"I know that one boxcar holds exactly 116,000 pounds of wheat. It doesn't take much intelligence to multiply that figure by the number of boxcars used. You could assure yourselves of the same thing by sending a few telegrams to granary operators in various cities, or asking any railroader."
A few heads nodded agreement now, but many others seemed to be holding back judgment. If anyone else had suggested it, they would be jumping at the idea, Danner thought. He started to sit down and another question reached him, this time from the old stringbean, Gustafson.
"How could we keep each man's wheat separate if we sent it in boxcar lots?"
Danner grinned faintly. "You can weigh each wagonload on the railroad scales before you put it in the cars. This would not only show what each man had coming to him, but all the individual weights could be totaled and checked against the number-of-cars estimate and the weigh-in at Junction City. That would be a three-way check."
"I don't know," growled Olie. "It sounds all-fired simple." And he lowered his head in thought. The rest of the grangers seemed to be waiting for his decision. Finally, he looked at Danner narrowly.
"I thought you had a falling out with the railroad. How come you to be drumming up business for them?" Suspicion gleamed in his eyes, a feeling mirrored on the faces of many others about the room.
Danner felt the weight of the silent stares aimed at him.
"In the first place," he said, "I've only been telling you what Billy and I intend to do with our crop. You do what suits you best. In the second place, my dispute with the new railroad man was a personal matter just between the two of us. I'm not going to allow it to keep me from making money for myself. If the railroad makes a little profit also, and from the Junction City granary instead of me, that's agreeable with me."
Abruptly, he whirled and tramped out of the hall. A rumble of sound followed him into the hotel lobby and he didn't get completely away from it until he reached the board sidewalk.
In the Silver Dollar Saloon, Danner elbowed his way roughly to the bar and ordered a cold beer. He drank the beer, then cruised the main street, looking for Lona. Apparently she was visiting at someone's home, probably the Ralstons'. He turned in at the walk leading to the courthouse and was halfway through a Casino game with the sheriff when McDaniel lunged in the door.
"They postponed a decision until three o'clock this afternoon," McDaniel burst out. "But they were mighty impressed with your plan."
"And suspicious," Danner replied.
"What are you talking about?" Brant wanted to know.
Danner explained and Brant fell in with McDaniel's show of enthusiasm. But by now Danner had lost interest—and irritation—in the matter. When lunch was brought in for two prisoners cooling off in the drunk tank, Danner ordered a sack of sandwiches and they continued the Casino game into the afternoon.
Little by little, Danner learned from Brant the details of the three warehouse robberies that had occurred since his departure from the railroad payroll—one in Richfield and two in Junction City. Each had occurred only hours after the arrival of valuable freight, indicating that the thieves had inside information on rail shipments. And the express-car robbery had occurred less than half an hour after the train pulled out of Junction City with the only money shipment in three weeks. Danner could easily see why suspicion was aimed at him. Garr Green seemed to be making full use of his new job as special agent. Four men had robbed the express-car, Brant said. Danner figured the quartet included Green, Tuso, and a pair of hardcases who had been hanging around with Tuso lately. Ears Dooley was still laid up with the shoulder wound Danner had given him.
Danner played his hand absently, considering the information. The money shipment might draw Browder's interest, but the warehouse robberies probably had been carried out independently of his guidance. But none of this was his affair, Danner reminded himself, and he forced his mind to concentrate on the card game. At a quarter to three McDaniel wanted to return to the second meeting of the grangers.
"You go ahead," Danner urged. "I'm going to get a shave, then try to find Lona."
"This was your idea, Jeff. You should—"
"Bringing them into it was your idea," Danner corrected him.
"Now, don't get mad, Jeff. I—"
Danner shrugged. "No anger, Billy. I just don't care what they decide. Now, you run along and I'll see you after the meeting."
The hurt look in the big eyes of McDaniel brought a fleeting regret to Banner, but he said nothing. McDaniel left and Banner nodded to Brant and drifted over to the barbershop. By the time he returned to the street, McDaniel caught up with him.
"They voted to go along with your idea," McDaniel announced. "Once Olie said it was the best plan, the rest fell right in with it. This is going to win you a lot of friends and a lot of respect around here, Jeff. Folks will remember it for a long time. You'll see."
"What will they—and Olie—think if Browder destroys a few of the grain wagons before they can get to Richfield?"
Consternation washed across McDaniel's face and he paled. Huskily he said, "Will they try it —could they possibly—"
"We'll soon know."
"No one even thought of something like that happening." McDaniel's brow wrinkled in thought. "Isn't there something we can do to prevent it?"
"That depends on how much backbone they've got," Danner said. "One thing is certain. Browder isn't going to let his private domain fall apart without a fight."
CHAPTER NINE
Danner nailed the last of the sheet metal to the beams across the top of the barn, then paused to wipe the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his damp shirt. He peered over the front edge and found McDaniel about finished with the painting. The sun's reflection on the roof seared his eyes. Squinting against the glare, he turned and started sliding down the slanted sheet metal toward the ladder. The hot metal burned his rump and hands. When he reached the ladder he detected movement far to the south, and he scanned the flat country. Bundles of wheat dotted the fields, drying in the sun, awaiting the thrasher due next week. He spotted a buckboard moving slowly toward him and he perched on top of the ladder, watching.
Finally he could make out a graceful feminine form on the left side of the buckboard seat and a squat masculine figure on the right side handling no the reins. That combination couldn't be anyone but Lona and her pa. But the Swensen place lay to the north, not the south.
Puzzled, Danner descended the ladder and moved over to the water well. This was Tuesday— no, Wednesday—a workday. Olie wasn't one to waste a workday bouncing around the hot and dusty plains in a buckboard without a mighty good reason.
Drawing a fresh bucket of water, Danner drank deeply, then dipped his hands into the bucket and splashed the cool water on his face. By the time he finished drying himself on his shirttail and moved up to the house, the Swensens had drawn up in the yard.
Danner nodded to both, the reserved woman to whom he was betrothed and her ill-tempered parent who made no secret of his dislike of Danner as a son-in-law. Even though she had been traveling for hours, Lona appeared reasonably fresh and poised.
"Come in out of the sun," Danner invited.
"We're in a hurry to get home," Olie returned gruffly. "Lost most of the day already, chasing all over the territory. Need to get home to the chores."
Lona favored Danner with the briefest of smiles and Danner moved closer to the buckboard. She wouldn't have been able to talk Olie into corning by here if there wasn't something on his mind, Danner thought. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes and waited.