Huidekoper was reminded just then of an afternoon several years ago in the coal hills of Pennsylvania: youths on wagons bounding furiously across the bright green meadow in a Mardi Gras buckboard race. Huidekoper had been in the crowd, shouting with the rest of them, urging his friend on. There had been great laughter and exultation and then a sudden pall when one of the wagons had flipped at full gallop and slammed its driver hard against the ground. What Huidekoper recalled now was the way the laughter had been cut in two as if by the blade of a falling axe; and the way none of them had quite been the same ever after, once they learned the seventeen-year-old driver had been crushed to death in the accident before their eyes.

Roosevelt was like that now—not merely subdued but a different young man altogether from the exuberant chatterer of last summer.

He’s got to be handled with caution, Huidekoper thought, or he’ll holt like a fawn.

Johnny Goodall was gazing over the others’ heads at Roosevelt with a hard challenge in his stare; then he turned his back and said in a mild drawl to Huidekoper, “Appears to me this beef bonanza belongs to dudes who invest from back East and never get to know the business from the back of a cow horse. I expect they stand to lose their millions.”

“That particular dude may take you by surprise,” said Huidekoper.

“We’ll see—we’ll see.” Johnny, after all, was in a short temper tonight.

Huidekoper said, “A year ago you’d have numbered me among those dudes investing from back East.” Out here everyone was an immigrant. Those who had been here more than six months counted themselves natives.

Johnny Goodall said, “You’re different, Mr. Huidekoper. You’re a horseman.”

It took Huidekoper by surprise: it was a considerable compliment to an Easterner from a Texan.

“Hell,” Johnny Goodall said obscurely, “nothing’s like it was.” And moved away.

Mystified, Huidekoper watched him go. At the door Johnny Goodall stopped and looked at every face. Then he made a deliberate pivot and strode out.

As if a hangman had departed, the noise of voices in the room climbed quickly; Huidekoper heard barks of nervous laughter and loud talk that was too hearty.

It meant things really were reaching an impossible pitch.

It wasn’t Johnny Goodall, really. It was what Johnny represented. The damnable Frenchman.

We’ve got to bring Roosevelt into this.

Having located his prey he waited his opportunity with the patience of a stalker; it did not arrive until after supper—near sunset when half the guests had departed; finally he seized his chance when he saw Roosevelt slip out the side door. Huidekoper followed shortly thereafter and lurked discreetly by a corner of the horse barn. Westward the clouds appeared to reflect some violent conflagration taking place just beneath the horizon. When he heard the crunch of Roosevelt’s approaching boots from the direction of the outhouse he turned the corner, hands in pockets, head thrown back—a casual stroller out for a breath of fresh air. “A fine evening.”

“Very pleasant,” Roosevelt agreed.

Huidekoper said, “I wonder if I might have a word. A matter of cattle business,” he added quickly.

It slowed the New Yorker’s pace and, in the end, brought him to a halt. His shoulders dropped a fraction in relief; there was gratitude, of a sort, in his face when he turned, for Huidekoper had not reopened the wound by attempting to apologize for his earlier gaffe.

“I’m at your disposal,” Roosevelt said with reluctant courtesy.

It pleased Huidekoper to approach it delicately, obliquely. “My ancestors came from Amsterdam. I suppose that gives you and me something in common. My family owns estates in Pennsylvania and New York.”

“Yes, I know that, Mr. Huidekoper.”

“You’ve an investment of some substance—eighty horses, isn’t it, and something like four hundred fifty head of cattle under the Maltese Cross brand?”

Roosevelt eyed him with quick darting probes. “That’s so. What the locals insist upon calling the Maltee Cross.”

“They reason if it’s only a single cross it oughtn’t to have a plural name.” Huidekoper ventured a smile.

Roosevelt said, “You’ve been making inquiries about my investments?”

“Only to the extent that I’ve made it my business to identify all the stock owners in the district, and their relative holdings. Not prying, I assure you. We’re facing what, not to put too fine a point on it, one might elect to describe as difficulties. We’d be obliged to have your assistance.”

Roosevelt watched him, blinking rapidly, waiting to hear what he had to say. A year ago, Huidekoper thought, he would have jumped right into the opening with both feet. But now—Roosevelt’s attention hardly seemed to have been stirred at all.

Huidekoper said, “Within reason this is good country for grazing. But it may be a mistake to listen to fools who go around boasting that if it was good enough for millions of buffalo then it must be equally well suited for beef cattle.”

“Is that so.” It was polite; not really interested. Roosevelt’s eyes wandered.

Huidekoper said, “The buffalo had vast prairies to roam—tens of millions of acres. They kept moving, don’t you see. The grass replenished itself behind them. You don’t have the same qualities with a sedentary herd of beef cattle.”

“If you’re trying to discourage me—”

“Not at all. We welcome your participation; in fact I for one am eager to have you among us, because I think you bring with you a sorely needed sense of justice along with a practical understanding of how things work. We desperately need your kind of leadership. But I think it’s important you be acquainted with the realities here. Please hear me out. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency.

He could see that Roosevelt wanted to turn his back; he wanted to be left alone. Huidekoper saw the desire plainly in Roosevelt’s twitching face—and prayed the politician’s fatal curiosity in him would hold him in his tracks.

Roosevelt watched him—and finally said, “Go on, then.”

“Thank you.” Huidekoper made a vague gesture with his hand, suggesting they walk; Roosevelt acknowledged it with the barest nod and they began to stroll up the slope, the better to view the sunset.

Huidekoper said, “Stock-raising country needs three things. Good nutritious grasses, clean drinking water and natural shelter against the weather. We’ve got all three in abundance in the Bad Lands.”

They passed the corner of the corral fence and continued up the pasture. Huidekoper peeled one eye for droppings, out of concern for his freshly cleaned boots. “We graze our stock on open range—the public lands. Here in Billings County we’ve got three million acres of free range within our round-up district—surely an ample supply of land, one might think. In labor and goods it costs a sensible ranchman about a dollar a year to raise each head of cattle, so a four-year-old steer ready for market and raised from a calf should cost around four dollars. It can be sold in today’s market for twenty dollars. From these kinds of facts a large and growing number of investors have calculated their potential profits. Yourself among them, perhaps.”

Roosevelt rapidly squinted his large blue eyes. His facial contortions were quick and strenuous. “If you’re seeking capital investment—”

“I’m not, Mr. Roosevelt. Please hear me out. The matter is one of considerable menace.”

“Menace?”

“There are those—enthusiastic ones—who refuse to believe this country has limitations. They keep pouring in with their cattle. They don’t see how easily the Bad Lands can be overgrazed. For myself I’ve concluded that horses are best able to adapt themselves to the prevailing natural conditions—but that’s by the way. Have you ever heard of Valentine Scrip?”

“I heard the term this afternoon for the first time. I don’t command its meaning.”