progressive, forward-looking man.
Which it would be as soon as he accumulated enough in his secret Texas bank account to buy out Phillips. He didn’t worry about buying his father, Olmun, out of his third—all he had to do was wait and drop a few hints and the old man would give it to him. That was the good thing about being an only son, especially the only son of a soft old man like Olmun.
Slowly, reveling in the sight of his new dream taking shape in reality, he strolled back to Phillips, who was standing in the spot where the double front door was open wide. He would order brass plates and hinges for it and have it painted white, Jacob decided. That would show up the red bricks very well.
“We’ll have to cut those tree limbs way back,” he said to Phillips and William Sowers as he reached them. “They’ll rot out the eaves eventually, and, what’s more important, they’ll cover up part of our sign if we don’t.”
“I don’t reckon you’ll much need a sign, Mr. Charley,” William said. “This here will be such a fine place that there won’t be nobody in the Nation nor out of it who don’t know Charley and Phillips Mercantile, soonas you all are in business for six months or so.”
Yes. But in that six months or so the name would have changed to Jacob Charley Mercantile and Phillips would be gone.
He couldn’t say that, of course, so he acknowledged the remark with a nod and a friendly clap on the shoulder. The young man had good judgment—he had to admit that.
“William, I’ve got some barns to build out on my place in Buffalo Valley,” Jacob said, pretending for a moment that the huge farm was his instead of his father’s, “two large hay barns and a horse barn, as a matter of fact, and I’d like you and your crew to put them up for me, since you’ve done such a good job here on the mercantile.”
“It’d be a pleasure, sir,” William said, his face lighting with interest. “Would you want us to start right away, since we’re all but done here?”
“Yes. I can keep you busy all fall and winter, depending on the weather being good, of course, and all of next spring into the bargain.”
“That’d be welcome work for sure,” William said, in a grateful tone. “Thank you, Mr. Charley.”
Mr. Charley. He loved the sound of that address. Usually it was his father who was called Mr. Charley. Well, the old man would just have to face the fact that he was sliding on toward the end of his days, and Jacob would be taking over everything pretty soon.
He felt a slight twinge of apprehension. This was the first time he’d gone so far as to arrange to have major work done, so far as to contract for a truly major expenditure, without talking it over with Olmun first, but he felt certain his father wouldn’t contradict his orders. He had, most of the time, let Jacob do whatever he wanted, from the moment he was born.
William Sowers went back to work, and Jacob glanced past Phillips into the street again. His heart gave a great leap of anger.
“Damn his hide! Phillips, do you see what I see or have my eyes gone bad?”
Phillips turned to look.
“Yep. There’s your old friend and supper companion, Walks-With-Spirits,” he said, with a low, irritating chuckle. “If that’s who your eyes tell you it is, that’s right.”
“The very sight of that mangy woods rat turns my stomach,” Jacob said. “I don’t know how I ever managed to eat with him sitting at the same table.”
His pulse thundered, roared in his ears.
The so-called shaman was stalking down the middle of the street like he thought he owned the town, with that slinking panther right beside him. A little rush of satisfaction ran through Jacob. The coyote wasn’t here, though, was it?
People on foot, riders on horseback, coaches and carriages rolling behind teams, none of them slowed the shyster one whit nor made him move one inch out of his set path. The sneaky pretender did, in fact, think the Nation was his to
Which it would be as soon as he accumulated enough in his secret Texas bank account to buy out Phillips. He didn’t worry about buying his father, Olmun, out of his third—all he had to do was wait and drop a few hints and the old man would give it to him. That was the good thing about being an only son, especially the only son of a soft old man like Olmun.
Slowly, reveling in the sight of his new dream taking shape in reality, he strolled back to Phillips, who was standing in the spot where the double front door was open wide. He would order brass plates and hinges for it and have it painted white, Jacob decided. That would show up the red bricks very well.
“We’ll have to cut those tree limbs way back,” he said to Phillips and William Sowers as he reached them. “They’ll rot out the eaves eventually, and, what’s more important, they’ll cover up part of our sign if we don’t.”
“I don’t reckon you’ll much need a sign, Mr. Charley,” William said. “This here will be such a fine place that there won’t be nobody in the Nation nor out of it who don’t know Charley and Phillips Mercantile, soonas you all are in business for six months or so.”
Yes. But in that six months or so the name would have changed to Jacob Charley Mercantile and Phillips would be gone.
He couldn’t say that, of course, so he acknowledged the remark with a nod and a friendly clap on the shoulder. The young man had good judgment—he had to admit that.
“William, I’ve got some barns to build out on my place in Buffalo Valley,” Jacob said, pretending for a moment that the huge farm was his instead of his father’s, “two large hay barns and a horse barn, as a matter of fact, and I’d like you and your crew to put them up for me, since you’ve done such a good job here on the mercantile.”
“It’d be a pleasure, sir,” William said, his face lighting with interest. “Would you want us to start right away, since we’re all but done here?”
“Yes. I can keep you busy all fall and winter, depending on the weather being good, of course, and all of next spring into the bargain.”
“That’d be welcome work for sure,” William said, in a grateful tone. “Thank you, Mr. Charley.”
Mr. Charley. He loved the sound of that address. Usually it was his father who was called Mr. Charley. Well, the old man would just have to face the fact that he was sliding on toward the end of his days, and Jacob would be taking over everything pretty soon.
He felt a slight twinge of apprehension. This was the first time he’d gone so far as to arrange to have major work done, so far as to contract for a truly major expenditure, without talking it over with Olmun first, but he felt certain his father wouldn’t contradict his orders. He had, most of the time, let Jacob do whatever he wanted, from the moment he was born.
William Sowers went back to work, and Jacob glanced past Phillips into the street again. His heart gave a great leap of anger.
“Damn his hide! Phillips, do you see what I see or have my eyes gone bad?”
Phillips turned to look.
“Yep. There’s your old friend and supper companion, Walks-With-Spirits,” he said, with a low, irritating chuckle. “If that’s who your eyes tell you it is, that’s right.”
“The very sight of that mangy woods rat turns my stomach,” Jacob said. “I don’t know how I ever managed to eat with him sitting at the same table.”
His pulse thundered, roared in his ears.
The so-called shaman was stalking down the middle of the street like he thought he owned the town, with that slinking panther right beside him. A little rush of satisfaction ran through Jacob. The coyote wasn’t here, though, was it?
People on foot, riders on horseback, coaches and carriages rolling behind teams, none of them slowed the shyster one whit nor made him move one inch out of his set path. The sneaky pretender did, in fact, think the Nation was his to
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