By dawn, forty head of cattle were wandering toward dry pasture because the south water line had been severed.
The cut was clean.
Made with a saw.
Gideon crouched beside the broken pipe while Hollis inspected hoofprints nearby.
"One horse," Hollis said.
"Could be anybody."
"Could."
Hollis squinted toward the eastern ridge.
"But whoever it was knew exactly where to cut."
That was the part Gideon didn't like.
Cross Creek's water system was crude and scattered.
A stranger would have needed time to locate the vulnerable section.
Somebody familiar with the ranch could find it in darkness.
By noon they had repaired the line.
By supper nobody had said what everyone was thinking.
One of the former ranch hands might be working for Caldwell.
Or worse, somebody still on Cross Creek was.
Tilly refused to allow suspicion to fracture the crew.
At dinner she placed an enormous platter of beef on the table.
"Eat."
Nobody moved.
She put her hands on her hips.
"Whatever fool is doing Caldwell's work wants this ranch scared."
Buck stared at his plate.
"Maybe he's got somebody here."
"Maybe."
Zayn looked up sharply.
Tilly continued.
"But unless somebody confesses before dessert, we're eating together."
It was such an absurd sentence that Hollis laughed.
The tension broke.
They ate.
The next morning, a wagon from a way station arrived unexpectedly.
The proprietor, Mr. Keller, had ordered one hundred pounds.
He now wanted three hundred.
"Trail crews keep asking for it," he explained. "Had one man offer twice my price after we ran out."
Gideon looked at Tilly.
She kept her expression controlled.
"When do you need it?"
"Five days."
They accepted.
Then another order arrived.
Then another.
The problem was no longer finding customers.
The problem was producing enough meat.
For the next week, Cross Creek became a machine.
Smoke curled from the repaired building night and day.
Tilly slept in three-hour stretches.
Gideon tried to force her to rest.
She ignored him.
He eventually carried a cot into the cookhouse.
"What are you doing?"
"Making it harder for you to pretend you don't need sleep."
"I'm busy."
"So am I."
"Then go be busy elsewhere."
"No."
She glared.
He glared back.
Buck walked past, saw them, and quietly turned around.
Tilly finally lay on the cot.
"One hour."
"Three."
"Two."
"Deal."
"You're impossible."
"You came here."
She pulled the blanket over herself.
"Biggest mistake of my life."
But she was smiling when she said it.
By the twenty-sixth, Gideon's cash box held $2,476.
Four days remained.
They were close.
Painfully close.
Then Josiah Caldwell arrived early.
His carriage appeared at midday.
Black.
Polished.
Completely inappropriate against the dust of Cross Creek.
Caldwell stepped down wearing a narrow black suit and silver watch chain.
He was fifty-three, thin to the point of severity, with pale eyes and a trimmed mustache.
Two armed men descended behind him.
Gideon walked from the barn.
"You're early."
Caldwell removed his gloves.
"I dislike surprises."
His gaze moved to the smokehouse.
"I understand you've become an entrepreneur."
Gideon's jaw tightened.
"What do you want?"
"My money."
"It's due in four days."
"I know."
"Then come back in four days."
Caldwell smiled.
"I merely wanted to see what I'll be acquiring."
Tilly emerged from the cookhouse.
Caldwell noticed her.
His eyes traveled over her body with calculated contempt.
"And this must be the celebrated cook."
Tilly wiped her hands on her apron.
"Must I?"
Caldwell smiled thinly.
"I heard Cross Creek had found salvation in a kitchen."
"You hear a lot."
"My business depends upon it."
He walked toward the smokehouse.
Gideon stepped into his path.
"You don't inspect anything until the note is due."
Caldwell stopped.
His two men shifted.
So did Buck.
Hollis rested one hand near his belt.
Caldwell looked around.
"I'd advise you against theatrics, Cross."
"I'd advise you to leave."
For a moment nobody moved.
Then Caldwell laughed.
"Four days."
He turned.
As he passed Tilly, he paused.
"You're wasting your labor."
Tilly met his gaze.
"Funny."
"What?"
"I was about to say the same about you."
Buck coughed to hide a laugh.
Caldwell's expression hardened.
"The ranch will be mine by Monday."
Tilly's voice remained soft.
"Then come hungry."
His smile vanished entirely.
He climbed into the carriage.
They watched until the dust disappeared.
Buck grinned.
"Come hungry."
Tilly turned.
"What?"
"Remind me never to make you angry."
"You already did."
"True."
That evening Gideon counted the money again.
$2,511 after another small sale.
He needed $489.
They could earn it.
If nothing else went wrong.
At eleven that night, something went wrong.
Tilly awoke to the sound of glass breaking.
She sat upright on the cot.
The cookhouse was dark except for moonlight.
Then she smelled kerosene.
Her blood went cold.
She rushed outside.
A figure ran from behind the smokehouse.
"Hey!"
Tilly grabbed the dinner bell and struck it wildly.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
Gideon came from the ranch house carrying a rifle.
Buck and Zayn ran from the bunkhouse.
The stranger mounted a horse.
"Stop!" Gideon shouted.
The rider fled.
Buck started after him.
Gideon stopped him.
"No. Check the buildings."
Tilly found the bottle near the smokehouse wall.
It hadn't ignited.
Whoever had thrown it had been interrupted.
Zayn appeared around the corner.
"Tracks go north."
Hollis looked toward the bunkhouse.
Then frowned.
"Where's Buck's spare horse?"
Everyone froze.
Buck stared at him.
"What?"
The small bay gelding Buck kept tied behind the bunkhouse was gone.
Zayn's expression changed.
"Somebody stole it."
Hollis shook his head.
"No."
He pointed toward a saddle hanging from the rail.
"Left the tack."
Gideon walked toward the hitching post.
The rope hadn't been cut.
Untied.
Someone who knew the horse.
Someone the horse allowed near it.
Gideon's eyes moved slowly toward Buck.
Buck's face went white.
"You think I did this?"
"No," Tilly said immediately.
Gideon remained silent.
Buck looked at him.
"Boss?"
"I don't know what to think."
"Six years."
"I know."
"I've worked here six years."
"I know."
Buck stepped back as though struck.
"Then you oughta know better."
He walked away.
"Buck."
Buck didn't stop.
Tilly turned on Gideon.
"That was wrong."
"I didn't accuse him."
"You didn't defend him."
"I have four days to save this ranch, somebody is sabotaging us, and his horse just disappeared."
"He broke a man's nose for insulting me."
"That doesn't make him innocent."
"No. But six years of loyalty ought to count for something."
Gideon rubbed his face.
"You think I don't know that?"
"I think fear is making you stupid."
His eyes flashed.
"Careful."
Tilly stepped closer.
"No."
Nobody spoke to Gideon Cross that way.
Apparently Tilly had not received the notice.
"If Caldwell wants to destroy this place," she said, "he doesn't need fire if he can make you destroy your own people."
Gideon stared at her.
Then Hollis called from near the road.
"Found something."
They hurried over.
A torn strip of cloth clung to a broken mesquite branch.
Blue wool.
Zayn looked at it.
"Nobody here wears blue."
Hollis examined the tracks.
"Rider changed horses by the road."
Gideon frowned.
"What?"
"Fresh tracks from another mount."
Understanding came slowly.
The saboteur had stolen Buck's horse deliberately.
To frame him.
Gideon closed his eyes.
"Damn."
Tilly said nothing.
He found Buck sitting alone behind the barn.
Gideon stood beside him.
"I was wrong."
Buck didn't look up.
"Yep."
"Tracks show somebody stole your horse."
"Good."
"I should've trusted you."
"Also yep."
Gideon sighed.
"How long you planning to make this painful?"
Buck finally looked up.
"A while."
"Fair."
Buck's mouth twitched.
"You really thought I'd burn Miss Tilly's cooking?"
Gideon laughed.
"No."
"Then you should've known."
They shook hands.
By morning, the crew was stronger for the attempted division.
But Gideon understood something important.
Caldwell was frightened.
Men who believed victory certain did not sabotage smokehouses in darkness.
They worked harder.
By Saturday evening, Cross Creek held $2,918.
They needed eighty-two dollars.
One day remained.
Then clouds appeared on the western horizon.
Not rain clouds.
Wind.
A Texas dust storm.
Hollis stared at the sky.
"That's gonna be ugly."
Tilly looked toward the smokehouse.
Inside hung the largest batch they had ever prepared.
Nearly five hundred dollars worth.
If dust contaminated it, the final shipment would be worthless.
Gideon looked at the approaching brown wall.
"Board everything."
The ranch exploded into motion.
Doors slammed.
Livestock were driven into shelter.
Tilly and Buck covered the smokehouse vents with wet cloth.
Wind hit Cross Creek like a locomotive.
Dust swallowed the sky.
For three hours the world became brown.
Inside the cookhouse, Tilly and Gideon braced a door together while it hammered against its hinges.
"How long?" Tilly shouted.
"Could be hours!"
A violent gust shook the building.
Something crashed outside.
Tilly flinched.
"The smokehouse."
"Stay here!"
"No."
"Tilly!"
"We lose that shipment, we lose the ranch!"
She pushed through the door before Gideon could stop her.
"Tilly!"
He followed.
The wind nearly knocked them down.
Visibility was less than twenty feet.
A section of the smokehouse roof had torn loose.
Tilly grabbed a rope.
Gideon seized her arm.
"You'll get killed!"
"So help me!"
Together they fought across the yard.
Buck appeared from the brown haze.
Then Hollis.
Then Zayn.
Nobody needed instructions.
They tied canvas over the damaged roof.
Every man held a corner.
The wind tore at them.
Tilly planted her boots in the dirt and refused to move.
For twenty brutal minutes, Cross Creek's entire future depended on five exhausted people holding one piece of canvas against a Texas storm.
Eventually the worst passed.
They staggered inside.
Covered in dust.
Coughing.
Half blind.
Buck began laughing.
Zayn joined him.
Soon everyone was laughing, even Gideon.
Tilly leaned against the table.
"We're all fools."
Hollis wiped his eyes.
"Probably."
Gideon looked at them.
His crew.
Not employees.
Not hands.
Family.
Then he looked at Tilly.
She had changed the ranch long before she had saved it.
And suddenly Gideon knew that losing Cross Creek would hurt.
But losing her would hurt worse.