twenty-two ranch hands crowded into the cookhouse before sunrise.
Jeb stood in front.
Lucien entered and stopped.
"What's this?"
Jeb cleared his throat.
"We heard about the bank."
Lucien's eyes shifted toward Josephine.
"I didn't tell them."
Billy raised a hand.
"I did."
Lucien looked ready to argue.
Jeb continued.
"We've been talking."
"That's usually dangerous."
Nobody laughed.
Jeb placed a small leather pouch on the table.
Coins rattled inside.
Lucien stared.
"What is that?"
"Our wages."
"No."
"Didn't ask."
"Take it back."
Jeb shook his head.
"We're not giving it to the bank."
"Then what?"
"The smokehouse."
Lucien looked confused.
Billy explained.
"Third chamber needs stone repairs. We want to finish a fourth."
"No."
Jeb stepped forward.
"You almost lost us in September."
Lucien's expression hardened.
"Meaning?"
"We were hungry. Men talked about leaving."
Lucien knew.
Jeb continued.
"Then she came."
He nodded toward Josephine.
"We've eaten better. We've got extra work. Some of us are earning smokehouse bonuses."
Josephine looked at him.
Jeb shrugged.
"You were right about paying extra."
Lucien looked around the room.
Men he'd worked beside for years.
Some since they were teenagers.
"You don't owe me this."
Jeb shook his head.
"No. You owe us."
That drew a few smiles.
"But we'll collect after spring."
Lucien stared at the money.
Then pushed it back.
"If Ironwood survives, you invest another way."
"How?"
Lucien looked toward Josephine.
She understood immediately.
"Profit shares."
Jeb frowned.
"What?"
Josephine took paper.
"If the provisions business earns above operating costs and ranch debt obligations, workers participating in production receive a percentage."
Billy stared.
"You mean we'd own some?"
"Not the ranch."
Josephine looked at Lucien.
"Unless your impossible husband suddenly becomes charitable."
Lucien muttered, "In-name-only husband."
Several men laughed.
Josephine continued.
"You'd share smokehouse profits."
Jeb looked around.
"That's better than giving him our money."
"It is," Lucien admitted.
For the first time, Ironwood's survival became something larger than Lucien Hatcher.
Everyone had something to gain.
And something to lose.
The fourth smokehouse went up in six days.
Production increased.
Josephine created three product grades.
Trail cuts.
Hotel cuts.
Mining provisions.
Rendered fat and broth concentrate became unexpected successes.
Nothing was wasted.
Even bones were sold.
Lucien watched her turn cattle into arithmetic.
For every dollar of raw value, Josephine seemed determined to find another twenty cents hiding somewhere.
One evening he found her asleep over the ledger.
A strand of auburn hair had fallen across her cheek.
He stood there longer than he should have.
Then carefully removed the pencil from her fingers.
Josephine woke.
Her eyes snapped open.
"What are you doing?"
"Preventing you from stabbing yourself with stationery."
She sat upright.
"What time?"
"After midnight."
"I wasn't asleep."
"You were snoring."
"I do not snore."
"Like a sawmill."
She glared.
Lucien smiled.
Something between them had changed.
Neither discussed it.
Their marriage remained exactly what they had agreed.
Separate rooms.
Separate expectations.
Publicly husband and wife.
Privately partners.
But little things became difficult to ignore.
Lucien brought coffee without being asked.
Josephine repaired a tear in his coat.
He started checking the smokehouse each night so she wouldn't have to cross the yard alone.
She saved the best biscuit for him and pretended it was accidental.
On January third, their fragile peace ended.
A wagon arrived from Copper Ridge Mine.
The driver jumped down.
"Shipment's spoiled."
Josephine froze.
"Impossible."
He opened a crate.
The smell hit immediately.
Rancid.
Josephine examined the meat.
"This isn't ours."
The driver frowned.
"Crate says Ironwood."
The brand had been stamped on the wood.
But the meat was wrong.
Poorly cured.
Too wet.
Already turning.
Lucien stared.
"Crowe."
Josephine looked at the driver.
"How many crates?"
"Five."
"Any opened at the mine?"
"One."
"Anyone sick?"
"No."
"Good."
She turned to Jeb.
"Burn all of it."
Lucien stopped her.
"Evidence."
She nodded.
"Save one sealed package."
The driver said, "Copper Ridge canceled the contract."
Josephine felt the words like a physical blow.
That account was their largest.
"We didn't send this."
"Boss says he can't risk it."
"I'll speak to him."
"Road's bad."
"I'm going."
Lucien said, "We're going."
Within an hour, they were riding north.
The journey took most of a day.
Patrick Doyle met them at Copper Ridge.
His expression was cold.
Josephine opened their shipping ledger.
"Our original shipment weighed two hundred twelve pounds."
Doyle checked his record.
"Two hundred twelve."
"The returned crates contain two hundred forty-six."
Doyle frowned.
Josephine continued.
"Our wrappers use blue butcher twine."
She opened the spoiled meat.
"Red."
Lucien placed the preserved sample beside it.
Doyle smelled both.
The difference was obvious.
"Somebody switched the shipment."
"Yes."
"Who?"
Josephine looked at Lucien.
"We're trying to answer that."
Doyle rubbed his face.
"My men could've gotten sick."
"I know."
Josephine didn't make excuses.
That impressed him.
"We replace the entire order free," she said.
Lucien glanced at her.
She continued.
"And your next delivery is ten percent lower."
Doyle stared.
"That's a loss for you."
"Less than losing your trust."
He considered.
Finally, he nodded.
"One more chance."
They rode home after dark.
Lucien said, "Ten percent?"
"Cheap compared with failure."
"You really have an answer for everything."
"No."
Josephine looked toward him.
"I just answer before you can complain."
Halfway home they discovered the road blocked.
A fallen tree lay across it.
Lucien dismounted.
Josephine's hand went up.
"Wait."
The trunk had not fallen naturally.
Fresh axe marks showed at its base.
Lucien saw them.
Then movement came from the woods.
A horse.
Maybe two.
Lucien grabbed Josephine's reins.
"Ride."
They turned.
Someone moved behind the trees.
No gunfire.
No attack.
Just riders following at a distance.
Watching.
Lucien knew the back trail.
He led Josephine through a narrow ravine and across frozen ground until the riders disappeared.
They reached Ironwood near midnight.
Jeb met them.
"What happened?"
Lucien dismounted.
"We were followed."
Josephine walked into the cookhouse.
Something on the table caught her eye.
An envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
JOSEPHINE HATCHER
She opened it.
Inside was a single line.
Go back to Omaha while you still can.
No signature.
Lucien read it.
His expression became frighteningly calm.
"You're not going anywhere alone."
Josephine folded the letter.
"I wasn't planning to."
She looked around at the men gathering in the doorway.
Twenty-two faces.
No longer hollow.
No longer hopeless.
She realized whoever had written that note had misunderstood something important.
Josephine had arrived at Ironwood because she had nowhere else to go.
But that was no longer true.
Now she had something worth defending.
May you like
And she was beginning to suspect the twenty-two men around her felt exactly the same.
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