“Yes.”
“How much do you need?”
“I’ve worked it out very carefully,” Garrison said, “taking into account right-of-way that must be purchased, as well as right of way that will be provided by grants from the federal and state governments. I have also considered the cost of supplies and labor.”
“How much?” the banker asked again.
“Twenty thousand dollars per mile, which means ten million dollars,” Garrison said without blinking an eye.
“Ten million dollars?” one of the bankers replied, blanching at the prospect. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, it is,” Garrison said. He smiled. “That’s why I have brought four of you here. I’m not asking you to compete for the loan, I’m asking you to share it. This way, you would only have to come up with two and a half million dollars each.”
One of the bankers laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the words ‘only’ and ‘two and a half million’ mentioned in the same sentence.”
The other bankers laughed as well.
“Gentlemen, I’ve done an economic analysis of ten Western railroads. I had Mr. Denham, publisher of the Higbee Journal, print out the report for me.” He passed out four printed packets, then pointed to a stack of them on the table. “When you go back home, you can take several of these with you to present to your boards. You will see that, in every case, the railroads recouped their investment within the first eighteen months after construction.”
The bankers began examining the booklets.
“To secure your cooperation, I am prepared to issue stock, equal to forty-nine-percent ownership of the railroad, to be divided among those who contribute financing, in accordance with the amount of their investment. Gentlemen, within four years, you will double your investment.”
“I’m in,” one of the bankers said, dropping the booklet on the table. This was C. D. Matthews, of the First Colorado Bank and Trust.
“Thank you, C.D.,” Garrison said. “For how much?”
“If nobody else comes in, I’ll take all of it,” C.D. said.
“Not so fast,” Dan Michaels said. “I’m in as well.”
“So am I,” Durant said.
“That leaves you, Percy. Are you in or out?”
“You think I could have another doughnut?” he asked.
“Sure,” Garrison said, handing him one of the confections.
Percy took a bite, then licked the end of his finger. “These sure are good,” he said. “Yes, I’m in.”
“I’ll be damned,” C.D. said, laughing. “Boys, we’ve just seen a two-and-a-half-million-dollar doughnut.”
From the Higbee Journal
NEW RAILROAD TO BE BUILT.
Financing Already in Place to Connect Higbee with Rest of the Nation.
Wade Garrison, a former general in the Army of the Confederacy, is a man who is used to getting things done. He has applied the skill and leadership that served him so ably in the great War Between the States to a more peaceful pursuit, and all will benefit from it.
General Garrison has put into motion the plans to build a railroad that will connect Higbee to La Junta to the north, and Big Spring, Texas, to the south. Such a railroad will mean that Higbee can take its place among the major cities of the nation, and indeed, phenomenal growth is predicted as a result.
General Garrison has chosen Higbee as the headquarters of the new railroad, to be called the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas line, though it shall be quickly recognized by the initials CNM&T.
Signs of the new railroad will be evident within days, as General Garrison intends to build the Higbee Depot immediately. According to the general, the construction material has already been ordered, and will arrive within the week. The office of the CNM&T, currently housed in a small building on Front Street, will be moved to the depot once construction is completed.
Between La Junta and Higbee
Taking on a load from the depot warehouse, three freight wagons belonging to the Bob Thompson Wagon Freight Company left La Junta at ten o’clock in the morning with the expectation of arriving in Higbee by noon. Norman True was the lead driver. True was the oldest of the three, and had been driving for Mr. Thompson from the day Thompson started the operation ten years earlier. The other two drivers were much younger, one a mere boy of sixteen.
The wooden seat of the wagon gave off the familiar scent of weathered wood when heated by the sun that beat down upon it, and while some complained that it was a somewhat stale smell, True liked it. To him, it was as familiar, and comfortable, as a pair of old shoes.
Loaded with lumber and building supplies, the three wagons belonging to the Thompson Wagon Freight Company rolled slowly across the southeast Colorado Plateau.
“You holding up all right, Mickey?” True called to the boy, who was in the wagon directly behind him.
“Yes, sir,” Mickey called back. “I’m gettin’ a mite hungry, though.”
True laughed. “You was born hungry, Mickey,” he said. “But if we don’t get no rain, I expect we’ll be there by noon.”
True had teased the boy for being hungry, but the truth was, he was hungry as well. Sometimes he brought a lunch to work, but today he would go home for lunch. His wife had put on beans to soak last night, and began cooking them with a ham bone this morning. He figured on having beans and cornbread for lunch, and the thought of it caused his stomach to growl.
He snapped the reins against the back of the mule team that was pulling the wagon, not to increase their speed, since they were already walking at a good five miles per hour, but just to let them know he was still here. In response, one of the mules lifted its tail and farted.
“Damn, Rhoda!” True said. “You got the smelliest farts of any critter on God’s green earth.”
Less than a quarter of a mile ahead of the three wagons, four men waited in a stand of trees. One of the trees near the road had been chopped and notched out.
“How much more before you can fall the tree?” Ray Clinton asked.
“Three, four, maybe five chops ought to do it. I don’t expect it’ll take any more than that.”
“All right, get ready. I’ll give you the sign.”
Ray watched the wagons approach. Then, as they drew even with the western edge of the little thicket, he brought his hand down.
“Now!” he shouted.
Behind him he heard three more blows of the ax, then the creaking snapping sound of a large tree coming down. It fell through branches of neighboring trees, then hit the ground with a loud crashing noise, sending up a cloud of dust as it did so. The tree fell in such a way as to completely block the road.
True heard the tree coming down before he saw it, and having once worked as a lumberjack, he recognized the sound immediately. He hauled back on the team, stopping the wagon just as the tree crashed across the road in front of him.
“Hey!” he called. “Are you a fool, falling a tree across the road like that? Don’t you know that could kill someone? Besides which, how are we supposed to get through here?”
Four men came riding out of the woods then, and they approached the wagons as calmly as if they were about to ask for directions.
“You ain’t,” one of the riders said.
“I know you,” True said. “You’re one of the Clintons, ain’t you?”
Cletus pulled his pistol and shot True at point-blank range.
“Mr. True!” Mickey called, but before he could say another word, he was also shot.
The driver of the third wagon jumped down and started to run.
“Run him down,” Ray Clinton shouted, and the other two riders spurred their horses into a gallop. Catching up with him, they shot him as well.
“Burn the wagons.”
Cletus Clinton had a can of kerosene tied to his saddle, and he began pouring it on the three wagons. Then, going back to each one, he struck a match and dropped it on the little wet spot of kerosene, and the flames leapt up. In less than a minute, all three wagons were burning.