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As Virgil pushed his cart past Mac, he looked into it. The mineral had joined fence staples and sheep drench.

“You run sheep full-time?” Mac asked.

Virgil stopped again. “Full-time and then some.” He narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t seen you around before. People like you come out here, see horses running across the ridge, say ‘Oh, aren’t they pretty? They need saving from the ranchers,’ and think that’s the whole story. They don’t see what happens when there isn’t enough forage. Or what water costs to be trucked in.”

Mac gave him a disarming smile. “I know what heat and drought can do. I grew up with cattle myself.”

Virgil’s hardened expression softened a little.

“Yeah, where?”

“Alberta.”

Virgil looked him over again, this time with more interest. “Then you know what a dry year does.”

“I do.”

“And this is the third in a row here.”

Mac nodded.

“Land has limits to what it can support.” Virgil’s gaze sharpened, as if he expected an argument.

“It does.”

Virgil looked surprised when Mac didn’t give him pushback.

But Mac had grown up watching his father do that arithmetic at the kitchen table. How long the pasture would hold. How to rotate the cattle before the ground was ruined.

He remembered the horses at dawn the day before. They weren’t native, no, but they’d been here long before the sheep and cattle ranchers. The equation needed to include them, too.

Behind him, Hank hadn’t said a word. Mac wondered if it was because he disagreed, or because he didn’t.

“You done trying to recruit him?” Hank finally asked.

Virgil’s mouth twisted. “Just making sure somebody in your group understands the other side.”

“They understand it fine.”

“Could’ve fooled me at the meeting.”

Mac watched the two men square off for half a second, old irritation rising easily between them.

Then Hank lifted the latch packet an inch off the cart. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

Virgil grunted. “You’re welcome.” He nodded to Mac and pushed his cart the rest of the way down the aisle.

And apparently, that was as close to peace as either man intended to get.

By late afternoon, Mac had the Ram loaded and pointed toward the motel. They’d stay one more night then head home first thing in the morning. Jodie stood beside the passenger door, looking back toward Hank’s barn for what had to be the fourth time.

“The dog didn’t come back, did he?” Mac asked.

“No.” She frowned. “I know Hank’s seen him around, but he’s so thin.”

“Hank said he’d start leaving food and water out.”

“I know.” Which clearly did not mean she was going to stop worrying.