* * *
As the rainless days grew hotter, the grass yellowed and crackled underfoot. Windblown dust rose from the fallow pastures, creating a gritty haze that stuck to people’s teeth. Here and there, grass fires sprang up—easily put out but frightening reminders of what could happen if the right conditions came together.
Around the dinner tables there was talk of selling off cattle early to save precious feed and water. The creeks that had been filled to overflowing in the spring ran low and sluggish, trapping trout in rocky pools, where they were scooped up and eaten by hungry families. On the ranches, tensions rose over water rights.
The creek that crossed Logan’s property was getting dangerously low. But the well was still good. Because he had only a small number of steers, he was able to let most of the water flow downstream to the Dollarhides, who needed it more. This had infuriated Webb, who’d been urging him to build a reservoir and divert water into it.
“So when the Dollarhides run out, and their cattle start dying, they’ll be over here with dynamite, just like before,” Logan had responded. “I fought my war in Europe, Webb. I’ll be damned if I’m going to fight another one here.”
“Then you don’t know how things work here in Montana,” Webb had grumbled before walking away. “If you want to survive, you have to fight for what’s rightfully yours, not give it away. I’d hoped that I could teach you a thing or two, but it appears that you’ll have to learn the hard way.”
Logan hadn’t seen his cousin since that conversation. But even at a distance, the tension between the two men was palpable. There were no more invitations to supper, no more visits, no more exchanges about Webb’s woman troubles—and no word from Kristin.
The nights had been quiet as well, with no more passing trucks on the road. Logan had alerted the sheriff to what he’d heard, but nothing had come of it. After this much time, he’d begun to wonder if the engine sound had even been real.
At least the barn was coming along. The sides were covered with sturdy boards, and the tarpaper-covered roof was more than half shingled. When it was done, the framing for the stable extension, with twelve box stalls and a tack room going off the west side, would begin. Next spring, as soon as the weather warmed, Logan was planning to bring in his first young quarter horses for breaking and training. Some he would sell to the ranches. The best he would keep for breeding.
It was the first week in July when Pete mentioned the Blue Moon Independence Day celebration. “Are you going?” the freckle-faced young man asked Logan. “It’s this Saturday. Food, fun, dancing—it’s the best thing that happens all year.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Logan passed a bundle of pine shingles up the ladder to where Pete was working his way along the roof’s edge.
“The celebration started twelve years ago—or was it thirteen?” Pete spoke between hammer blows. “The immigrant farmers and their families put on the first one, with a picnic, games, and a dance. They invited the whole town. It was such a success that after the drylanders moved on, the town took it over. Blue Moon’s not as big as it used to be, but this Saturday they’ll have people coming from all around. They’ve even hired a band from Miles City.”
“I take it you’re going,” Logan said.
Pete grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it, ’specially the dance. My girl’s going with me. We’ll be dancing till the band packs up to go home.” He glanced down at Logan, who was moving the ladder to bring up more shingles. “You should go. The war’s left some good-looking widows in town. A couple of them have already asked me about you.”
“I can’t say I’m much of a dancer with this leg.” Logan carried another bundle of shingles up to the roof.
“You wouldn’t have to dance. Just smile at them. You’d have those ladies bringing you pot roast, home-baked bread, and apple pie every day of the week.”
Logan shook his head. There was only one woman he cared about. Would Kristin be at the celebration? Would she be with Webb? All the more reason to stay away, he thought. Seeing her in another man’s arms at the dance would be torture.
“Aw, come on,” Pete teased. “You’re turning into a hermit out here. It wouldn’t hurt for you to make some new friends in town. Besides, think about the food. The best of Blue Moon kitchens. Hey, the war’s over. Live a little!”
“I’ll think about it. No promises.”
Pete hammered down another shingle. “At least buy a ticket. The money’s going toward a new schoolhouse that the townfolks want to build.”
“I can go along with that. Bring me a ticket tomorrow and I’ll pay you. Whether I use it will be up to me.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Pete grinned. “You can only buy tickets in town, on Saturday. Now that you’ve promised to buy one, you’ll have to go.”
“I guess maybe I will.” Logan felt a gust of wind on his perspiring face. Looking west, beyond the barn, he could see a cloud of brown dust sweeping across the pastures in its path toward them.
“Time to get down,” he told Pete. “Take any loose shingles with you, and let’s hope the others are nailed down tight. You can put the horses in the barn and ride it out in the house or head on home. Work’s over for the day.”
Pete had seen the dust. “I’m right behind you. Doesn’t look like a big storm, but it could be a nasty one.” He called out a warning to Lars and Angus, who were laying the first section of floor in the stable.
“I’m heading for home.” Angus swung onto his horse. “I need to make sure the wife and kids are safe.”
Logan watched him ride away. In the pasture, the steers had huddled close together and bedded down, the way a herd did on the trail. That morning Logan had counted them. There were forty-nine, not fifty. He remembered Webb’s warning, but he didn’t want to believe Angus would steal from him. After the dust storm, he would check the fence for breaks and give the missing animal until tomorrow to show up.
Lars was moving the horses into the barn. Pete was taking down the ladder and gathering up anything that could blow away. Logan thought briefly of Kristin, hoping she wasn’t caught in the open somewhere. She was a strong woman and knew how to take care of herself. Still, it was frustrating to imagine that she could be in danger when he was unable to help.
He scanned the yard for anything that might have been left outside. Then, with dust blowing around him, he hurried to close the windows and secure the house.
* * *
Mason checked the stacked boxes in the barn to make sure they were concealed with canvas and hay. For the hired help on the ranch, he’d concocted a story about setting up a mail-order business to sell pest extermination supplies, with stock that included some dangerous poisons. The uneducated cowhands had actually bought the story, along with the admonition that they weren’t to go near the barn. Still, Mason knew he couldn’t be too careful.
After bolting the barn doors from the inside, he left by a side door, locked it, and headed for the house. Dust storms always made his mother nervous. She would have already brought the dogs inside—the filthy, drooling beasts. He would find them crouched like stone lions on either side of the chair he called her throne.