Chapter 17 - The Longest Supper on the Trail
Boone expected desperation.
Instead Silas ordered supper.
That confused everyone.
“We've reached market,” Levi said.
“I noticed.”
“You're not going to the buyers?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Boone's meeting them tonight.”
“Good for Boone.”
Silas walked toward Maggie.
“What are we eating?”
She stared.
“Have you been replaced by another man?”
“Possibly.”
“Beef stew.”
“Anything better?”
“For two hundred?”
Silas nodded.
“Use whatever you've saved.”
Maggie frowned.
“Why?”
He looked around camp.
“Because they got us here.”
That was not the Silas Whitaker who had fired her.
Maggie smiled.
“All right.”
She opened the reserve chest.
Sugar.
Dried peaches.
Coffee.
White flour.
A little cinnamon she had guarded like treasure.
Pete's eyes widened.
“You had cinnamon?”
“Emergency.”
“What emergency?”
“This one.”
They cooked for hours.
Stew thick with beef and potatoes.
Soft biscuits.
Beans with molasses.
Peach cobbler.
Coffee strong enough to keep a church congregation awake for a week.
Long tables filled.
Nobody rushed.
The drive was finished.
Men ate slowly because for the first time in months no one had to saddle before dawn.
Silas stood at the end of one table.
He raised his cup.
Conversation faded.
“I've made a lot of speeches.”
Amos muttered, “That's true.”
Laughter.
Silas nodded.
“Apparently too many.”
More laughter.
He looked toward Maggie.
“Nine weeks ago I believed a cook was simply another employee.”
Maggie folded her arms.
“That sounds promising.”
Silas ignored her.
“I was wrong.”
The men quieted.
“This drive reached Kansas because riders did their jobs. Because Levi kept the herd together. Because Cole made decisions I should have trusted him to make sooner.”
Cole looked down.
Silas continued.
“And because Maggie Reed made two hundred men believe this miserable trail was still a place worth returning to at sunset.”
Maggie's throat tightened.
Silas raised his cup.
“To Maggie.”
Two hundred cups lifted.
This time Maggie allowed the cheer.
Then Silas added, “And to Pete's biscuits, which improved.”
Pete shouted, “Barely!”
The camp erupted.
The next morning, buyers arrived.
At first bids were weak.
Boone had influence.
But Silas had something Boone had not anticipated.
Proof.
Copies of Harlan's contracts circulated quietly among buyers.
Nobody wanted association with a man accused of manipulating a competitor's supply line.
Boone denied everything.
That did not matter.
Cattle buyers were not famous for morality.
They were famous for avoiding unpredictable trouble.
By noon Boone's informal agreement collapsed.
Bidding opened.
Prices climbed.
Not to the level Silas had hoped months earlier.
But high enough.
Then higher.
A buyer from Abilene offered three percent above the day's market for the healthiest portion of the herd.
Another matched him for the remainder.
By sunset, the cattle were sold.
Silas sat inside the hotel room staring at the final amount.
Cole waited.
“Well?”
Silas looked up.
“Company debts covered.”
“And Boone?”
“Your note…”
He calculated.
“Can be paid.”
Cole's breath stopped.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“The final bids.”
Silas smiled.
“You still own your land.”
Cole sat down.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then he laughed.
A strange, relieved sound.
Silas poured two drinks.
Cole shook his head.
“I want coffee.”
Silas stared.
“You've become unbearable.”
“Maggie's influence.”
They found Maggie outside the temporary kitchen behind the hotel.
She was packing again.
Cole approached.
“You're leaving?”
“Drive's finished.”
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow.”
“To Amarillo?”
“Yes.”
Cole smiled.
“So am I.”
Maggie looked suspicious.
“Why?”
“I live there.”
“You live outside it.”
“Details.”
Silas appeared behind him.
“Maggie.”
She turned.
He held an envelope.
“No.”
“You haven't seen it.”
“If it's money—”
“It is.”
“No.”
“It is wages.”
“I've been paid.”
“Bonus.”
“No.”
Silas sighed.
“You are exhausting.”
“I've been told.”
He handed the envelope to Noah instead.
Maggie glared.
Noah opened it.
His eyes widened.
“Maggie.”
“How much?”
He told her.
She stared at Silas.
“That is too much.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Silas looked at her.
“Because I once treated the person holding my camp together as though she were replaceable.”
Maggie said nothing.
“Consider the difference interest.”
She almost laughed.
Then Silas added, “There's another offer.”
Maggie immediately became cautious.
“What?”
“I want you to manage food operations for Whitaker drives.”
“No.”
Cole laughed.
Silas glared.
“She answered quickly.”
Maggie smiled.
“I've had enough wagons.”
“What do you want?”
“A kitchen.”
Silas glanced at Cole.
Cole shrugged innocently.
Maggie continued.
“A real one.”
Silas nodded slowly.
“How much would it cost?”
“Don't.”
“I'm asking.”
Maggie thought.
Then gave him a rough figure.
Silas whistled.
“You've planned this.”
“For years.”
“Where?”
“Amarillo.”
Silas smiled.
“Bring me a business plan.”
Maggie blinked.
“What?”
“Not charity.”
“I didn't ask—”
“Investment.”
Cole grinned.
Maggie looked between them.
“You Whitakers are very persistent.”
Silas said, “It's our least attractive trait.”
“Not even close.”
That evening, for the first time in years, Maggie counted her money without fear.
Wages.
Bonus.
Savings.
Not enough for a restaurant.
But enough to begin.
Outside, Cole waited beneath the hotel porch.
When she joined him, he held out his hand.
“Walk?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere that doesn't smell like cattle.”
They walked through the Kansas streets.
For once, there was no herd ahead.
No river.
No morning ration to calculate.
Just two people with futures neither had planned.
May you like
And when Cole stopped beneath the light of a shop window, Maggie realized he had one more question to ask.
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