"Beck," A stern voice called out. The sound of boots scuffing along the pavement followed, echoing through the near-empty barn.

The man in question only hummed in response, head tilting in the direction of the voice as his eyes narrowed on the particular snaffle bit in his hands, methodically guiding it to the horse's mouth.

"Oh good," His older brother stood nearby, eyeing his work. "You fixin' the western fence?" He asked, shuffling to a stop beside the other man.

Beck's brows furrowed, adjusting the headstall over the gelding's ears. "What do you mean?" He reeled his head back, frown growing.

"It's down, man. I'm sure half our fucking population of cattle is outta here." Wyatt grumbled, tossing his arms up, before placing an apologetic palm on the side of the horse's neck.

"I thought that hand we had to let go, uh Dale, had fixed it." Beck muttered, holding onto the reins as he turned to eye him.

"Exactly, we let him go." The eldest reminded slowly, dropping his hand to lay at his side. "It ain't fixed."

"Alright," Beck placated, sighing softly. "I'll go fix it."

"Thanks," Wyatt smiled quickly. "Your boy's the best anyway." He tacked on, running another quick hand down the blue roan's side.

"Lying won't help you." Beck muttered, throwing a hand out to shove Wyatt out of the way. He tossed a few tools into the saddlebag before climbing up, not sparing his smug brother another glance before heading out.

Once he'd made it to the fence line, the break was easy to find. After eyeing the horizon, he was sure Wyatt had overreacted over how much cattle had gotten out. The horse carefully picked its way across the fallen post, heading for the nearest ten heads of cattle. The animals' large sets of eyes warily looked up to watch him.
The sound of hooves beating into the ground behind him caused the creatures to immediately shift away, running as quickly as their heavy bodies would carry them.

"Thought you'd like some help!" Cassidy shouted, his horse skidding to a halt beside him.

"Jesus Christ, Cassidy." Beck bit out, fists tightening immeasurably as he tugged lightly at his horse's reins. "Do you enjoy making my job harder?"

His younger brother grinned.

"Don't answer that." Beck huffed, pressing a firm heel into his gelding's side. Cassidy kept a surprisingly slow pace beside him. "If they weren't on Dutton's land before, they sure as hell are now."

"The Duttons need an ego check anyway." Cassidy smirked, leaning his head back a bit to catch the sun, closing his eyes.

"You need an ego check." Beck muttered quietly.

As far back as any one resident of Darby, Montana could remember, there were the Duttons; And as long as there had been the Duttons, there had been the Harrisons.

When you saw a Dutton, you tipped your hat. They commanded respect. When met with a Harrison, you did the same. Respect wasn't expected, but most would argue the Harrisons had earned it.

Billy Harrison was the man who had kept the ranch alive, albeit with a lot of effort. Their acreage was humble in comparison to their neighbors, but that didn't stop the man from clawing his way up the ladder of success.
His sons seemed to inherit the same determination. Wyatt, the oldest, was calm and cool, set to have the ranch in its near entirety in the future. Beck was more withdrawn, preferring time in the stables over making upper connections. Cassidy was the youngest; The bull rider, the show-off.

"Speaking of Duttons." The smile in Cassidy's voice made the elder son's shoulders droop into a slouch.

"Goddamnit," Beck cursed, steeling his expression as the team of horses neared. He recognized John from a few yards out. He wasn't sure of the other two.

"You," Beck pointed an angry finger at the man to his left. "Shut up. I do the talking." He pulled his hand away to rest atop the saddle horn just as the men slowed to a stop in front of them.
At that distance, Beck noticed Lloyd and Rip were the riders beside John. He knew them, or more accurately, knew of them, having only spoken to either in passing over the years.

"Lost a few?" John greeted, eyes darting between the two brothers.

"Yes, sir." Beck responded, nodding his head in the form of a quick greeting.

"How many?" The older man sniffed, adjusting his seat in the saddle.

"Thirty, give or take." He answered, eyes squinting under the harsh sun.

"Well, you boys don't mind a little help?" John offered, tilting his head in question.

"Nah, I think we're alright—"

"We'd love it." Beck interrupted, glare immediately fixing toward Cassidy's. He wasn't sure of John's intentions behind the offer, but he had no choice to accept.

"How about we split up." John proposed, tilting his head toward Rip at his right. "Beck, you can join Rip and I. We can go north. Your little brother can go south with Lloyd."

Cassidy seemed to bristle at not being acknowledged by name, scoffing just in earshot.

"Sounds good." Beck ground out, eyes narrowing in the other Harrison's direction. Cassidy reluctantly nodded his head, allowing Lloyd to take the lead. He gave his older brother a parting glance before the groups diverged.

"We appreciate the help with the wrangling, Mr. Dutton." Beck spoke after a few moments of riding, aiming for an attempt at a little damage control.

John pulled back on his reins, his horse slowing to walk in line with Beck's own. The younger man caught the eyes of Rip, if only for a stilted moment, before darting to study John.
"Look, kid." John grumbled lowly, head tilting in his direction. "I don't like your old man. I've know him for years, and I don't trust him." He turned his head to fix the younger with a solid glare. "So you can gather what that makes me think of you."

Beck reeled back slightly, the stiff leather of his saddle creaking under the shift in weight.
The Harrison and Dutton monarchs had but two thing in common, he had realized. They were determined, and they were often downright mean.

"Only reason I'm doing this is to make sure you don't get outta' line on my land." John moved to set a faster pace. "Then I'd keep your damn cattle. Got it?" He questioned, without a second glance behind him.

Beck set his jaw, muscles along the side of his face tightening.
"Yes," He muttered, eyes darting to catch Rip's in an attempt to gauge the other man's reaction, searching for a potentially sane person unblinded by unprecedented hatred.
He was met with a calm, nearing cold, expression.

-

After twenty-six cows were safely accounted for, Beck mended the fence and cared for the horses until sundown. Cassidy was long gone, unwilling to brush and feed his own horse in favor for turning in early. When he made it inside, his father sat at the dinner table with Wyatt at his side. His mother was cleaning up the various dishes from the dinner Beck had missed, mindful of the large piece of paper that was splayed out in the middle of the table.

"Hey," Wyatt was the one to notice his younger brother first, jerking his head in invitation.

Their father looked up at that, eyes narrowing. "Come take a look at this. You know Rich Kimberly? He brought this over earlier today, said I better go over it."

Beck shook his head slowly, hesitant as he frowned in thought. His steps were almost skittish as he made his way to stand behind his father, peering over the older man's shoulder. It was a map; old, yellowed, and beginning to tear at the edges.

"The lawyer? Retired? You met him at that cattle auction last month." Wyatt sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh," Beck breathed out in faux recollection, still not making a connection.

"Anyway," Billy started, moving to run an index finger along an illustrated line that traveled down the piece of paper.
"Turns out this is the property line. Been there practically forever. Right now, it's one and a half goddamn miles that way." His hand slid eastward till he lifted it up to slam an enclosed fist against the table.
"Those cows you had to wrangle were on our land." He scratched at his thinning hair, leaning back into his chair.

"So what are we gonna do?" Wyatt began, running a hand past the stubble on his chin in thought.

"Take it back." Their father answered simply, a mirthful smile on his face. "Those bastards have more than enough as is."

"I don't—" Beck began, faltering with a pinched out sigh. "That's not a good idea, Dad."

"The hell it's not." Billy muttered, turning in his seat to shoot a confused look the younger man's way.

"One of the sons, Jamie, he's a lawyer, a good one. We'd be out a lot of money if we lost." Beck shifted on his feet, thick floorboards groaning quietly from the pressure.

"He's right," Wyatt began quickly. "We gotta be smart about this."

"Who says it'll go to court?" Their father argued, with a nonchalant shrug. "We could set up a meetin', talk the truth and talk tough and they'd have no choice but to roll over."

"Dad—" Beck mumbled in protest.

"Hand me my phone, Marie." Billy reached a hand out toward his wife. Their mother immediately grabbed at the flip phone resting atop the counter. There was a slight tremor in their father's hand as he took care in punching each button with a large index finger, lifting it to his ear just as the dial tone began.

"John," He started, voice morphing into something professional as he leaned back in his seat. "Thought we could talk."