Chapter 6 - The Man Feeding the Wolves
Josephine called it the Ironstone Provision Company.
Harrison called it madness.
Judson called it the finest idea anybody had ever had, primarily because it involved pie.
The railroad camps east of Red Creek employed more than four hundred men laying track toward San Angelo.
Those men needed food.
The contractors bought provisions from Fort Worth at high prices because local ranches had neither the organization nor manpower to supply meals consistently.
Josephine intended to change that.
“We have cattle,” she told Harrison.
“Thin cattle.”
“Still beef.”
“We don’t have a commercial kitchen.”
“We have lumber.”
“We don’t have staff.”
“We have cowboys.”
“They’re cowboys.”
“They have hands.”
Judson raised his.
“I can peel potatoes.”
Josephine pointed at him.
“Management.”
Within six days, Ironstone’s abandoned carriage shed became a production kitchen.
Josephine hired three local widows and two farm girls.
The cowhands built long tables.
Harrison negotiated a contract with the railroad camp supervisor.
Josephine promised one hundred fifty meals a day.
Then two hundred.
Then three hundred.
Chili.
Biscuits.
Roast beef sandwiches.
Beans with smoked pork.
Apple hand pies.
Coffee.
Men paid twenty-five cents a meal.
Costs were less than half that.
For the first time in months, money began flowing into Ironstone instead of out.
But someone was sabotaging them.
The first salt delivery never arrived.
The second wagon lost a wheel after someone loosened the bolts.
A supplier in Red Creek suddenly refused credit.
Then two beef carcasses disappeared overnight.
Josephine stood in the empty smokehouse at dawn and knew exactly what it meant.
“Gideon.”
Harrison shook his head.
“We can’t prove it.”
“Then don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t chase him.”
Josephine walked outside.
“Make him chase us.”
They doubled production.
Harrison rode personally with supply wagons.
Judson organized night watches.
Josephine wrote to merchants outside Matador’s influence.
Within two weeks, the provision company made eight hundred dollars.
Not enough.
But possible.
Then Caleb brought news.
He had followed Gideon.
The former foreman was staying at Cordelia Langdon’s old family property.
Harrison stiffened.
“With Cordelia?”
“No. Place is mostly empty.”
“Who visits?”
“Silas Vane.”
Josephine asked, “How often?”
“Every few nights.”
Caleb hesitated.
“And a man from the bank.”
That confirmed everything.
Harrison wanted to ride there immediately.
Josephine stopped him again.
“We need evidence.”
“They’re trying to steal my land.”
“Yes.”
“And every day we wait—”
“Every day we learn more.”
He slammed one hand against the table.
“Damn it, Josephine!”
The kitchen fell silent.
Workers stared.
Harrison realized what he had done.
His voice lowered.
“I’m sorry.”
Josephine held his gaze.
“Office.”
They entered the study.
She shut the door.
“You don’t shout at me.”
“I know.”
“You can disagree. You can fire me. You cannot shout because you’re scared.”
Harrison turned toward the window.
“I am scared.”
The admission changed the room.
He spoke quietly.
“When my father died, I promised I’d keep Ironstone. I have spent seven years watching drought, debt, and bad prices tear pieces off it.”
He faced her.
“And now I learn the man I trusted most helped do it deliberately.”
Josephine’s anger softened.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Maybe I do.”
She sat.
“My mother and I owned a boardinghouse.”
Harrison waited.
“When she got sick, I managed everything. Cooking. Cleaning. Accounts. Doctors. After she died, I discovered the property wasn’t ours.”
“What?”
“My uncle held the deed.”
“Why?”
“Because when my father died, he told my mother a woman couldn’t manage property properly. She trusted him to hold it temporarily.”
Josephine laughed bitterly.
“He sold it six weeks after the funeral.”
Harrison stared.
“You lost your home.”
“I lost everything except what fit inside two trunks.”
“And came here.”
“You advertised double wages.”
His mouth curved sadly.
“There’s that.”
Josephine leaned back.
“I know what it feels like when somebody turns trust into a weapon.”
Silence settled.
Harrison crossed the room.
“I won’t shout at you again.”
“You probably will.”
He looked surprised.
“You’re stubborn.”
“So are you.”
A faint smile passed between them.
Then Judson burst through the door.
“Sorry.”
Neither moved.
Judson looked from one to the other.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” Josephine said.
“No,” Harrison said.
Judson grinned.
“Right.”
“What happened?”
He became serious.
“Man at the rail camp asked about our water rights.”
Josephine stood.
“Who?”
“Didn’t give a name. Fancy coat.”
“Vane?”
“No.”
Harrison crossed to the Ironstone map.
“Why would anyone at the railroad ask about water?”
Josephine studied the route.
The planned rail line passed fourteen miles east of Ironstone.
Unless…
“Is there a proposed branch?”
Harrison looked at her.
“There was talk.”
“To where?”
“North.”
“Across whose land?”
His eyes widened.
“Ironstone.”
Now the real value became clear.
Water alone made the ranch important.
But rail access across Ironstone would make it enormously valuable.
Matador did not merely want grazing land.
They wanted control of a transportation corridor.
Josephine traced the map.
“If the railroad crosses here, cattle can ship directly instead of driving sixty miles.”
Harrison nodded slowly.
“Land values would triple.”
“Maybe more.”
“And Gideon knew.”
“As foreman, he would know surveyors had been here.”
Harrison’s face darkened.
The dying ranch was not dying at all.
It was sitting on the edge of becoming one of the most valuable properties in West Texas.
And Matador had spent months trying to ensure Harrison sold it before he discovered that.
Josephine whispered, “They aren’t feeding on a dead ranch.”
Harrison looked at her.
“They’re trying to kill it first.”
Outside, thunder rolled.
Everyone turned toward the window.
For the first time in months, dark clouds were gathering over Ironstone.
Men ran into the yard cheering.
Rain could save the grass.
Save the cattle.
Save thousands of dollars.
Josephine smiled.
Then Harrison’s expression changed.
“What?”
He pointed north.
The clouds were not the only dark thing on the horizon.
Smoke was rising near Dry Creek.
From the direction of Ironstone’s most important pumping station.
May you like
Someone had set the north range on fire.
---
