Page 74 of In These Hills

Grateful to hear she’d be paid today, Josephine watched as Mr. Daniel counted out a generous stack of bills.

“Here you go, Ballard. And thank you for coming down so quick. I know that’s a haul from up in the hills.”

“Railroad still ignoring your ask for a closer stop, Uncle Jack?” Mr. Preston asked.

“They are. Dodge and I keep proposing new track closer to town, and to Fayetteville, but they refuse. So for now, we’ll keep you busy breeding and breaking those Jacks and Jennys.”

“Fine by me, sir.” A bona fide smile finally crossed Mr. Preston’s face.

Mr. Daniel clapped his shoulder. “And don’t go letting George Dickel, Wooten, Nutt and Renegar, or Brinkley and Patterson—any of those other distilleries—pick you off. You’re the best around, and we aim to keep you. Busy and well paid.”

They shook again—less like a farewell than a contract.

“Hold up there, Ballard.” Mr. Daniel reached into his pocket and crouched to Agnes’s height. “You help your papa get those mules to town?”

“Sure did, Uncle Jack. I mucked the stalls and helped with all the feeding, too. Raisin’ mules for Jack Daniel is an honor for us Prestons.”

The girl recited it with practiced pride, as though she’d heard it said a hundred times.

Mr. Daniel pressed a coin into her hand. “This here’s for you and you alone. Go to the mercantile and get you some candy. And eat it before you get home so those brothers of yours don’t gobble it up!”

Agnes beamed. “Thank you, sir. But . . . might it be agreeable if I spent it on a story instead? If I find one to my liking?”

“Darlin’, you earned this money. It’s yours to spend as you please. With your papa’s say, of course.”

Mr. Preston’s hand settled on her slender shoulder. “Books are better than candy any day. But who knows—” Pride filled his gaze. “Maybe we can get both.”

As father and daughter walked away—Agnes hustling to match his stride—Josephine caught a glimmer of emotion on Mr. Daniel’s face. Whatever else he was, he cared about people. He had a gift for finding common ground, too. A trait he and Miss Mary shared.

“Uncle Jack, I need a word.” Mr. Coburn closed the door, direness in his voice.

“The cattle?” Mr. Daniel asked.

He nodded, then hesitated, glancing at Josephine.

“Go on,” Mr. Daniel urged. “Mrs. Dunham’s made of tougher stuff.”

“We lost another twenty-four since yesterday afternoon. Same symptoms, all of them.”

Mr. Daniel’s features tightened. Josephine’s did, too. When Texas fever was mentioned the other day, she hadn’t understood how serious it was.

“How many are we down since this started?”

Mr. Coburn exhaled. “Fifty-one. Most of them the steers meant for market.”

“Don’t let them suffer, Dodge. You know how I feel about that.”

“I feel the same, sir. And I’m not.” A heaviness settled in the lines around Dodge Coburn’s eyes. “I’m doing it quick and clean, like you taught me. Doc sent another telegram from Tullahoma, trying to hurry Washington along.”

“Washington moves slow, Dodge.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m sorry, Uncle Jack. We’ve done all we know to do.”

“No need to be sorry to me, son.” Mr. Daniel ran a hand through his thinning hair. “You’ve always treated my cattle like your own, and I won’t forget it. I’d head to DC myself and raise a ruckus if it would help.”

“I doubt it would. Doc thinks we’ll hear back soon.”

“Still no spread to people?” Mr. Daniel asked.