“That’s true,” the merchant conceded. “But I don’t see farmers taking over Blue Moon and turning it into a farm town. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate their business, you understand. New customers are always welcome in my store, but a man just doesn’t forget his regular customers. That’s like biting the hand that feeds you.”
“This bunch doesn’t look like it came with much money in its pockets,” Nate remarked. “So I don’t think they’ll be doin’ too much buyin’ for a while.”
“I noticed there are a couple of new buildings in town,” Webb said.
“A guy named Wessel owns one of them. He’s a land speculator, from what I’ve heard,” Ollie replied. “He dresses real flashy—wears a white suit. He tells me that a bank is going into the second building.”
“A bank? In Blue Moon?” Nate looked more than skeptical.
“That’s what he said,” the merchant confirmed, and smiled crookedly. “If those new settlers are as broke as you think, they’ll need a bank to loan them money for seed.”
“The land’s free.” Nate looked at Webb as he spoke, recalling the phrase he’d used at the station. “But they’ll have to sell their souls to grow anything on it.”
A humorless smite of agreement flashed across Webb’s mouth. “While you fill our order, Ollie, Nate and I are going over to the saloon.”
“I’ll have it ready for you in less than an hour,” Ellis promised.
“There’s no rush.” He knew they wouldn’t be in any hurry to leave the saloon to make the long ride back to the ranch.
Up until ten years ago, the saloon had been a small room off the general store. Then the railroad had put a spur into Blue Moon and Sonny Drake had arrived in town and built a roadhouse, complete with a bar to lure trade into his establishment. Competition and an expanding merchandise business had combined to finally close the saloon side of the general store.
Like Ollie Ellis, Sonny Drake catered to the local ranchers and their hands, happy to serve them whiskey, then rent them a room to sleep it off when they had too much. The separate building with a bar on the first floor and a half-dozen small sleeping rooms upstairs also had the added enticement of being only a dozen yards from a log shack located in back of the building where Miss Fannie Owens quietly plied her ancient profession.
In the early noon hour, there was only one customer leaning against the long bar made out of hand-carved wood, imported all the way from Chicago. When Webb and Nate walked into the local roadhouse, the interior seemed dark after the bright sunlight. Sonny was sweeping the floor, most of the chairs still turned upside down on the tables, with the exception of one. A curly-haired man had set the chairs upright and sat reclining in one with his boots propped atop the table. A whiskey bottle was on the table within reach to fill the shot glass he was nursing.
His gaze lifted from its study of the contents when he heard the combined jingle of spurs. The hard, brooding look that had been on his face vanished when he recognized Webb. A smile broke across his face, giving it the good-natured expression Webb usually associated with Doyle Pettit. Doyle was a couple of years younger than Webb, the son of a rancher. Only Doyle wasn’t just the son of a rancher anymore. His father, Tom Pettit, the owner of the TeePee Ranch, had died three years ago, and it now belonged to Doyle.
“Hey, Webb, Nate. Come on over here and join me!” He waved them to his table. “It’s been a helluva long time since I’ve seen you fellas! Sonny,” he called to the husky owner/bartender. “Bring these boys some glasses.”
“What are you doing in town?” Nate pulled out a chair and slumped into it, resting his arms on the table.
“I’m drinking to the end of the cattle business.” Doyle lifted his glass in a mock toast, then downed the drink.
It was fairly common knowledge among the ranch community that the TeePee had been going steadily downhill since Doyle had taken charge. It was a combination of poor management and a declining cattle market.
“You aren’t thinking of selling out?” Webb raised an eyebrow, surprised that Doyle might be quitting. It was good land, the best next to the Triple C.
“Hell, if the cattle prices get any lower, I won’t have a choice.” Momentarily disgruntled by the implied failure, Doyle Pettit refilled his glass, then poured whiskey into the two that Sonny set on the table.
“They’ll go up. They always do.” It was just a matter of riding out a poor market and paring down expenses.
“I laid off most of my hands yesterday.” Doyle sighed. “I just barely met the spring roundup payroll. I’ll let them all go if I have to, but I’m going to hang on to that land. It’s going to be a gold mine.”
“No cowboys mean no cattle, so I don’t know where you’re going to find that gold,” Nate said dryly.
“Gold as in wheat.” A bright gleam leaped into his hazel eyes. “Wheat means land. And, Lord knows, I own enough of it.”
“You don’t really believe a fella can grow wheat out here?” Nate scoffed, eyeing the rancher as if he’d lost all his wits.
“Hell, no, I don’t believe it, but those drylanders do.” Doyle laughed. “When all that free land gets snapped up, they’re gonna start buying it.”
There was sense in what Doyle was saying, but Webb couldn’t approve of the plan. The idea of breaking the TeePee up into wheat farms seemed a traitorous act for a cattleman. He kept his silence only because Doyle had been a good friend for so many years.
A lull followed that was silently critical. Swinging his feet off the table, Doyle sat up and leaned forward, anxious to convince his friends of the wisdom of his plan.
“It’s the smart move,” he insisted. “Those suckers coming out here are hungry for land. Nothing is going to stop them. Now that they have started, it’s going to be like a flood. You just watch; the land values around here are going to shoot sky-high. It isn’t going to matter anymore how many head of cattle you own. It will be how much land. Anyone who tries to stick with ranching is a fool. A man can get rich with land.”
“You overlooked something.” Nate shifted in his chair. “Every boom has a bust. When those farmers can’t grow a crop to meet their notes, they’re going to lose their land.”