Small amounts at first.
Five dollars.
Then ten.
He intended to replace them.
Could not.
Debt grew.
Then fear.
Then more theft to hide the first theft.
The rancher stared.
“You watched me sell cattle.”
The foreman closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“You watched me skip feed orders.”
“Yes.”
“You listened to me say this place was dying.”
The foreman’s voice broke.
“Yes.”
The rancher stepped closer.
His wife’s hand touched his arm.
Not holding.
Reminding.
The rancher stopped.
The foreman looked toward the woman.
Then the ledger in her hand.
“She found it.”
The rancher nodded.
The foreman laughed bitterly.
“Four days.”
He looked at the rancher.
“I fooled you two years.”
The rancher’s shame turned suddenly toward himself.
The wife spoke.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
She continued:
“He trusted you.”
“That was not stupidity.”
“What you did with the trust belongs to you.”
The foreman’s face broke.
The rancher looked toward his wife.
Again.
She kept separating truth from shame.
The foreman eventually admitted the full amount.
One hundred and fourteen dollars.
More than they first found.
He could not repay immediately.
The rancher wanted to call the sheriff.
Then hesitated.
His wife said nothing.
This needed to be his decision.
Finally the rancher said:
“You are done here.”
The foreman nodded.
“You leave today.”
“Yes.”
“I want a written statement.”
The foreman looked surprised.
“Why?”
“So the bank knows the forged signatures weren’t mine.”
The wife had suggested that privately.
Good.
The foreman nodded.
“And your son?”
the rancher asked.
The older man looked away.
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
The rancher laughed without humor.
“So you destroyed eleven years for a man who left you holding the theft.”
The foreman did not answer.
The rancher almost hated him.
Almost.
Then grief replaced anger.
“You should have asked me.”
The foreman’s eyes filled.
“I was ashamed.”
“So you made me pay for it?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
The rancher nodded.
“Go.”
The foreman left Broken Spur before nightfall.
The rancher stood beside the corral watching him disappear.
His wife approached.
He did not look toward her.
“I trusted him.”
“I know.”
“I would have given him the money.”
“I know.”
“He knew that.”
“Maybe that made asking harder.”
The rancher looked at her.
“You’re defending him?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Understanding is not defending.”
Another sentence he would remember.