Seven
Glen counted the cattle. Two nights sleeping out on the open range and he was ready to get back to the house. It was only an hour or two out, but even still it would be nice to be able to throw down a few thick slices of bacon on the griddle. He let out a deep breath.
Fifty three. He was sure. Good. None had wandered off, and none had been hustled off. After the time away he was beginning to wonder. She couldn't be conducting a head count, from what he could see. How would she have? How would she know if a couple steers were missing?
The sun was already low in the sky, so his bacon would have to wait. Seeing Catherine in the window, watching him or his calves, meant he could at least go let her know he was back in the area. She deserved that much, after all.
She saw him coming and hoped he wouldn't come in. Her heart wasn't ready for what was going to come next. He had to accept her offer of rent payment. Had to. If he didn't—she couldn't say what he wanted from them, but she couldn't keep waiting on him to decide she wasn't worth keeping around.
She repeated it over and over in her head. Any minute, any second. She said one thing out of line, and suddenly she'd be out of the place. That was if he didn't get a wild hair and decide all of a sudden that he wanted the house, and he wanted it now. And he wouldn't have no women and her children staying in the place with him.
If he did, it would be unpleasant, but unpleasant didn't mean she could do anything about it. That was the worst part. So even though it wouldn't be pleasant, she'd set out a hundred dollars, set out neatly on the coffee table in front of her sofa.
She looked in on Ada and the twins, hoped again that he wasn't coming. Knock, knock.
He didn't come straight in, but when she opened the door, there he was. Still wearing that pistol of his, still looking as good as ever. The days on the road hadn't changed him much, and she still wanted something she couldn't afford to give him. She shook her head.
"Mister Riley, what brings you around?"
"Ma'am, I thought we should talk about a few things."
"So did I," she agreed. "You first, Mister Riley."
He had already started moving toward the sofa when he asked, "you mind if I take a seat?"
"Not at all," Catherine answered. She'd been planning to ask him to sit down, but he had already started making his way over by the time she remembered her manners.
He settled in. "I need to know what makes you think there's a rustling problem around here. I know you've got the more desirable steers, for sure—but I ain't had any problem with mine, and I haven't seen any trouble out there."
Catherine's face twisted up, and Glen almost regretted asking the question. If doubting her was going to upset her that much, then he shouldn't have asked. But he couldn't decide what the right answer was if he couldn't see the problem with his own two eyes.
"A few years back, I had a smaller herd, and they were easier to manage. Even if I had a little less time with Ada and the twins being too young to fend for themselves, I could find the time to do an accurate headcount. We lost seven head the first year, and twelve the second year. But I managed to get a good deal on the beef and we still made a profit, so…"
"So, let me see if I'm understanding. You don't know, not to a certainty, that they're still doing it?"
She avoided his eyes, but that did seem to be the case. No matter.
"I talked to the Sheriff about it, but he said he didn't know enough to do anything about it. Said that it would take too much work to find pretty few head. No idea who'd been doing it, either."
Glen nodded. "Alright, but what if they moved on, or got arrested on something else? Or rustling someone else's cattle? Couldn't they have stopped?"
Catherine nodded after a moment. "It's possible. You could give them a count tomorrow, if you like. I have a round thousand head."
"I'll do that, then."
She nodded her understanding. "Did you have anything else you needed to talk about?"
"Yeah, I did."
Catherine's heart dropped. She could hear it in his voice, something had been moving through his head, some thought, and now that it was time to say it, he was slow to say it to her. Only one thing would cause that kind of reaction, the kind of thing that she was hoping that he would leave off.
The kind of thing that she'd been hoping to avoid with her rent payments.
"What's that?"
"Well… naw," he decided all of a sudden. "What's this? What did you have to talk about?"
He gestured with his eyes at the stack of bills in front of him.