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  A lot of questions were fired at Charlie as they gathered around the table, but he was paying too much attention to the food to give any detailed answers. His mother had spread a clean cloth over the sturdy table and brought out the best dishes but no one paid them any attention. Charlie’s concentration was entirely for what had been put on the plates and the other three scarcely took their eyes off him, still not certain that the man at the table was their son or brother.

  ‘We’ve been expecting you since the war ended,’ said Mary Jefferson.

  ‘Things didn’t work out that way,’ he said, glancing up at her face, reluctant to talk about his life for the past two years. ‘I wrote.’

  ‘Wrote,’ said Dagg. ‘Seven letters in six years. You call that writing?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy, Pa. During the war we were either marching or fighting. There wasn’t much I could put in a letter.’

  Dagg put down his fork in a manner that suggested he had arguments to offer but Charlie’s grey eyes held his in a steady, determined gaze. The look told him that there were things in his son’s life which weren’t for discussion at the family table. In any event, his wife spoke first. Her words were intended to pour oil on troubled water. ‘It doesn’t matter about the letters. The war is over and we have Charlie home all in one piece.’

  ‘Almost,’ said John.

  Charlie cast an angry glance at his brother.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Dagg asked.

  ‘It means I got hit in the shoulder by a lump of shrapnel. I’m fine now. Doesn’t bother me at all. There’s a scar. That’s all.’

  Silence filled the room for several seconds. Eventually, Dagg spoke. ‘When did that happen, son?’

  ‘Last few weeks of the war. I was in a field hospital when Lee surrendered.’ He looked around the table. It was clear from the inquisitive expression on each face that they expected him to supply more details about the action in which he’d been injured, but he wasn’t about to comply. ‘But those days are gone. Much more important for you to tell me what’s been happening here. Seems like the settlement’s grown some while I’ve been away.’

  ‘Did you ride through Tatanka Crossing on the way here?’ Dagg asked.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then people know you are home.’

  Charlie thought his father’s voice held a note of caution. He glanced around the table. Each member of his family was concentrating on the food on their plate. ‘People know,’ he said. Then a quick smile touched his face. ‘All the people in town were strangers to me. All except one. I met young Jenny Svensson along the ridge.’

  ‘Jenny’s a nice girl,’ said Mary Jefferson. ‘I’m surprised you recognized her. She could only have been twelve or thirteen when you went away.’

  ‘I didn’t recognize her. She recognized me. Offered to race against me.’

  Dagg chuckled. ‘Was she on a pinto?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t be drawn in, Charlie. That horse can run faster than anything I’ve ever seen and no one rides it better than Jenny. In fact, that girl has a gift with horses. Her father reckons she knows more than him and you won’t have forgotten his reputation.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  Dagg nodded in the direction of Charlie’s brother. ‘I keep telling John he should marry the girl. We’d then have the best cattle and the best horses in the valley.’

  It was clear from John’s response that this was a subject, even if only aired half-seriously, of which he was weary. ‘Pa! She’s just a kid.’

  ‘She’s old enough. Wouldn’t you say so, Charlie?’

  ‘She looked well past being a kid to me.’

  ‘See, John,’ said his father, ‘and if you don’t make a move for her someone else will. Someone else will get the benefit of that expertise. Taub says she tends all his sick and injured stock.’

  ‘Pa!’ said his wife. ‘That’s no reason for him to marry Jenny Svensson.’

  ‘Sure it is—’ he began but the sound of approaching horses interrupted his argument.

  John crossed to the window to see who was visiting. ‘It’s Deacon,’ he said. ‘He’s got three men with him.’

  Dagg Jefferson stood up and went outside. As he passed the rifle rack on the wall near the door he paused a moment but continued out through the door without selecting any weapon.

  ‘Is that the Deacon who owns the mercantile?’ Charlie asked his mother.

  She nodded.

  ‘Owns the Last Dollar saloon and runs the bank,’ added John who was lifting down a rifle from the wall rack, ‘and he wants to ruin Pa.’ He followed Dagg out on to the veranda.

  Charlie cast a glance at his mother seeking some sort of explanation for his brother’s remark, but Mary Jefferson simply got to her feet and went to join her husband and elder son. Charlie had removed his gunbelt when he sat down to eat. Side-arms had been a rare sight in the valley before he left to fight in the war. In the Jefferson household, at least, it seemed like a fashion that still hadn’t caught on. His father and brother worked around the ranch unarmed. For Charlie, however, travelling from town to town since the end of the war, a Colt on his thigh had been a prerequisite. He collected his gunbelt from the chair on which he’d left it and strapped it around his waist. Easing the gun in its holster a couple of times, he stepped outside.

  The four men hadn’t dismounted. They sat astride their horses in a line, space between each of them. The man doing the talking held the leftmost position. He had pushed his black Stetson to the crown of his head, displaying his full forehead and front hairline, looking casual, as though he’d called to invite the family to a church picnic. He had a neat, small moustache and wore a blue, heavy cotton shirt with a narrow strip of black ribbon tied in a bow at his throat. He had big teeth and dark eyes and he smiled as he talked.

  ‘The bank’s calling in its loan, Mr Jefferson. You’ve got ’til the end of the month.’

  ‘The bank knows it’ll get its money. I’ll repay what I borrowed when the cattle get sold at Fort Laramie. That’s the way we’ve always done it.’

  ‘Well there’s a problem with that this time.’

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘They can no longer take your cattle at Fort Laramie.’

  ‘Why not? They’ve bought their beef from this valley for fifteen years.’

  ‘Times change, Mr Jefferson. The cattle dealers have all moved nearer the railhead.’

  ‘But we sell direct to the army. Sam Flint had an arrangement with them.’

  ‘Yeah. But Sam Flint’s no longer here. Seems the new commander at Laramie has swept aside that old arrangement. They’ve got someone who can supply their full quota.’ Apart from the buzzing of the flies, which irritated the horses, a heavy silence hung between the group on the veranda and those mounted in front of it. Deacon spoke again. ‘So your debt needs to be cleared at the bank before the end of the month or you lose this ranch.’

  ‘You’re not touching anything on this range, Deacon,’ said Dagg Jefferson. ‘This is my land and I’m keeping it.’

  ‘Only until the end of the month if your debt isn’t cleared. That right, Sheriff?’

  The man to the right of Deacon was red faced with a long, drooping moustache. His high hat was dimpled at the crown and crumpled at the edges. He was a tall man. Slim and relaxed, his hands rested on his saddle horn. ‘That’s what the bank’s lawyer says, Mr Jefferson. If you don’t fulfil your debt then your land is forfeit. That’s why I’ve come along, to let you know it’s legal.’

  Charlie Jefferson stepped forward, away from the ranch house door, out of the shadows. ‘You got some document to show how this is legal, Sheriff?’

  The sheriff turned his attention to Charlie. ‘No, no document.’

  ‘Then what are you doing here? Have you come to uphold the law or to act as the bank’s mouthpiece?’

  The sheriff shifted in the saddle, his eyes narrowed; his right hand moved from the saddle horn to rest on his right thigh. ‘I don’t know who you are, young man, but someone should have taught you to have a bit more respect for authority.’

  ‘My name’s Charlie Jefferson and you are the second lawman I’ve met today who seems to think that his presence makes legal the actions of other people.’

  The sheriff stiffened in the saddle. ‘Are you the rannie who drew iron on my posse?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be proud about calling them your posse, Sheriff. I stopped four men from assaulting a young girl. Any man who picks a fight with a girl is no man at all.’

  ‘They were doing their duty.’

  ‘Their duty was to make sure of their facts before laying accusations against citizens. Like I told your deputy, Miss Svensson was riding with me this afternoon and unless you can prove otherwise, the matter ends there. Now, you’re on Jefferson land where you’ve got no jurisdiction. Get off. Like my pa said, no one is taking anything from it. Not ever.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Deacon. His grin widened. ‘Charlie Jefferson. I’ve heard a lot about you. I daresay my name’s familiar to you, too. Brent Deacon.’

  ‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘Never heard of you.’ Deacon’s surprise showed and Charlie was sure it was genuine. ‘But whoever you are, get off our land now and don’t come back.’

  The grin returned to Deacon’s face. ‘We’re going but I can’t promise we won’t be back. I’ll give your regards to my wife.’ With those words he turned his horse’s head and rode away with the other three close on his heels.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Somebody want to tell me what’s going on around here?’ They were back in the house, wearing expressions of anxiety, nervousness or anger; perhaps all three. Dagg was rolling a quirly, John was inspecting the Winchester he’d taken from the wall rack and M
ary Jefferson was fussing about the table as though needing her husband’s help before deciding what to do next, eventually settling for refilling cups from the coffee pot. ‘Why do you owe that man money?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Because he bought Pa’s debt,’ declared John.

  His brother’s angry words didn’t add much to Charlie’s knowledge. He looked to his father for clarification. ‘I borrowed money from the Cattlemen’s Bank in Laramie to buy out Cyrus Kellogg. I didn’t want him selling his land to Ezra Prescott who had already bought Eli’s place. Ezra Prescott owning half the valley didn’t seem right to me.’

  ‘Slow down, Pa. I’ve got a lot to catch up with. Cyrus Kellogg and Eli Dunston have left the valley?’

  Dagg hesitated, catching his wife’s fluttering movements, knowing that on this day she didn’t want any talk of turmoil, didn’t want anything to cast a pall over her son’s return home. But he looked at Charlie, studied the intensity of his expression and knew that he was a man who faced his problems head on. There was nothing to gain by withholding details of the situation for another day. Besides, John was so full of anger that the facts were sure to tumble from his mouth before they were all an hour older.

  ‘Even though we had a regular source of income from the sale of beef to the army,’ he began, ‘money was scarce during the war. The army was paying bottom dollar for our beef, which was only just enough to keep our heads above water. With the small herds that Eli and Cyrus were running they were barely surviving year by year. They would have accepted the offer they received at the end of the war but the buying consortium wanted the whole valley. The rest of us weren’t interested in selling. We were confident enough that with the war over the price of beef would rise and we’d be OK. Besides, we’d found this valley and developed it. We had no reason to uproot and move elsewhere. We weren’t going to put in all the hard work so that someone else could benefit. Even Ezra Prescott agreed with me at that time.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

  Dagg looked at his son with a stern expression, held his tongue for a moment, giving Charlie the impression that what was to follow would wound him. ‘Ezra never got over Amos leaving with you. He blamed you for taking him away and he blamed me for allowing you to go. When news came that his boy had been killed his anger knew no bounds.’

  ‘I wrote to him, Pa. It might not have been much of a letter but I wanted him to know he could be proud of his son.’

  ‘Charlie, I got to tell you, Ezra’s a bitter man. Some say he’s sworn vengeance against you. It’s probably nothing more than angry words but, in truth, he hasn’t spoken to me since we heard the news. I went to visit him and he chased me off with his shotgun. If Ruth hadn’t been there he might well have pulled the trigger.’

  At the mention of Ruth, Charlie pictured her face. Even though it was a long ride, he’d had it in mind to borrow one of his father’s horses and visit the Prescott ranch once the meal was over. But the recent visitors had brought about a change of mind. He couldn’t leave his family until he’d learned every detail of the current situation. To divert his thoughts from Ruth he asked about Eli Dunston and Cyrus Kellogg, seeking an explanation for their departure from the valley.

  ‘Soon after the war ended,’ his father continued, ‘Eli Dunston had an accident. Fell off his horse fording the river and drowned. His wife sold out to Ezra Prescott and moved away. Shortly after that a couple of incidents unsettled Cyrus Kellogg. First there was a fire in his stables. He managed to get the horses out but the building was razed. And a few days later one of his night riders was killed in an unexplained cattle stampede. Cyrus came to tell me that Ezra had made him an offer for his land. It was a poor offer but Cyrus was on the verge of accepting. Ezra’s animosity towards us was already hardened by this time and it didn’t seem right to let him dominate the valley, so I offered Cyrus more for his spread.’

  Dagg paused to light up the quirly he’d rolled while talking. ‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘I didn’t have enough money of my own for the deal. Sam Flint introduced me to a man called Balfour at the Laramie bank, who had arranged loans for other cattlemen. He understood the advantage of increased grazing land by the river. We worked out repayments for a five-year loan which weren’t going to cripple me as long as our cattle sales remained constant. I used the deeds of this place as collateral for the loan.’

  Charlie scratched his jaw. ‘You haven’t been able to keep up the repayments?’

  ‘Everything was fine until Sam Flint was killed.’

  ‘Sam’s dead?’

  ‘Yes. Ma would have written to let you know but we didn’t know where to send a letter.’ Charlie shuffled on his seat. He didn’t need reminding that the prolonged absence had been his own choice. ‘Another accident,’ his father continued. ‘Young Jenny came across him when running one of her father’s mares. His neck was broken. As far as anyone could figure, it happened at night. Looked like he’d ridden into a low-hanging branch.’

  ‘Sam! Riding at night? Sounds unlikely, doesn’t it?’

  Dagg shrugged his shoulders, confirming that such a thing sounded odd to him, too. ‘Nobody could figure out what he was up to. There is only this place and the Svensson ranch close enough to the settlement for anyone to come visiting at night and, other than the Spring and harvest gatherings, Sam had never come a-visiting before. Neither Taub nor I had any business with him that would have brought him out at night.’

  ‘Sam Flint was a good man,’ said Mary Jefferson, her tone indicating an opinion that life hadn’t been fair to him. Charlie guessed she was thinking about the loss of his wife so early in their marriage, but her words prompted no response from anyone else in the room, the silence testament enough to confirm their agreement with the sentiment. Charlie had liked Sam Flint. He’d numbered renewing their acquaintance among the benefits of returning to Tatanka Crossing.

  ‘Wasn’t cold in his grave before Brent Deacon took over the trading post,’ said Charlie’s father.

  ‘Who is Brent Deacon?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Nobody knows much about him. Arrived in Tatanka Crossing shortly after the war ended, then hung around for a few weeks without any apparent desire to find work. When Sam died he announced he’d had some experience of running a merchant enterprise back in Pennsylvania and that he was keen to settle down here.’

  ‘Sounds like an ideal candidate.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dagg, ‘but things changed rapidly after that. Whereas Sam had been unselfish in his efforts on behalf of the cattlemen in the valley, Brent Deacon proved to be a businessman with an eye for his own profit. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not opposed to a man prospering by means of his own endeavour, and Deacon’s schemes always had initial appeal, but they ended up making him rich and bringing disruption to the valley.’

  ‘I rarely go into town,’ said Mary Jefferson. ‘It’s become the haunt of a lot of unpleasant people.’

  Her husband nodded his agreement. He drew in the smoke from his hand-rolled cigarette, then slowly exhaled it before speaking. ‘A logging company set up a camp on the slopes across the river, bringing with it loggers, mill workers and teamsters. Just a handful at first, but the enterprise grew. Then deposits of copper were discovered in the rocks a little way west of here, enough of it to grab the interest of some Cincinnati developers who have been mining it for three years. Neither activity interferes directly with our cattle business but the effect on the settlement has been enormous.

  ‘Of course, with all the extra men in the valley it wasn’t long before it was no longer suitable to use the back room at the trading post as a meeting place. There was drunkenness, fights broke out, men cussing and blaspheming when the womenfolk were on the other side of the room buying provisions. It just couldn’t go on.

  ‘So Deacon proposed building a new hotel, leaving the trading post free for its original purpose. The hotel would not only cater for the social needs of the current workforce but would also be a welcome resting place as more and more people travelled west. The Last Dollar was built further down the street. Perhaps you saw it when you rode through town. Deacon calls it a hotel but that’s a mighty polite name for what goes on there. There’s a saloon bar and gambling tables on the ground floor, bedrooms above.’