Jasper smiled.
“There you go, Lawson. Your cook’s running the outfit now.”
Henrietta wiped her carving knife slowly along the edge of her apron.
Then set it flat on the table.
Her hands were steady.
Only her eyes showed how much the insult had landed.
She had learned long ago that showing no pain did not mean feeling none.
It only meant pain did not get to choose the next movement.
Henrietta reached into her apron pocket.
Jasper’s smile faltered.
She pulled out three folded invoices.
Placed them on the table.
Slapped them flat with her palm.
The sound silenced the camp.
Caleb frowned.
“What are those?”
Henrietta never looked away from Jasper.
“Something I found wrapped around the coffee tin beneath Mr. Higgins’s bedroll this morning.”
Jasper’s face changed.
Barely.
Enough.
Caleb saw.
Henrietta unfolded the first invoice.
“Four sides of beef.”
Then the second.
“Two barrels salt pork.”
Then the third.
“Fresh beef purchased outside Tascosa three days before we left.”
One cowboy looked toward the goats tethered near the wagon.
Another looked at Jasper.
Henrietta continued.
“According to these papers, Mr. Jenkins paid enough to feed this crew beef until we reached Dodge.”
Caleb’s expression hardened.
Henrietta tapped the invoices.
“And every one carries Jasper Higgins’s signature.”
Jasper stepped toward the table.
“That isn’t your business.”
Henrietta put one broad hand over the papers.
“You made it my business the moment you spent five days blaming me for food somebody else already paid for.”
Jasper’s face reddened.
Caleb came forward.
“Higgins.”
Jasper pointed at Henrietta.
“She went through my things.”
“I found your things inside my coffee crate.”
“That crate belongs to outfit.”
“The coffee belongs to the men who drink it.”
Caleb picked up the first invoice.
His eyes moved over the figures.
The last orange light faded from the prairie while everyone waited.
Finally he looked at Jasper.
“Why do you have these?”
Jasper’s mouth tightened.
“They’re old supply copies.”
“Why?”
“Jenkins gave them to me.”
Caleb held up the page.
“This says four hundred thirty pounds of beef were loaded in Tascosa.”
Henrietta spoke quietly.
“I inventoried every pound put into my wagon.”
Caleb turned toward her.
“How much beef?”
“None.”
“Salt pork?”
“Seventy-two pounds.”
One cowboy cursed.
Henrietta continued.
“Beans, flour, coffee, rice, lard, sugar, salt, dried onion, dried apples.”
“And six goats I bought out of the thirty dollars Mr. Jenkins told me was all he had left for meat.”
Caleb looked at Jasper again.
The trail boss’s voice lowered.
“Explain.”
Jasper smiled without humor.
“You believe her?”
Caleb did not blink.
“I believe numbers.”
Jasper glanced around the camp.
Something ugly appeared behind his eyes.
Henrietta recognized it.
A cornered man calculating which weakness he could attack fastest.
His gaze landed on her.
Of course.
“She’s a cook.”
“She doesn’t know trail accounts.”
Henrietta took another paper from her apron.
This one was not an invoice.
It was her own inventory.
Every sack.
Every pound.
Every purchase.
Every meal used so far.
She put it beside the others.
“My grandmother taught me to cook.”
“My mother taught me to count.”
“You’ll have to insult both women if you want those numbers to change.”
A quiet sound came from the men.
Not laughter.
Approval.
Jasper heard.
His face changed again.
Caleb read Henrietta’s figures.