The office was back a good ten feet off the street, but they’d laid down paving stones in a walkway. A group of women giggled when Jim brought the big horse right up to the door. He didn’t like drawing so much attention, but he wasn’t letting the gold out of his sight. In the office windows, Jim saw the reflection of a crowd gathering behind him. They were pointing at the Appaloosa, whispering to each other, and some openly laughed.
Jim glanced over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly. What would they say if they knew eight thousand in gold was on that horse?
He gave the door a knock and no one answered. He tried again, harder this time. Again, no answer. Finally, he pounded on the door loud enough to rattle the hinges. He raised his fist to knock again when a short man in a suit and tie and wearing narrow spectacles answered.
“Now see here—” the man started. He was red-faced, but when he caught a glimpse of Jim and his raised fist, the words died away. He then grew a shade paler.
“Looking for Carl Johannsen. You him?” Jim asked.
“I am not,” the man said. He adjusted his spectacles and seemed to recover himself. “Mr. Johannsen is a very busy man. You must be mistaken.”
“No mistake. I was told to find him here.”
Another man came to the door from deeper inside the building.
“Honestly, Vern, there’s no need to keep the door open like this is some sort of…barn,” the newcomer said. He leaned to the side to get a better view of Jim and Jim’s horse.
The newcomer was a tall man, blond, whip-thin with a long handlebar mustache.
“I’m looking for Carl Johannsen.”
“I am…” the tall man started. He coughed into his fist and went on. “I am Johannsen.”
Jim lowered his fist and offered his hand. “Fellow named DeMourey sent me to find you. Said you’d be interested in some business.”
“DeMourey? Why would he send you here?”
Jim glanced around uneasily. “Mind if we talk inside?”
“Of course,” Carl said. He seemed to regain some of his composure. “Vern, take this man’s horse to—”
“The horse stays here,” Jim said. He tied his horse’s reins to one of the support beams for the office’s shallow awning. “But you can help me with these.”
Jim took a pair of saddlebags and set them across Vern’s shoulders. The small man staggered under the sudden weight. Jim took the second set of bags and followed Johannsen inside.
“Are these what I think they are?” Johannsen’s eyes widened at the sight of the bulging bags.
“Where do you want them?” Jim asked.
Johannsen quickly cleared a table, and the bags were deposited there.
“Vern, collect my weights, all of them, and bring them in here,” Johannsen said. Then he turned to Jim. “You say DeMourey sent you?”
“He did. Said I could get better prices by coming here direct. No freight or guards this way.” Jim opened one of the bags, pulled out a sack of gold, then passed it to the buyer.
“There are others you could have sold to,” Johannsen said.
“DeMourey struck me as a fair man. I wasn’t sure I could get as good a deal from anyone else out here.”
At this, Johannsen smiled. “You aren’t the first to say that.”
He poured the sack out onto a scale, one far larger than what DeMourey had used. He added weights to the pan on the other side, but ran short with the scale still out of balance. Then, while Vern ran for more weights, he inspected the gold flakes, plucking out a tiny nugget and rolling it between his fingers.
Jim watched him closely until the nugget was safely back on the scale.
“How many of these do you have?” Johannsen said. Jim could hear the eagerness in the man’s voice.
“Five that size, two a little bigger, one a little smaller.”
The gold buyer’s mouth fell open. He gestured to the saddlebags. “You rode in with this? Alone? Just had it on your horse?”
“I had help,” Jim said. “My wife came with me.”
“Your wife? Just the two of you?” Johannsen shook his head slowly. “Do you have any idea how much this is worth?”
Jim smiled. “A pretty good idea, actually. My wife has a head for sums and figures. She said it should bring a good bit.”
* * * *
“I’ve never even dreamed of so much money,” Jim said. He and Ellen were sitting in a pair of white-painted chairs in Milena’s back yard.
“And you took their note and put it all in the bank?”
“Most of it.” Jim patted his pants pocket. “Kept a little for walking-around money.”
“Milena’s son-in-law works at the same bank DeMourey recommended. She said he’s a good man,” Ellen said.
“I don’t know much about banks. My mother and father didn’t trust them. Not that they ever had enough to put in one anyway.”
