“It’s only dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doin. I can take care of myself. Hell, there’s all kinds of folks headed to the West Coast these days, but we got a place to go and a job, guaranteed. If we lose the doggone farm, we’re goin to Oregon.”

They were out trying to dig a new culvert on a bitterly cold day in March when Calvin Cox came tromping across the frozen beet field in the company of Deputy Sheriff Dexter McGuinty. Emaline knew as soon as she saw them that it was over.

Cox was apologetic. “You’re good folks and I know you worked hard,” he said. “I’ve carried you longer than I would with most, but I’m going to have to foreclose if you can’t catch up on your mortgage payments by the first of April. If you’re still behind, everything will be sold at auction.”

Jake leaned on a fence post, looking like a boxer who is about to go down for the count. Dexter, seeing that Jake looked beaten and feeling safe behind his pistols and his badge, couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Teach you to marry a prizefighter, Em,” he said. “I don’t think Jake here was meant to farm.”

He was down and bleeding before he could say another word. Dexter staggered to his feet, fumbling for his pistols. Jake yanked them out of his hands and hurled both guns as far as he could throw them in opposite directions.

“You just assaulted an officer of the law,” Dexter screamed. “You’re goin to prison for that! Straight to prison!”

The banker turned on him. “He aint goin nowhere at all, Dexter,” he said. “You’re the one caused the problem. If you try to prosecute this man, I’ll swear you hit him first. It’s bad enough, a man losin his land, without a sonofabitch like you runnin his mouth.” Calvin turned back to Jake. “I’m real sorry about that, Jake. I tried to get Orie Bassett to come, but he was feelin poorly this morning. His gallbladder. Luella said I ought to bring anybody but Dexter, but Syl Whiting was takin a prisoner to Lincoln and there wasn’t nobody else.”

Jake nodded. “Just don’t let that sawed-off bastard out here again. Next time, I’ll kill him.”

It took Dexter ten minutes to find his pistols and clear out. He tried to swagger as he got back into his squad car, but he couldn’t pull it off with blood pouring down his shirt.

Orie Bassett came out three days later to have a little talk with Jake about how it wasn’t smart to knock down a deputy sheriff, even if it was a cocky little pissant like Dexter. Jake was still fuming. Orie was lucky to get back into town himself without a broken nose.