Pete sat down and Emma served him. Joe ate without speaking, and he
watched Pete devour his breakfast listlessly. Beef in St. Louis brought
fantastic prices, and probably in eastern cities it brought prices even
more fabulous. Joe didn't know. He did know that the man who raised that
beef on the hoof, and who was the primary provider of the markets,
didn't get the most money. Pete, with seven young ones of his own,
worked hard. Often he worked much for very little return.
Besides, Pete had ridden all night to find his missing cattle. Finally
realizing the truth, he must have looked for them at other farms before
he came to see Joe. No man could possibly ask more than that from any
other man, and who knew what a fool steer would decide to do? The most a
person looking for cattle in the black of night could do was guess, and
if the guess went wrong, what then? Pete Domley hadn't eaten or trampled
Joe's oats, corn, and vegetables. Pete's cattle had. There was, Joe
felt, no more sense in crucifying Pete than there had been in nailing
Christ to the Cross. Pete finished his breakfast, and after a moment's
silence he said,
"Who'll I pay, Joe? You or Elias?"
"Neither, Pete."