Chapter 16 - The Auction at San Angelo
They found Silas Vane at the Red Creek station.
Not the Matador office.
Not a hotel.
The station.
He was boarding a train east.
Harrison saw him first.
“Vane!”
Vane turned.
For one second his composure disappeared.
Then he ran.
Josephine had never seen Harrison move faster.
Vane crossed the platform, slipped on ice, recovered, and reached for the rear rail of the departing train.
Judson came from the opposite direction.
He did not tackle Vane.
He simply stepped into his path holding a pie box.
Vane collided with him.
Both fell.
The pie did not survive.
Josephine reached them panting.
Judson stared at the destroyed dessert.
“That was pecan.”
Vane tried to rise.
Harrison pushed him back down.
“Contracts.”
“I don’t know what—”
Josephine knelt.
“You’re leaving town hours before Bellweather arrives.”
“So?”
“You took the originals from Ironstone.”
“Prove it.”
She looked at his luggage.
“Gladly.”
The sheriff arrived before Harrison could open it himself.
Inside Vane’s case they found clothes, cash, a railway timetable, and nothing else.
Vane smiled through a bruised lip.
“Disappointed?”
Josephine looked at the suitcase.
Too easy.
A man running with valuable documents would not place them in obvious luggage.
She scanned the platform.
A porter was carrying a narrow metal case toward the baggage car.
“Stop him.”
The porter ran.
Judson chased him.
Five minutes later, the case lay open.
Contracts.
Originals.
Samuel T. Croft’s complete signature.
Vane stopped smiling.
The courthouse hearing began that afternoon.
August Bellweather arrived late.
He was not physically imposing.
Josephine had expected someone dramatic.
Bellweather was sixty, neatly dressed, white-haired, and calm.
That made him more frightening.
He sat beside three attorneys and regarded Harrison as though observing livestock.
The judge reviewed documents.
Nathaniel Price’s sworn earlier statements.
Bank records.
Matador’s attempted transfer.
Samuel Croft’s purchase option.
Bellweather’s lawyers argued the agreement was obsolete.
Ironstone argued it had been triggered legally.
Hours passed.
Josephine sat behind Harrison.
Nobody asked her to speak.
She preferred it that way.
Facts were stronger without performance.
At sunset, the judge ruled.
The option was valid.
Ironstone had thirty days to complete the purchase.
Harrison closed his eyes.
Josephine squeezed his hand.
They had won.
Almost.
Then Bellweather stood.
“If they can pay.”
Everyone looked at him.
He smiled.
“Thirty thousand dollars.”
The judge nodded.
“That is correct.”
Bellweather put on his coat.
“I look forward to receiving it.”
He knew Ironstone did not have it.
Legal victory without money was another kind of defeat.
Outside the courthouse, Harrison leaned against the wall.
“We have twelve thousand for the bank.”
“Which we pay.”
“Then almost nothing.”
“Yes.”
“We need thirty thousand in thirty days.”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“Why do you keep saying yes like this is normal?”
“It saves time.”
Cordelia joined them.
“There may be buyers.”
“For what?” Harrison asked.
“Minor parcels.”
Josephine shook her head.
“Selling land to buy land defeats the purpose.”
“What else?”
Josephine looked down the street.
San Angelo was crowded.
Cattle.
Merchants.
Banks.
Railway representatives.
Then she saw a notice nailed outside an auction house.
WINTER LIVESTOCK & LAND AUCTION — INVESTORS WELCOME.
An idea formed.
Not a safe one.
She walked toward the notice.
Harrison followed.
“No.”
Again.
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I recognize your face.”
“What face?”
“The one you make before doing something financially terrifying.”
Josephine tore down the notice.
“We don’t borrow thirty thousand from one man.”
“Good.”
“We borrow it from thirty.”
Harrison stared.
Josephine explained.
Ironstone would sell participation certificates against future railway shipping revenue, cattle profits, and provision operations.
Not ownership of the land itself.
Investment contracts.
Local ranchers and merchants could invest fifty, one hundred, five hundred dollars.
Harrison looked skeptical.
“Why would anyone?”
“Because if Ironstone becomes the railway shipping point, every ranch nearby benefits.”
“That’s not guaranteed.”
“No.”
“Then this is risky.”
“Yes.”
“You plan to stand in an auction hall and ask strangers to fund us?”
“Not strangers.”
Josephine looked toward Martha Bell and the other ranchers.
“Partners.”
Three days later, the hall was full.
Josephine hated public speaking.
She did it anyway.
She stood on a small platform wearing the same navy dress she had worn when she stepped from the stagecoach.
Some people recognized her.
Others whispered.
Josephine began.
“My name is Josephine Pickett.”
Silence.
“Six months ago, I came to Texas because a rancher offered double wages for a cook.”
A few people laughed.
She smiled.
“They laughed when I arrived too.”
More laughter.
“Then they ate supper.”
The room warmed.
Josephine described Ironstone.
Not sentimentally.
Numbers.
Water capacity.
Cattle.
Railway proposal.
Provision revenue.
Land option.
Risks.
Every risk.
“If you invest,” she said, “you may lose money.”
Harrison watched her from the side.
“But if Ironstone succeeds, this county becomes less dependent on one company deciding what your cattle, water, and transportation are worth.”
That changed the room.
Bellweather had enemies.
Not because people were noble.
Because monopolies were expensive.
Martha Bell invested two hundred dollars.
A merchant invested five hundred.
The railroad contractor invested one thousand.
A hotel owner purchased certificates.
Then ranchers.
Widows.
Storekeepers.
Cowboys.
Judson invested twenty-three dollars.
“All I got,” he said.
Josephine hugged him.
By sunset, they had raised eighteen thousand four hundred dollars.
Not enough.
But close.
Harrison added every dollar he could.
Cordelia sold a diamond necklace.
Three thousand.
“I never liked it,” she said.
They reached twenty-four thousand.
Six thousand short.
The auction hall emptied.
Josephine stood looking at the totals.
Six thousand dollars.
After everything, six thousand might defeat them.
Then an elderly man entered.
Nathaniel Price.
Walking with a cane.
Still weak from his stroke.
Unable to speak clearly.
He placed an envelope on the table.
Inside was a cashier’s draft.
Six thousand dollars.
Harrison shook his head.
“No.”
Price wrote on a piece of paper.
Your father once saved my firm. Let me return an old debt.
Harrison’s eyes filled.
Josephine covered her mouth.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Exactly.
Ironstone could complete the purchase.
Bellweather learned the news that evening.
He responded by doing the only thing left to him.
He forced Matador’s county holdings into an emergency public auction, arguing the option applied only to debt-distressed assets and attempting to complicate title.
The court scheduled the auction.
Josephine looked at the notice.
Harrison sighed.
“Please don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The terrifying financial one.”
She smiled.
Because for the first time, Ironstone would not attend an auction begging to survive.
May you like
It would arrive as a buyer.
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