"Why?"
"Creek crossing washed out."
His horse shifted beneath him. "We can't hold them on that trail in this weather."
"How many men?"
"Forty-seven out there. More coming from Sloan's side."
Rachel looked toward the cookhouse, then back at him. "How long?"
Matthew's jaw tightened. "Could be all day."
The wind snapped his coat against his leg. "Maybe longer."
He rode out. By eight, the first cattle began returning. They came over the ridge in dark, restless lines, wet hides shining beneath the gray sky.
Riders moved along both sides, shouting through the wind, keeping the herd from scattering toward the river. The yard filled with noise. Horses. Cattle.
Men calling. Rain hammering on tin roofs. Eli came in again.
"We've got 50 men now."
Rachel was already counting sacks. Cornmeal. Beans. Potatoes.
Dried apples. Salt pork. Beef. Not enough wheat to matter.
Rebecca Sloan arrived just before nine in a wagon with Andrew. Both were soaked. Rebecca stepped down, holding her skirts above the mud.
"I heard the trail washed."
Rachel nodded.
"How bad?"
"Bad enough."
Rebecca looked toward the pantry. "What do you need?"
Rachel opened the lower door. "Everything we've got."
By ten, the cookhouse could no longer hold the work. Rachel sent Charlie and two other hands behind the building to clear the fire trenches. Eli stretched canvas between posts to make a rough shelter.
Dutch ovens came down from storage. Skillets appeared from the bunkhouse, ranch house, and Rebecca's wagon. Someone brought a wash boiler. Someone else dragged over a crate of firewood.
Rain hissed against the hot iron. Rachel moved through it all with her sleeves rolled high and her hair coming loose.
"More coals under that one. Not there, Charlie. You'll scorch it."
"Rebecca, how many beans left?"
"Three full pots."
"Good. Thin the second with broth."
A rider stumbled in near noon, soaked through and shaking. Rachel put a tin plate in his hands. Cornbread. Beef stew.
Hot coffee. He stared at it.
"Where'd this come from?"
"Eat."
He did. Then went back out. That became the rhythm.
Men came in mud-streaked and exhausted. They ate standing. Sat for ten minutes. Went back to the herd.
No one had to ride into town. No one left looking for a meal. The ranch kept moving. Around three in the afternoon, a freight wagon appeared on the south road.
For one hopeful second, Rachel thought the missing flour had finally come. Then she saw the driver. One of Langley's men. He stopped near the gate and shouted toward Eli.
"Mr. Langley heard Holloway's got trouble."