Jivan opened his mouth to speak, but Karak thrust himself in front of Roubillard, looking down into his face. “You not the only man in a hurry, Roubillard.”

“Move your wagons over, I need to get through,” Roubillard said, without stepping back, so that he and Karak stood only inches apart.

Smiley stuttered. “Maurice—”

Roubillard turned to him. “You go against me, Jake, I swear I’ll head straight to Jim Hubbard’s operation and I’ll take half that lot with me.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated the line behind him. “I already talked to them. They know what’s at stake here. They all want through right now.”

Jake Smiley’s eyes followed the long line of cotton-filled wagons. Ram could see that he was a mild man. His jaw clenched when his eyes met Maurice Roubillard’s, but he didn’t argue.

“You men please step aside,” Smiley said, without looking at Jivan. “We’ll get you as soon as this lot is through.”

“Jake,” Jivan said. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Later Jivan would tell Ram that during the flood, they had worked together to move Eggenberger’s cattle away from the speeding water. That was how they had met.

“Take the mules to the side, Amarjeet,” Jivan said.

“What is this, bhai-ji?” Karak said in Punjabi.

“Let it be—” Jivan said.

“What?” Karak spat again, as if he could not comprehend.

“Listen to what I say. I have a reason,” Jivan said.

Karak grimaced in disgust.

Smiley returned to his shed. Amarjeet sprang to the driver’s seat of their first wagon and directed it to the side. Ram followed with the second. Roubillard moved his wagon to the ginning shed. Smiley’s son directed Roubillard to pull up closer. When Roubillard jumped down from the wagon, he slapped him on the back and chuckled. “That’s more like it, my boy!” Smiley’s son did not respond.

Jivan looked out at the line, at the eight Hutchins Ranch wagons that followed. Ram knew what he was thinking. If Smiley did not allow them in after Roubillard’s load, the humiliation would be too great. He turned to Ram, avoiding Karak’s gaze. “Let’s return home,” he said.

The Singhs’ wagons were moving up the dirt path when Smiley’s younger boy called out, “Mr. Singh!” He raced past Ram’s wagon to reach Jivan’s. Ram could see Karak scowl at him. “Mr. Singh. Pop told me to tell you to come tomorrow. Come early.” He looked two or three years younger than Amarjeet. A sweaty patch of hair clung to his forehead. He squinted against the sun, hesitating. “He told me to tell you he couldn’t help it.”

They drove back three hours in the waning sunlight, and the mules were tired. At the farm, at dinner, Jivan told everyone at the table to sleep early.