Failure would trigger foreclosure proceedings.
Clara listened.
Then asked, “Who owns the note?”
Harlan stopped.
“The bank.”
“The bank originated it?”
“Yes.”
“Has it been transferred?”
Harlan looked surprised.
“No.”
“Any secondary liens?”
“No.”
“Any option agreements?”
His expression changed.
Tomás noticed.
Clara noticed more.
“Why?”
She leaned forward.
“Because if the ranch is foreclosed, I want to know whether anyone already has purchase rights.”
Harlan adjusted his spectacles.
“Foreclosure would proceed according to law.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Tomás nearly smiled.
Harlan looked toward him.
“Your wife is… thorough.”
“Yes.”
Clara waited.
Harlan finally said, “There is no formal purchase agreement.”
“Informal?”
“I do not discuss other clients.”
Clara nodded slowly.
“Has Silas Mercer spoken to you about this ranch?”
Harlan’s face changed.
Barely.
Enough.
“I do not discuss other clients.”
Clara leaned back.
“Thank you.”
Harlan frowned.
“For what?”
“For answering.”
He left twenty minutes later.
Tomás closed the door.
“You think Mercer has something arranged.”
“I think Harlan wishes he hadn’t heard the name.”
Tomás sat.
“What do we do?”
Clara opened the account ledger.
“We make money.”
He laughed without humor.
“With what?”
She looked toward the cattle.
“Forty-three living.”
“Too thin.”
“Some.”
“Most.”
“You also have horses.”
“Not selling.”
“Good.”
Tomás blinked.
“I expected argument.”
“They’re working stock.”
She flipped another page.
“Eggs?”
“Not enough.”
“Hay?”
“Almost none.”
“Leather?”
Tomás frowned.
“What?”
Clara looked toward the barn.
“Dead cattle.”
His stomach turned.
“No.”
“The hides are still usable if treated quickly.”
He stared.
“I was going to bury them.”
“That buries money.”
“They were poisoned.”
“Doesn’t ruin hide.”
Tomás looked uncomfortable.
Clara understood.
“You raised them.”
“Yes.”
“So did men in Chicago.”
“That made it easier?”
“No.”
She closed the ledger.
“It made waste harder.”
Tomás looked toward the field.
Seven dead cattle.
He hated the idea.
Then thought of the bank.
“How much?”
“If hides are good? Maybe sixty to eighty dollars total.”
“That’s not enough.”
“No.”
“But it’s not zero.”
He nodded.
They skinned cattle together.
Tomás expected Clara to be efficient.
He did not expect artistry.
She knew where to cut so the hide came clean.
How to avoid tearing.
How to preserve edges.
How to salt.
By noon they had three laid out.
Tomás watched her work.
“You really did this fifteen years.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me more in letters?”