A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
It was morning in Kalispell, a fine Wednesday morning in a country which Roland Smith had only recently stepped foot upon. His ocean-crossing adventure had been followed by a country-crossing adventure, first by rail, and then by wagon.
Truth be told, he was only standing here now because the wagon-mistress, a formidable and cheery young woman named Addie, had her wits about her. Roland had gotten a first-hand lesson in the dangers of the frontier. Surviving that lesson had been as much due to her skills and experience as his own efforts.
But now he was in a town proper, where things like that were surely seldom seen. Roland wasn't averse to standing against hostility when it was demanded of him. Lord knows he'd put in years of that during his youth, and again more recently. But he'd be just as content working his shop and never firing a gun in anger again.
This morning, he wore his carefully brushed gray suit and black 'country' hat of the sort common to cowboys in these lands. He had his Lancaster pistol on his belt, and an envelope of cash in his hand- converted from pounds to dollars by a New York money-changer. His belly was full of coffee and bacon, and his heart was full of optimism about his future shop.
That shop- abandoned by some other craftsman and thus far unclaimed by Roland- was his reason for being at the bank today. He glanced around the modest building. The mere presence of a bank meant that the town was on the rise. But he could see there was still farther for it to go.
Good. This town and his interests could rise together.
Working his way into the bank proper, he queued up for the teller.
Always take the long view.
It has been a busy morning in the bank and it didn't help that his co-worker Miss Betsy Edwards had sent a note saying that she was unwell. As the only teller on duty for the day, Luke had expected it to be quiet like it was on most Wednesdays. The Kalispell National Bank tended to be a lot more busy on Fridays and Saturday mornings when the local farmers and ranchers (as well as their hands) came into town.
Still it wasn't too bad and those he had served had not much business to do with the bank. Deposits and withdrawals only took a few minutes and he was able to get the queue down in a quick amount of time.
When he had finished with Garth Jones, an old man who had retired from the army a few years ago, collecting his pension, he looked and saw that there was a newcomer.
"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"
@ [Cuban Writer]
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland lifted his hat and dipped his head in respect before replacing the hat on his head.
"Good Morning. My name is Roland Smith," He paused allowing the bank's teller or clerk to introduce themselves if they were so inclined.
Then he continued on, "I've come to purchase the Deed to a property being held by this institution."
He reached under his suit jacket, where it was apparent he had several papers stashed within interior pockets. Selecting one, he laid it out upon the counter-top between them. "I saw this advertisement in New York when I came ashore. I'm in from London, hoping to make a home in your fair town."
The advertisement was about a property available in Kalispell, seized by the bank after it had been abandoned by its former mortgagee.
"And I also have a sum of money I'd like to deposit besides, to open an account here. I do hope the property is still available?"
It would be quite the kick in the pants to have come all this way only to find that his intended shop and home had already been snapped up by another party.
No one is as important enough to walk wherever he wants. He's bound to run into something that will stop him.
Luke looked at the advertisement and nodded. "If you just wait here for a moment, I will get the manager."
It only took Luke a short time to explain the situation to his boss. The bank had only acquired the gun shop a short time ago after the previous owner had mysteriously disappeared leaving behind only a sizeable loan and the contents of the building.
Happy at the prospect of selling the building so soon, Charles got up and went out to the bank lobby to meet him. The man was easy to spot as he was the only stranger currently in the bank. Going over to him, Charles held out his hand. "Mister Smith, my name is Charles Wentworth. I understand that you wish to buy the gun shop and open an account, so if you follow me to my office we can discuss the matter more privately."
@ [Cuban Writer]
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wentworth," Roland said, following the man to his office.
"I'm lately to this country from London," he said, taking a seat once one presented itself.
"I thought to bring the London gunmaking art to the American frontier, you see. After Colt tried to beat Adams in my country, it seemed someone ought to attempt to return the favor." He chuckled.
It was common knowledge among those who followed the business that Colt had opened a factory in London, giving intense competition to local makers. But Adams had come out ahead, driving Colt to shut down its London operations. In the end, Adams had even managed to sell manufacturing rights to the Massachusetts Arms Company, which had built nearly 2,000 Adams revolvers under contract for the Union Army. It had proved there was a market for British firearms ingenuity in the Americas.
It was proof that Roland's endeavors were not entirely a fool's errand. He'd never challenge the popularity of Colt out here. But maybe he could teach the locals that Smith and Wesson wasn't the only Smith worth watching.
No one is as important enough to walk wherever he wants. He's bound to run into something that will stop him.
"A gunsmith is needed here in Kalispell," Charles answered, "The last one was only around for a short time before he took off for parts unknown. He left a sizeable debt to the bank and that is why we foreclose on the property."
He paused for a moment to assess the man he was talking. On the surface, he seemed sincere but if was that and more only time would tell. The bank was a business and the longer the gun shop stayed empty, the less the bank would make on its sale. Pulling a note out of the file, he handed it over to Smith.
"This is how much was left owing on the building. The sale price will be this amount plus ten percent. If you agree, then we can proceed."
@[CubanWriter]
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland looked over the paperwork which the manager provided.
There were no surprises there. He'd seen the advert in New York, and it had been both succinct and factual. Not one of those adverts that left you guessing about how much a property was going to cost you. That was one of the reasons Roland had chosen the previously unknown (to him, at any rate) town of Kalispell on the edge of the wild frontier.
"That will be fine, Mr. Wentworth," Roland said, and took out his billfold. Part of him wanted to haggle, but he didn't want a reputation as a penny-pincher in this town. Fortunately, while this purchase would originally have brought him to the edge of his finances, his misadventure with Addy had put some more cash in his pocket. Not to mention some guns he could rehabilitate for sale. His conversation with the Marshal even suggested a continuing relationship on confiscated arms, which would do his business some considerable good.
He counted out the required sum, and also produced a cheque from the Marshal's office besides.
"With the remainder for my new account," he said, and smiled, "now that I've seen the quality of your Marshal, I've no doubt that deposits are secure."
No one is as important enough to walk wherever he wants. He's bound to run into something that will stop him.
"I'm glad to hear that," Charles replied.
He stood up and went around the desk. Holding out his hand, he smiled, "Welcome to Kalispell, Mr. Smith. I look forward to doing business with you. As for your account, I will have Luke fill in your passbook and you can pick it up later today with a receipt and a statement declaring your opening balance. If you want these delivered to your new address, just let him know."
Before he returned to desk, he asked, "Is anything else you would like know about the bank or the town itself?"
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
"Thank you, Sir," Roland said, standing and shaking Mr. Wentworth's hand.
You could tell things about a person when you took their hand in yours. Addy's had been rougher, corresponding to her rougher life. Mr. Wentworth had a banker's hands. Roland's were probably the rougher in that pairing, on account of him using his hands in his craft. The softer and smoother a hand was, the more successful its owner was likely to be. Mr. Wentworth was clearly higher up the food chain in civilized society.
Of course, this society wasn't entirely civilized. Not out here. And so...
"I'll happily come back around later.
I do have one question, though, Sir.
Given the assets held at this fine institution, and its nearness to the un-tamed places of the country... how are you on firearms?"
No one is as important enough to walk wherever he wants. He's bound to run into something that will stop him.
Charles smiled, "I know how to use a gun, if that is what you are asking. However, if you are asking how the bank is with firearms that is another topic entirely."
Going back around to his side of the desk, Charles opened one of the drawers and pulled out a Colt .45 and handed it over to Roland to take a look. "As you can see it is in fairly good condition as I haven't had the need to use it. We had a bank robbery a few months ago and I made sure that we are prepared if it ever happens again. There are also a couple of Winchester 73s that the tellers have in easy access as well as a couple more handguns and rifles in various places within the bank."
As he watched Roland inspect the gun, he continued, "The previous gun shop owner came in regularly to check to make sure the guns were still working. Once you have settled in, and if you are interested we could talk about coming to a similar arrangement."
@[Cuban Writer]