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“I see,” Logan said. “So if you owned that land, would you dig more wells?”
“No. But a well on that property could pull water from the one on my land. What I want is to keep any more wells from being dug. I need all the water from that aquifer on my ranch.”
“Does Lars Anderson know about the aquifer?”
“No. But he could sell the land to somebody smart enough to figure out that it’s there—somebody like his son-in-law, Blake Dollarhide, who’d put down a well and maybe poison it just to spite me.”
“I get the picture.” Logan did, and he didn’t much like it. “But while we’re on the subject of land, I’d like to know more about that ranch property you picked for me to buy.”
“That can wait till tomorrow. When it’s light, we can ride out and see the place. You’ll like it, I promise. If not, you can choose something else. But for now, I’d like you to think about a favor you could do for me.”
“Name it,” Logan said. “I certainly owe you a favor for your help and hospitality.”
“Just this. Lars Anderson would never sell that parcel to me. But as a man he trusts—his son’s commander who was kind enough to bring him the boy’s last letter—I’ll bet you could sweet-talk Lars into selling the land toyou.”
* * *
After dinner was over and the children were getting ready for bed, Kristin walked out onto the broad covered porch of the Dollarhide family home. With her hand on the log railing, she watched the risen moon cast cloud shadows over the landscape below. The fields and pastures were dark, but here and there, dots of light glimmered like distant stars. To the north, the town of Blue Moon glowed like a faint beacon in the night.
Joe Dollarhide, her father, had built this sprawling log house on the crest of a high bluff to command a view of the prairie with its meadows, pastures, and farms. Kristin had always loved this place. But some things had changed in her absence. Joe was gone now, and his wife, Sarah, with him. Both had been lost in the past year to the ravages of Spanish flu, which Sarah had brought home after going out to deliver a baby.
Kristin mourned her parents, whose deaths had left a hole in her heart. But at least her brother and his young family had been spared. Blake, his wife, Hanna, and their three children were all in good health. And Blake now helmed a family empire that included land, horses, cattle, and a lumber mill.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Blake came out to stand beside her. “Are you cold?” he asked. “I can bring you a shawl.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s good to be home. But I’d forgotten how quiet it is here. After the war and the chaos of the hospital, the stillness seems almost unreal.”
“You’ll get used to it. Maybe the peace and quiet will help you forget what you’ve seen and heard for the past two years.”
The words were well meant. But Kristin would never forget the horror and the misery, shells exploding in the trenches, shattered limbs that had to be sawed off, men dying in her arms. And the gas attacks—men screaming when they couldn’t get their masks on or hadn’t been issued any.
“Was it hard being a woman doctor among all those men?”
“I was a doctor. Under those conditions, my being a woman didn’t matter. And there were nurses with me—the bravest young women I ever knew. They had no protection. When the shells hit a hospital tent or an ambulance, they died along with the men.”
Blake took a long, deep breath. He stood silent for a moment, as if trying to imagine the unimaginable. “Will you be all right?” he asked.
“In time. I’ll have to be, won’t I?” She forced a smile, then leaned forward, resting her forearms on the rail. “I rode into town today and checked on possible places to set up my practice. I’ll make a final choice in the next few days. Then, as soon as that crate of supplies I ordered arrives in Miles City on the train, I’ll be open for business.”
“So soon? Are you sure you’re ready?”
“To treat fevers and sprains and deliver babies? I’m more than ready.” She sighed, inhaling the fresh, clean mountain air and the smell of awakening grass. “I rode out to the old Anderson place to visit Alvar’s grave. The family was gone, of course—Hanna told me they’d moved into town. But a man showed up while I was there. A stranger. He struck me as someone you’ll want to watch.”
She told him about meeting Logan Hunter at Alvar’s grave, the letter and his story of being Axel Anderson’s commanding officer, and the revelation that he was a blood relative of Webb Calder.
“Did you believe him?” Blake asked.
“I saw no reason not to. He looks enough like Webb to be related. And he got angry when I implied that he might be lying. He said he was looking to buy some property and even joked that we might become neighbors. I hope that doesn’t mean trouble.”
“What it means, I think, is that Webb Calder has brought in reinforcements. With most of the drylanders gone and so many people lost in the war and to the flu, there’ll be plenty of land to choose from. If I know Webb, he’ll encourage this relative of his to settle someplace that will give him an advantage over me.” Blake fell silent, as if he might know more than he was telling her.
“When do you plan to start up the lumber mill again?” she asked.
“As soon as my order for the first wagonload of logs comes in. With veterans returning home, starting new families, there’ll be a need for new homes and businesses. And I shouldn’t have any trouble hiring a crew. Robertson, my best sawyer, said he’d welcome the work. He can train the rest.”
The lumber mill had been idle for two years, with no logs available because the lumberjacks in the Northwest were off fighting. Now everything was about to change. During the war, the chief source of income for the Dollarhides had been selling horses and beef cattle to the army. Now, with the lumber mill starting up again, they were poised to take advantage of the building boom that was bound to come. Blake had planned well. The Dollarhide fortune was in capable hands.
“You have a beautiful family,” Kristin said, changing the subject. “Your little girls are as pretty as their mother, and so smart. And Joseph—he’s getting tall. I have to remind myself not to call him Little Joe anymore.”
