"Mr. Langden," Mrs. Gable said, smoothing her silk skirt. "A cold morning, isn't it?" Josiah did not smile. He looked at the red flannel. Then he looked at Mrs. Gable.
"Mr. Higgins," Josiah called out. His voice was deep. It rumbled like distant thunder. The storekeeper hurried over. "Yes, Mr. Langden. What can I do for you?"
Josiah pointed a thick leather-gloved finger at the red flannel. "How many yards do you have on that bolt?" "About 40 yards, sir," Mr. Higgins said. "I'll take it," Josiah said. Mrs. Gable blinked.
"All of it? But Mr. Langden, I was just about to purchase five yards for my niece." Josiah finally looked directly into Mrs. Gable's eyes. His gaze was entirely flat. It lacked any warmth. "You were," Josiah said.
"But you were too busy laughing to open your purse." Mrs. Gable's face flushed a deep mottled red. Josiah pulled a thick roll of greenbacks from his coat pocket. He peeled off several bills and dropped them onto the counter. "Wrap the whole bolt, Mr. Higgins," Josiah said softly, "and load it into my wagon."
Josiah turned and walked out the door, leaving the mercantile in absolute silence. He stepped out into the cold. He looked down the street. He could still see Cora and Nelly walking in the distance, their heads bowed against the wind. Josiah did not follow them immediately.
He was not a man who acted recklessly. He was a man who planned. He untied his horse from the hitching post. He had come to town to sign a contract at the bank. But as he mounted his horse, he realized the contract no longer mattered.
Something else required his attention. The Clearwater Bank sat at the end of the street, built of red brick and thick glass. It was the warmest building in town. Josiah Langden pushed open the heavy oak doors. The warmth washed over him, smelling of pipe tobacco and polished wood.
Behind the main desk sat Mr. Arthur Gable. He was a man who preferred ledgers to people. He was also the husband of Harriet Gable. Mr. Gable looked up from his papers. His polite, practiced smile appeared instantly.
"Mr. Langden," Gable said, standing. "I have the grazing contract ready for your signature." Josiah walked to the desk. He did not sit down. "I am not here for my contracts," Josiah said.
Gable's smile slipped, just a fraction. "Is there a problem with the terms?" "No." Josiah rested his large, calloused hands on the polished mahogany. "I want to see the Thornton note."
The bank manager froze. The silence in the room stretched. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly. "The Thornton note?" Gable repeated. His voice had lost its confident rhythm.
"I am afraid I cannot discuss another customer's private accounts, Mr. Langden. It is a matter of bank policy." Josiah stared at him. He did not raise his voice. He did not make a threat. He simply let the weight of his presence fill the space between them.
Josiah was a man who controlled half the economy of the county. Policy was a word smaller men used to hide behind. "Show me the ledger, Arthur," Josiah said softly. Gable swallowed hard. He opened a heavy drawer.