“You seem tired.”
“Railroad.”
His eyes changed.
There.
Tiny.
Enough.
“The survey line crosses my south field.”
He smiled again.
“Rumors.”
“You knew.”
“Everyone hears things.”
“You knew before I did.”
He shrugged.
“Perhaps I listen better.”
She stepped closer.
“How much are they offering?”
“For what?”
“Right-of-way.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Liar.”
His son emerged behind him.
“Careful.”
The homesteader looked toward the younger man.
Something about his boots.
Mud.
Red clay.
Her property’s south fence crossed a patch of reddish clay near the creek.
Most of the road around town was pale dust.
His boots carried dried red clay.
That meant nothing alone.
He could have been anywhere.
She remembered her own rule.
Suspicion was not proof.
She looked back at the merchant.
“I’ll see you at eight.”
She left.
That night she expected no miracle.
None came.
At six the next morning she counted fifty-four dollars and seventeen cents again.
The debt:
Fifty-six dollars and eighty-two.
She lacked two sixty-five.
The wagon driver stood in the doorway.
“Take my money.”
“No.”
“You can repay me tomorrow.”
“No.”
“This is stupid.”
“Yes.”
He stared.
“Then sell me something.”
“What?”
He looked around.
“Something worth three dollars.”
She almost told him to stop.
Then understood.
Not a loan.
A sale.
He pointed toward an old saddle hanging in the barn.
“That.”
“It’s worth twelve.”
“I’ll pay three.”
“That’s terrible bargaining.”
“Good.”
She stared.
The saddle had a cracked skirt.
She barely used it.
Her better saddle remained.
He wanted to give her money without giving money.
She shook her head.
“Five.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“If you’re buying, you pay five.”
“You only need—”
“I don’t care.”
He smiled.
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Four fifty.”
“Done.”
He handed her four dollars fifty.
She handed him the saddle.
“Terrible saddle.”
“Terrible cheese.”
They smiled.
Total:
Fifty-eight dollars and sixty-seven cents.
Enough.
She put fifty-six eighty-two into a cloth bag.
The remaining one eighty-five back into the box.
Then drove to town.
The merchant had prepared for theater.
People stood outside the store.
His son.
The boarding-house owner.
Blacksmith.
Doctor.
Several railroad men.
Word had spread.
The homesteader parked.
Climbed down.
Carried the bag inside.
The merchant stood behind the counter.
Clock:
Seven fifty-six.
“You came.”
“You asked.”
He looked toward the bag.
“How much?”