Showdown at Buffalo Jump by Gary D. Svee Page A

like the butcher knife had cut into the deer’s hind quarter before dinner. “No! You will leave when I see fit, and that will be a long time coming, longer still if you don’t shut your mouth and listen.”
    Then there was silence, both glowering at each other across the table.
    Max began in a low, very controlled voice. “I told you in my letters that I was a rancher and a coal miner. In a sense that is true. I have land and I have coal. The coal you are burning in the stove now was shoveled out of an outcropping on my land just south of here. Sometimes people take a load and give me fifty cents or a dollar. And I’ve got about thirty head of cattle scattered around the place.”
    When Catherine started to protest, Max waved her to silence. “I know! That isn’t what I told you. I told you I had a big ranch and a coal mine that was selling coal to the railroad. Well, I haven’t got that yet, but I will.”
    Max raised an eyebrow, waiting for Catherine to challenge him, but she didn’t, so he continued. “You wouldn’t have come if I had told you the truth. I wouldn’t want a wife who would have. I need a woman who aims higher than I am right now.”
    Catherine couldn’t hold the bile down anymore. “Finally you make sense. You wouldn’t want a wife who could accept you as you are. Well, I can’t. So if you will please harness the mare, you and I will be shut of one another.”
    Max retorted through gritted teeth. “You made it wonderfully clear what you think of me, but for once it is best that you bite that rattlesnake you call a tongue and listen.”
    They glared at each other, and then Max continued. “This is ‘next year’ country. Next year, there’ll be rain. Next year, we’ll have an open winter. Next year, the price of beef will be up. It’s always been like that. I came in here with one of the first Texas herds as a kid, and I know that.”
    â€œThe problem is that most folks sit around waiting for next year to make things better. I’ve been working on next year for the past twenty years.”
    â€œI was a cowhand. Most work all month for nothing more than a hangover. I figured out early on that that’s not very smart. So I’ve been putting my money away for more than twenty years—poker winnings, too. Just a little here and a little there. But I’ve got money for next year.”
    â€œWhen they opened this land up for home-steading, I said good-bye to the Bar X and rode down here and scouted out this section. It’s got water—that’s the most precious thing out here—and coal that just pokes out of the ground. Now that ain’t worth much yet, but it will be.”
    â€œI’m getting things in place for next year. I’ve got the money, and I’ve got the land. But none of that means much if you’re alone, if you haven’t got a home. So I needed you—and lumber for a picket fence and chickens. I never had a home, so maybe I’m not doing this the way I should, but I’m willing to work at it until I get it right.”
    And when Catherine said nothing, Max continued. “Ma’am, I’ve spent most of my life on this prairie. I know this land. I know it isn’t any more fit for farming than I am. If we get about four dry years in a row, this country will be nothing but dust and busted mortgages.”
    â€œI can pick up fifty, sixty sections then. It will be a while before the land heals—they’ve torn her up so. But she will heal, and then I’ll be the rancher I was telling you about in those letters.”
    â€œThose are grand plans, Mr. Bass, but when the others go broke, you will, too. You will be in the parade leaving this place. All I’m doing is beating you to it. I’ll be wanting a ride to Prairie Rose tomorrow—early.”
    â€œTwo things,” Max said, an edge creeping into his