In the Land of the Long White Cloud

them in the highlands. It was just a shame that George Greenwood and that snotty Maori boy he thought so highly of and always wanted to shove down Howard’s throat as an adviser didn’t see it that way.
    “Howard, the results of the last shearing were completely unsatisfactory!” George said, expressing his concerns to his problem child during one of his last visits. “Barely average wool quality, and rather dirty to boot. And we were doing so well! Where are all the first-class flocks you’d built up?” George tried to remain calm—if for no other reason than the fact that Helen was sitting next to him looking haggard and hopeless.
    “We sold the three best breeding rams to Lionel Station a few months ago,” Helen remarked bitterly. “To Sideblossom.”
    “That’s right!” Howard crowed, pouring himself some whiskey. “He was determined to have them. In his opinion they were better than anything the Wardens were offering for breeding animals!” He looked over at his interlocutor, expecting praise.
    George Greenwood sighed. “No doubt. Because Gwyneira Warden naturally holds on to her best rams for herself. She sells only her second tier. And what about the cattle, Howard? You’ve bought more. And yet hadn’t we agreed that your land won’t support—”
    “Gerald Warden makes good money with his cattle!” Howard repeated his age-old argument truculently.
    George had to force himself not to shake Howard. Howard simply did not understand: he was selling valuable breeding stock to buy additional food for his cattle. He then sold them for the same price the Wardens got, which seemed like a lot at first glance. But only Helen, who knew her farm was approaching the edge of ruin just as it had a few years before, comprehended how little profit that actually generated.

    Even George Greenwood’s savvier business partners, the Wardens at Kiward Station, had given him cause for concern lately. True, both the sheep and cattle breeding operations were flourishing the same as ever, but beneath the surface, tension was mounting. George first noted it when he saw that Gerald and Paul Warden no longer brought Gwyneira into their negotiations. According to Gerald, Paul had to be introduced to the business, and his mother was supposedly more of a hindrance than a help.
    “Cut the apron strings, if you know what I mean,” Gerald explained, pouring whiskey. “She always thinks she knows better, which gets on my nerves. How do you think Paul will feel, who’s just getting started?”
    In talking with the two of them, though, George quickly discovered that Gerald had long since lost track of the sheep breeding business that took place on Kiward Station. And Paul lacked understanding and farsightedness—not surprising in someone who was barely sixteen. When it came to breeding, he had fantastical theories that flew in the face of all experience. He would have liked to start breeding with Merinos again.
    “Fine wool is a good thing. Qualitatively better than down-type wool. If we only crossbreed with enough Merinos we’ll get a new mixed breed that will revolutionize everything!”
    George could only shake his head at that, but Gerald’s eyes lit up as he listened to the boy, unlike Gwyneira, who was livid when she heard about it.
    “If I let the boy take over, everything will go to the dogs!” she ranted when a concerned George sought her out the next day and reported on his conversation with Gerald and Paul. “Sure, he’ll inherit the farm eventually; then I won’t have any more say. But until then, he has a few years to come to his senses. If Gerald would only be a little more reasonable and influence him accordingly. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. My God, the man once knew something about raising sheep!”
    George shrugged. “Now he knows a lot more about whiskey.”
    Gwyneira nodded. “He’s drinking his brains away. Pardon me for putting it that way, but anything else would be sugarcoating it. I desperately need support. Paul’s crossbreeding notion isn’t the only problem. In fact, it’s the least of them. Gerald is in good health—it will be years before Paul takes over the farm. And even if a few sheep go to him, the business can compensate for it. His conflicts with the Maori are more pressing. They don’t have anything like a standard age for a legal adult, or they define it differently. Regardless, they’ve now elected Tonga their chief.”
    “Tonga is the boy Helen taught;