Reining up before the unpainted frame structure, Danner sat slack in the saddle, wondering if he should ride over to the Swensen farm eight miles west and make peace with Lona. Then he shrugged the idea aside and began unloading his pack animal.
Inside, he found the single room unchanged since his last visit. A cook stove, woodbox and cabinet occupied the north end of the room. In the center a homemade table held a stack of dirty dishes and pans. Two bunks clung to the south wall, separated by an ancient chest of drawers. Danner dumped his bedroll on the empty bunk and began stuffing his clothes into empty drawers. After all the gear was put away, he unsaddled his horses and turned them into the pole corral.
Next he sought out a shady spot along the riverbank and spent the rest of the afternoon catching a mess of channel catfish. At sundown he returned to the shack, cleaned the fish and dropped them into a skillet. Soon the savory odor filled the room and he turned his attention to beans, potatoes and cornbread. While putting the food on the table he heard a horse trot up. Moments later, McDaniel entered the shack, his usual grin missing.
"You have a good sense of smell, Billy."
"Huh?" Then McDaniel's mouth loosened in a grin. "Oh, you mean the grub. It was pretty good timing, I guess." He shrugged out of his vest, then hung it and his hat on a wall peg. After washing up outside, he came back into the shack and they began eating.
Danner watched McDaniel covertly. Something worried the big Irishman, though not enough to interfere with his appetite. Halfway through the meal, McDaniel emptied his coffee cup and wiped his lips on his shirt sleeve.
"Most of the shop, yard and section crews quit today. They told Wainright to take his railroad and go to the devil."
"Oh?"
"He spent all morning in the shops and yards, telling the boys how to do their jobs. He even told Pat Prothou how to repair a boiler, and Pat with thirty years' experience." McDaniel refilled his coffee cup. From around a mouthful of cornbread he said, "But the big blow up came this afternoon when he announced a new company policy. He said in the future, supervisors would check each man when he quit work for the day, to make sure no one carried off tools or parts belonging to the railroad—too much sneak thieving going on, he claimed."
Danner took his tin plate to the garbage bucket and scraped it clean. Then he tossed the plate onto the cabinet and moved about the room, thinking of the Colonel's carefully picked crews being broken up by the bitterness of one man. New brooms sweep clean, the Colonel used to say; and Wainright seemed determined to sweep out all traces of the Colonel's team.
Sleep didn't come easily that night for Danner and when he got up the next morning McDaniel had left for work. During the day along the riverbank he found no contentment. His nerves tingled with the need for activity.
McDaniel came home early in the afternoon, his broad face black with indignation. He slammed into a chair breathing heavily, then jumped up and stomped around the room.
"Wainright practically called me a thief," he exploded.
Danner packed his pipe without looking up.
"I had half a dozen pencils in my coat pocket when I started home tonight. Wainright saw them and said he didn't approve of my bringing railroad property home with me—half a dozen pencils."
Clenching his pipe stem in his teeth, Danner touched a match to the bowl, then puffed the tobacco alive. In another week, nearly all of the Colonel's team would be gone. The desire to hold the team together had made the Colonel continue operating the railroad long after it had ceased to show a profit. Now, Danner was glad the Colonel was beyond knowing what was happening.
Long after he turned in for the night, Danner tossed sleeplessly. He spent the next morning back on the riverbank and by noon was sick of the inaction. Saddling his horse, he rode along the edge of the river. Twice he found himself headed toward the Swensen place, but turned back both times. Finally he headed for Richfield, and met McDaniel about halfway home. The dejected look on Billy's face told Danner the story even before McDaniel blurted it out.
"I quit," the big Irishman said.
Danner slouched in his saddle, saying nothing.
"First off this morning, Wainright hired Garr Green as his new special agent," McDaniel bristled.
Danner couldn't believe he had heard right. In stunned silence he waited for McDaniel to go on.
"I showed Wainright your reports on Garr's activities with the Dooleys. He—it was like rubbing salt in an open wound. He called me everything but a white man. That's when I quit."
Danner nodded.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Something I should have done long ago," McDaniel said bleakly. "I'm going back to farming where I belong, if I can find a little place within my means."
Danner recalled Lona's statement about the Jensen farm being up for sale. Now he mentioned it to McDaniel, whose eyes brightened for a moment, then faded.
"I remember some talk about it," McDaniel said. "It's a real fine place. And Jensen planted a wheat crop last fall just before he died that'll be ready for harvesting soon. But the heirs live in Kansas City and want cash. I couldn't raise anywhere near the amount they would want, unless—" and his eyes shone again as he hesitated, "unless you'd be interested in coming in with me as a partner. You're out of a job, same as me and—"
Danner shook his head. "That's a little out of my line. But I'll ride over with you to look at the place. There's still enough daylight left."
The Jensen place extended in a flat expanse south of the river, which separated it from the Swensen farm on the north. The boundary fence barely could be called one—with the posts rotting at ground level and the wires broken or sagging in many places. But the wheat field they rode through now, promised a bountiful return from the approaching harvest.
Then they broke clear of the grain field and neared the house. Though solidly built, the four-room frame dwelling stood starkly in need of paint and repairing. Even the front door sagged open. Inside, Danner moved about inspecting the frugal collection of furnishings, then checked the small but well-built barn. It, too, needed a lot of fixing up.
Eagerness shone from the eyes of McDaniel. Squatting, he scooped up a handful of loose soil and reverently allowed it to trickle through his fingers.
He worshiped the soil just as the Swensens did, Danner thought. He knew a moment of humbleness then and his decision came easier.
"Billy," he began, trying to appear offhand, "if I loaned you half the money you need to buy this place, couldn't you just about pay it back with the proceeds from the wheat crops this year and next?"
McDaniel straightened up, the joy plain on his heavy face.
"I think so, Jeff. And I could pay you a good rate of interest!"
Danner waved aside the offer and turned to his horse. "It'll be getting dark soon," he said. "Let's stop by the Swensens and see if Lona will feed us something besides fish. Then we can ride into Richfield tomorrow and buy this place."
"I won't forget this, Jeff," Billy faltered, the moistness in his eyes embarrassing Danner. Quickly, Danner mounted and spurred to the north.
They forded the river half a mile from the Swensen farm. Riding up to the layout, Danner knew the same keen sense of pleasure he always experienced when viewing the neat buildings and surroundings. Olie Swensen might be the most ornery mule in the territory, but he also was the most industrious. Dismounting by the corral, Danner looped the reins to an upright just as Olie came from the barn with an armload of hay which he dropped to a pile on the ground. Olie stared at him for a moment, then vanished inside without a word. McDaniel came up then, and hitched his mount to the corral.