Looking west along the main street Danner observed the town beginning to fill up with Saturday shoppers. Straight across from the Trading Center stood Browder's sprawling granary.
Danner felt the muscles along his back tighten as the black-clad Tuso swaggered out of the granary office and moved west along the far side of the street. Filled with a runt's need to prove himself as tough as any, Tuso deliberately bumped into an overall-clad farmer coming out of the hardware store across the way. The farmer pulled back, glaring, but made no motion toward Tuso. Then Tuso laughed at him, his great barrel chest swelling, and swaggered on down the street. He repeated the bumping process on a ranch hand who was coming out of the Silver Dollar Saloon, with much the same results. Idly, Danner watched him, wondering how long it would be until Tuso finally decided to try him.
Then Danner remembered the telegram Melinda had brought in for him. The reply should be here by now. Glancing around, he found McDaniel still bargaining with the Swede. Danner mounted and rode to the depot. He inquired about the telegram, and the telegrapher who had replaced McDaniel handed it to him with a thinly veiled animosity. Ignoring him, Danner stuck the yellow sheet of paper in his pocket, paid for both messages, then returned to the Trading Center. He arrived in time to see Billy shaking hands with the Swede, indicating that a bargain had been reached. But McDaniel continued to talk animatedly, so Danner eased out of the saddle and unfolded the telegram. He hurried through the message, then read it again. Satisfied, he returned it to his pocket. McDaniel interrupted his thoughts.
"They'll start harvesting our crop Monday," he said, his face glowing with satisfaction. "And the thrashers will be out two weeks later."
Danner nodded approval and they mounted. McDaniel pulled a heavy railroad watch from his vest pocket and glanced at it.
"The meeting will be starting soon. Do you want to go on down to the hotel?"
"Might as well," Danner said, and they drifted along the street. The hotel liveryman smiled at McDaniel when he took his reins, but his mouth hardened when he recognized Danner. He took the reins from Danner without a word.
About a dozen rough-clad farmers clustered in the lobby of the hotel. All glared silently as Danner moved toward the banquet hall where the meeting was to be held. For a moment anger brushed him, but the dead ashes of anger from too many other snubs furnished very little fuel for a new fire.
Rows of chairs facing a raised platform crowded the room. Danner followed McDaniel to the far right corner of the room and sat down at the end of the front row. He twisted his chair around just enough to see each man coming through the door. Grangers drifted in, filling chairs, and Danner inspected each one covertly. Only four wore gun belts, none of which sheathed pin-fire revolvers. The closest anyone sat to Danner and McDaniel was three seats away.
The buzz of idle chatter grew louder with each new arrival. Pipe smoke soon clouded the air. One sturdily built granger moved his chair closer to a window so he could spit tobacco juice outside.
McDaniel turned toward Danner, his voice low. "Do you think anyone will know a way to make Browder give us an honest weigh-in?"
"Nope," Danner answered. "But it doesn't matter. I know a way you and I can beat him."
McDaniel's eyes widened with interest and he leaned over eagerly. "What is it?"
A sudden stillness settled over the hall before Danner could reply. Down the center aisle came Olie Swensen wiping his hairless head with a crumpled bandanna. Several grangers along the aisle spoke to him, but he only nodded grumpily and lumbered on to the platform. All eyes were trained on him as he stepped behind a table and rapped his knuckles on the plank top to gain their attention.
"You all know why we are here," Olie began. "We have reason to believe—no, I'll put it stronger than that. We know that we haven't been getting an honest weigh-in at the Browder granary. The question is, what are we going to do about it?"
A rumbling of sound swelled from the hall and Olie rapped violently until it subsided. Glowering, he said, "Let's have your ideas one at a time. You first, Mr. Gustafson."
An ancient stringbean stood up and spoke haltingly for several minutes on the need for doing something, but he offered no solution. Several others voiced equally fruitless opinions. The head of the Andersen clan even suggested that Browder be lynched. Danner slumped in his chair, feeling annoyance at this waste of time. He heard the morning westbound clang in from Junction City and wished he could climb aboard for the trip on west. He could almost smell the smoke and steam and creosote and felt a longing something like homesickness.
Olie shouted for order then, bringing Danner's attention back to the meeting.
"Since no one else has a solution," Olie thundered, "I'll offer one. I think we should build our own granary—a co-operative that we will own and operate, sharing the profits."
Instant approval came from the grangers, followed by another wrangle about how to best accomplish the proposal. A pair of sober questions came from a bearded patriarch who spoke without taking his curved-stem pipe from his mouth.
"How can we build even a small granary, much less one big enough to do the job, without any money? And even if we could borrow the money, how could we build it in time for this year's crop?"
Another wrangle followed, centered on the two points plus the fact that all the grangers needed ready cash now for current living expenses.
Danner began to squirm in his chair. He was about ready to slip out of the hall when McDaniel jumped up to claim the floor. Instantly all talk subsided, for McDaniel was a man widely respected despite his association with Danner.
"Now," McDaniel began, faltering self consciously, "I don't know what to do about all of this, but I think maybe my partner, Jeff Danner, might have an idea. I haven't talked to him about it, but just before the meeting started he told me he had a plan. I think we ought to listen to what he has to say."
Danner breathed a curse, wishing he had left earlier. Glancing about, he saw only suspicion and hostility.
Olie growled at him. "Well speak up, Danner. What's this big plan of yours?"
Without getting up, Danner shook his head. "Nothing."
"Huh," Olie straightened. "If you have an idea, let's hear it."
Reluctantly, Danner rose to his feet. "It would be a good thing for you men to build your own granary—but do it for next year with proceeds from this year's crop—at least, with that portion of your cash which you don't need for living expenses."
Not a sound came from the crowd. Even Olie managed to keep silent.
"As for this season," Danner continued, "you can do what you want to. Billy and I are going to ship our grain to the mill at Junction City."
This brought a response from the gathering that took Olie two minutes to quell. Danner stood quietly, unable to note any signs of approval, but not caring. He pulled the telegram from his pocket.
"Yesterday I sent a wire to the granary at Junction City. This is the answer." He held the folded paper aloft. "They'll pay us the same market price Browder offers, and pay the cost of shipping it there by railroad, so we can't lose."
"How do we know we'll get an honest weigh-in from them?" Olie challenged. Heads nodded throughout the hall. Danner felt tempted to sit down, but the challenge irritated him.