“I know cattle.”
“Not meat preservation.”
“No argument.”
Margaret touched one ruined cut.
“How much did you lose?”
Elias answered:
“Maybe eighty pounds.”
“More.”
He frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Because what you can see ruined isn’t everything that is ruined.”
She looked toward the men.
“Bring me every piece smoked in the last ten days.”
Caleb bristled.
“You just got here.”
“Yes.”
“You think you’re running things?”
Margaret looked at Elias.
He looked at Caleb.
“Bring it.”
That was the first battle she won.
Dinner was beans.
Thin beans.
So thin the broth showed the bottom of the bowl.
Twenty-two men sat around the long table.
Margaret stood near the stove.
Nobody spoke.
Caleb took two spoonfuls.
Then pushed his bowl away.
“Don’t need it.”
Margaret walked over.
Picked it up.
Placed it directly in front of him again.
“Eat.”
He looked at her.
“I said I’m not hungry.”
“You are starving.”
Several men went still.
Caleb’s face reddened.
“You calling me a liar?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Margaret leaned closer.
“You’re giving your portion to the youngest hand after supper.”
Caleb stared.
“How…”
“I watched you slide bread into his coat pocket.”
The young ranch hand looked guilty.
Margaret continued.
“You are not helping him by collapsing first.”
Caleb glanced toward Elias.
Elias gave the smallest nod.
Caleb picked up his spoon.
Margaret turned away.
Behind her, someone muttered:
“Lord help us.”
Another whispered:
“I think he just hired a general.”
Margaret smiled where no one could see.
The next morning began before dawn.
She tied a large cream apron around her enormous waist and started an inventory.
Not guesses.
Not memory.
Numbers.
Thirty-one and a half sacks usable flour.
Eleven and three-quarter sacks beans.
Seventeen pounds salt.
Twenty-three pounds sugar.
Fourteen pounds coffee.
Sixty-eight pounds potatoes still salvageable.
Forty-one onions.
Dried corn.
Molasses.
Three smoked hams worth keeping.
Six worth inspecting.
Two crocks fat.
One good.
One spoiled.
Then cattle.
Hay.
Hides.
Grain.
She spent the entire afternoon with Elias’s ranch ledger.
By dusk, she had red marks across twelve pages.
Elias returned from the north pasture.
He found her sitting at his desk.
His desk.
He stopped.
Margaret looked up.
“You have a problem.”
“I suspected.”
“You’re selling cattle too quickly.”
His expression changed.
“We need money.”
“No.”
“We need grain.”
“You have money.”
He frowned.
“Where?”
Margaret tapped the ledger.
“In cattle you’re selling below market.”
“Market is what buyers pay.”
“Panic market.”
“Winter’s coming.”
“Exactly.”
She turned the book toward him.
“If you sell another forty head at current prices, you’ll make enough to buy grain for maybe eight weeks.”
“And?”
“And lose breeding stock worth three times that by spring.”
Elias leaned over the ledger.
“What do you suggest?”
“Stop unnecessary sales.”