Chapter 8 - Josephine’s Impossible Plan
Josephine slept three hours that night.
At two in the morning she was at Harrison’s desk with paper, ink, and every number Ironstone possessed.
By sunrise, she had divided the ranch’s survival into four columns.
Cash.
Cattle.
Food.
Water.
Harrison entered carrying coffee.
“You made coffee?”
“I’m evolving.”
“It smells terrible.”
“It is terrible.”
Josephine drank it anyway.
“We can make the payment.”
Harrison stared.
“How?”
“Sell four hundred cattle.”
“That hurts the breeding stock.”
“Not if we select steers and older animals.”
“Prices are awful.”
“So don’t sell locally.”
“Where?”
“Rail camp.”
“They don’t buy live herds.”
“No. But San Angelo does.”
“That drive takes days.”
“Exactly.”
Harrison sat.
“You want to drive cattle to San Angelo, operate the provision company, rebuild the pump, and somehow pay the bank in three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“That is impossible.”
“Probably.”
“Comforting.”
“We also sell preserved beef.”
“To whom?”
“Railroad contractors.”
“They already have suppliers.”
“So did your cowboys before I arrived.”
Harrison looked at her.
She smiled.
“People change suppliers when the food is better.”
Over the next five days, Josephine transformed Ironstone into something between a ranch and a factory.
Smokehouses ran continuously.
Beef was salted.
Biscuits were baked before dawn.
Rail crews placed orders.
A hotel in Red Creek requested pies.
Then a boardinghouse.
Then a saloon.
Josephine did not care who ate the food as long as they paid.
Women from neighboring farms came to work.
Men who previously mocked her carried flour under her direction without complaint.
Even Judson learned to make biscuit dough.
Badly.
“Stop squeezing it like you’re strangling a snake.”
“That’s how you knead.”
“That is not how you knead biscuits.”
“What’s the difference?”
“One creates bread. The other creates ammunition.”
Josephine threw his first batch at the wall.
A biscuit bounced.
Judson stared.
“Could kill a man.”
“Exactly.”
For the first time since the drought began, laughter returned to Ironstone.
But underneath it was urgency.
Every dollar mattered.
Harrison drove four hundred cattle south with twelve men.
Before leaving he found Josephine behind the kitchen.
“Three days.”
“Four.”
“Three if weather holds.”
“Don’t kill horses to save a day.”
“You worried again?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
Josephine pretended not to notice.
Then he reached into his pocket.
A small revolver.
She frowned.
“I don’t want that.”
“Take it.”
“I don’t know how to use one.”
“Judson will show you.”
“Judson once confused salt with sugar.”
“With firearms he’s marginally better.”
Josephine reluctantly took it.
Their fingers touched.
Neither pulled away immediately.
Harrison looked at her.
“You’ve changed this place.”
“Haven’t saved it yet.”
“You changed it anyway.”
Then he mounted and left.
Josephine watched until the herd vanished in dust.
That night, somebody cut the south pasture fence.
Thirty cattle escaped.
The next morning a flour wagon overturned because its harness strap had been sliced nearly through.
Josephine stopped believing these were independent attacks.
Someone inside Ironstone was providing information.
She assembled everyone in the yard.
Twenty-seven employees now stood before her.
Cowboys.
Kitchen workers.
Stable hands.
Josephine held the cut harness.
“Somebody is helping the people trying to ruin this ranch.”
Silence.
“I don’t know who.”
Faces shifted.
“I’m not asking for confession.”
Several men looked surprised.
“I’m asking you to decide something.”
She lowered the leather strap.
“This ranch paid many of you late. It fed you badly. It made promises it could barely keep. But nobody here has missed wages since I arrived.”
Judson nodded.
Josephine continued.
“Matador believes desperate people are cheap.”
She looked around.
“Maybe they’re right.”
Nobody moved.
“If anyone here wants to leave, leave. I will make sure Harrison pays what you are owed.”
Still nobody moved.
“But if you stay, understand this: you are either Ironstone or you are not.”
A woman named Beatrice, who baked pies beside Josephine, stepped forward.
“I’m Ironstone.”
Judson followed.
“So am I.”
Then Caleb.
Then another man.
Within seconds voices spread through the yard.
“Ironstone.”
“Staying.”
“We’re staying.”
Josephine felt something unexpected tighten in her throat.
These people had laughed at her.
Now they were choosing to stand beside her.
Later, Caleb approached privately.
“I think I know who’s helping Gideon.”
“Who?”
“Tom Weaver.”
A stable hand.
“Why?”
“He owes gambling money.”
“How much?”
“Maybe two hundred.”
Josephine found Tom before dinner.
She did not accuse him.
She placed a plate of roast beef in front of him.
Then sat opposite.
“You owe money.”
His fork stopped.
“I don’t know—”
“Don’t waste my time.”
Tom looked down.
Tears filled his eyes.
Josephine’s anger became sadness.
“Gideon promised to clear it?”
Tom nodded.
“In exchange for information?”
Another nod.
“Did you set the fire?”
His head snapped up.
“No.”
“Cut the fence?”
“Yes.”
“Harness?”
“Yes.”
Josephine exhaled.
“Who burned the pump?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Gideon?”
“Old Langdon place.”
“Anything else?”
Tom hesitated.
“Tonight.”
“What tonight?”
“Gideon said something would happen tonight.”
Josephine stood.
“What?”
“I don’t know. He asked how many men were gone with Mr. Croft.”
Cold moved through her.
Most of Ironstone’s experienced riders were on the cattle drive.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
Josephine looked outside.
Darkness was falling.
She rang the ranch bell.
Not the dinner bell.
The emergency bell.
Judson ran toward her.
“What happened?”
“Get everyone inside.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Lights were extinguished.
Doors locked.
The remaining men armed themselves.
Josephine stood behind the kitchen window with Harrison’s revolver in her hand.
At eleven, horses approached.
Not one.
Many.
Shadowed riders moved along the north field.
Judson whispered, “Rustlers.”
Josephine counted.
Ten.
Maybe twelve.
They were not coming for the house.
They were heading toward Ironstone’s remaining herd.
Gideon had decided stealing money was too slow.
Tonight, he intended to steal the cattle.
May you like
And without Harrison there, Josephine Pickett was the only person standing between him and the herd.
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