Free A Lone Star Christmas by William W. Johnstone

stood him well with the other cowboys. One would think he had been born and raised on a ranch, but nothing could be further from the truth. His parents had come to Texas even before it was a state, believing it would offer great opportunities for the ambitious and industrious. His father opened a store in Marshall, and though he never realized his goal of being a wealthy merchant, he was able to make a decent living.
    Clay had gone to work for his father when he was ten years old, working after school and in the summers. Clay had nothing but respect for his father, but he knew, early in his life, that he had no desire to ever work in a store. When he was sixteen he signed on with a cattle company taking a herd to market in Dodge City. From that day forward he was hooked, and he laid his future out. He wanted to be a cowboy, then trail boss, then the foreman of a great ranch. He had achieved that and was perfectly happy with his life.
    He was also happily married, though there were many who had told him that being married wasn’t that good of an idea for a cowboy.
    â€œFour dollars and seventy cents a head? Are you sure?” Big Ben said, responding to what Clay had just told him.
    â€œYes, sir, that was the quote they gave me when I went to Fort Worth this morning,” Clay replied.
    â€œThat’s only a dollar a head more than it costs me to raise them,” Big Ben said. “And figuring seventy-five cents a head to drive them up to Dodge City, that means I’d be making a profit of twenty-five cents a head.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Clay said. “Well, the plain truth is, Mr. Conyers, folks just don’t want Longhorn beef anymore.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Longhorn beef? I’ve been eating it for fifty years.”
    â€œThey say it’s tough and stringy.”
    â€œIt’s always been tough and stringy,” Big Ben countered.
    â€œHereford beef isn’t tough or stringy,” Clay said.
    â€œYeah, I know,” Big Ben said. “Just as a matter of curiosity, what are Herefords bringing?”
    â€œTwelve dollars a head.”
    â€œWalter Hannah is running Herefords and has been for the last five years,” Big Ben said. “He tried to get me to switch over when he did, but I didn’t listen to him. If I were to switch now, it would be the same as admitting that he was right and I was wrong. And if I know Walter, that is something he would never let me live down.”
    â€œIt isn’t my place to say, Mr. Conyers,” Clay said. “But is hanging on to your pride worth twenty-five cents a head?”
    â€œYou have a point,” Big Ben said. “But right now I have to decide what to do about the five thousand head of Longhorn I have. It is barely worth mounting a drive to take them to market, but I don’t see as I have any alternative.”
    â€œWould you like a suggestion?”
    â€œYes, by all means.”
    â€œI know that Mr. Hurley at the Union Stockyard in Fort Worth is looking to buy cattle.”
    â€œYes, but I understand he is paying a dollar less than they are paying at Kansas City,” Big Ben said.
    â€œBut consider this,” Clay said. “You won’t have the expense of driving the herd to Dodge City, and the rail cost of taking them to Kansas City. And, you won’t have the risk of losing any of your cattle.”
    Big Ben stroked his chin. “You may have a point,” he said. “I won’t make any money, but I won’t lose any, either. And if I get rid of this herd, that will leave me the freedom to decide what I need to do next. All right, Clay, I’ll ride into town tomorrow and meet with Mr. Hurley. If we can come to some sort of an arrangement, we’ll deliver the herd to him at the stockyards.”
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    For the drovers heading Longhorn cattle up the Chisholm Trail to the railheads, Fort Worth was the last major stop for rest and supplies. Beyond Fort Worth they