the Unitarian Church,” Andrews said.
“It’s the same thing.” McDonald waved his hand impatiently. “Well, you want a job? Hell, you can have a job with me. God knows I can’t keep up. Look at all this stuff.” He pointed to the stacked papers; his finger was trembling. “I’m two months behind now and getting further behind all the time. Can’t find anybody around here to sit still long enough to—”
“Mr. McDonald,” Andrews said. “I know nothing about your business.”
“What? You don’t what? Why, it’s hides, boy. Buffalo hides. I buy and sell. I send out parties, they bring in the hides. I sell them in St. Louis. Do my own curing and tanning right here. Handled almost a hundred thousand hides last year. This year—twice, three times that much. Great opportunity, boy. Think you could handle some of this paper work?”
“Mr. McDonald—”
“This paper work is what gets me down.” He ran his fingers through the thin black strands of hair that fell about his ears.
“I’m grateful, sir,” Andrews said. “But I’m not sure—”
“Hell, it’s only a start. Look.” With a thin hand like a claw he grasped Andrews’s arm above the elbow and pushed him toward the doorway. “Look out there.” They went into the hot sunlight; Andrews squinted and winced against the brightness. McDonald, still clutching at his arm, pointed toward the town. “A year ago when I came here there were three tents and a dugout over there—a saloon, a whorehouse, a dry goods store, and a blacksmith. Look at it now.” He pushed his face up to Andrews and said in a hoarse whisper, his breath sweet-sour from tobacco: “Keep this to yourself—but this town’s going to be something two, three years from now. I’ve got a half dozen lots staked out already, and the next time I get to Kansas City, I’m going to stake out that many more. It’s wide open!” He shook Andrews’s arm as if it were a stick; he lowered his voice, which had grown strident. “Look, boy. It’s the railroad. Don’t go talking this around; but when the railroad comes through here, this is going to be a
town
. You come in with me; I’ll steer you right. Anybody can stake out a claim for the land around here; all you have to do is sign your name to a piece of paper at the State Land Office. Then you sit back and wait. That’s all.”
“Thank you, sir,” Andrews said. “I’ll consider it.”
“
Consider
it!” McDonald released his arm and stepped back from him in astonishment. He threw up his hands and they fluttered as he walked around once in a tight, angry little circle. “Consider it? Why, boy, it’s an opportunity. Listen. What were you doing back in Boston before you came out here?”
“I was in my third year at Harvard College.”
“You see?” McDonald said triumphantly. “And what would you have done after your fourth year? You’d have gone to work for somebody, or you’d have been a schoolteacher, like old Mr. Andrews, or—Listen. There ain’t many like us out here. Men with vision. Men who can think to tomorrow.” He pointed a shaking hand toward the town. “Did you see those people back there? Did you talk to any of them?”
“No, sir,” Andrews said. “I only got in from Ellsworth yesterday afternoon.”
“Hunters,” McDonald said. His dry thin lips went loose and open as if he had tasted something rotten. “All hunters and hard cases. That’s what this country would be if it wasn’t for men like us. People just living off the land, not knowing what to do with it.”
“Are they mostly hunters in town?”
“Hunters, hard cases, a few eastern loafers. This is a hide town, boy. It’ll change. Wait till the railroad comes through.”
“I think I’d like to talk to some of them,” Andrews said.
“Who?” McDonald shouted. “Hunters? Oh, my God! Don’t tell me you’re like the other younguns that come in here. Three years at Harvard College, and you want to use it that way. I ought to
Adriana Hunter, Carmen Cross