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This would be for the truly rich and powerful men and women that come here to relax, for Mayor Timmins's wealthy backers from back east, for business that required absolute privacy, and many more. This is where the true deals would be made, away from prying eyes and listening ears.
The vision was vivid, almost tangible. He saw carriages of wealthy city folk arriving, drawn by the promise of wilderness chic.
He saw the lodge's name, not 'Welcome Center,' something grander, like The Timberline Lodge or The Cataract Club, on the lips of society pages in Saint Denis and Blackwater.
It would be more than an inn, it would be an outpost of his growing empire, a listening post in the West, a legitimate enterprise that laundered not money, but reputation.
He pulled himself from the reverie, reining in the galloping plans. First, Strauss must confirm the sale. Then, the negotiation. Then, the architects. One step at a time. To dream too far ahead of the facts was to build on sand. But the seed was planted, and in the fertile ground of his ambition, it had already taken root.
He finished his meal, the final french fry cold but unnoticed. Strauss was already dabbing his mouth with a napkin, his mind clearly already packing for the morning's journey.
"The stage leaves at seven thirty on the morning tomorrow," Strauss said, as if reading Caleb's next question. "I will be on it Mr. Thorne."
"Good," Caleb nodded. He stood, feeling the energy of the new project coursing through him, tempering the fatigue from the Marlins' deal. One foundation was laid in steel and firearms.
The next might be laid in timber and tourism. Both were weapons in their own way. "Get some rest now to prepare yourself. You have a long ride ahead. And remember, ears open, mouth mostly shut."
"Always, Mr. Thorne."
As Strauss departed to his room on the hotel to prepare, Caleb remained in the resting area. He watched the comings and goings of the restaurant, the food being send out and dirty dishes entering in exchange, alongside the line of customers in the window counter.
He felt a vast distance between himself and them now, a gulf forged not just by the fortune he now controlled, but by the scope of what he saw.
Valentine was his base, but his gaze was on the horizon, west to Strawberry' potential, east to Saint Denis's entrenched power, and everywhere in between, where opportunity slept, waiting for a man with the vision to wake it, and the capital to command it.
Jessie came to clear the plates. "Big plans today?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes knowing. She'd seen the serious men on the porch, the heavy sack, but she also knew how to keep her mouth close.
"The end of some, Jessie," Caleb said, offering her a smile that was both weary and electric with anticipation. "And the beginning of others."
He left the restaurant, stepping back out onto the porch. The ghost of the morning's transaction seemed to linger there, in the space where the canvas sack had changed hands. But Caleb's eyes were no longer on that memory.
They looked west, following the invisible line of the stagecoach route Strauss would take tomorrow. In the quiet hamlet of Strawberry, a mayor's failed dream might just be the next brick in Caleb Thorne's empire. And he intended to secure it.
By the time he returned to the hotel, the sun had climbed higher, warming the street. Inside, the lobby was quiet. Caleb took the stairs two at a time.
Mary-Beth was awake when he entered the room, seated at the desk, pen moving steadily across the page. She glanced up and smiled.
"You're back early."
"Deal's done," he said simply.
Her smile widened. "I figured."
He crossed the room and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Strauss is headin' to Strawberry tomorrow."
Her brows lifted. "Oh?"
"Rumors about the Welcome Center Lodge. If they're true… it could be somethin' big."
She set her pen down. "Another place like this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely.
"Bigger and better," Caleb said quietly. "With much larger potential if done right."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You always see further than most."
He smiled faintly. "Someone has to."
She returned to her writing, the scratch of her pen filling the room again.
The next day came quietly, the kind of morning that crept in on soft light and cool air rather than announcing itself with noise.
Caleb was already awake before dawn fully broke, sitting on the edge of the bed as he finished tightening his boots. Mary-Beth still slept, turned slightly toward the window, her hair spilling across the pillow. He paused for a moment, watching her breathe, then stood and reached for his gun belt and hat.
He moved with practiced silence, the routine of a man who had lived too long among others who slept lightly. Once dressed, he crossed the room, leaned down, and brushed a kiss against Mary-Beth's forehead.
She stirred but didn't wake. Caleb allowed himself a faint smile before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door softly behind him.
Outside, Valentine was only just waking. The street carried the low murmur of early risers, shopkeepers lifting shutters, the distant clop of hooves.
Caleb retrieved Morgan from the hitching post and mounted smoothly, steering toward the train station where the stagecoach always waited in the mornings.
He had no intention of riding with Strauss. Today was for checking progress, for seeing with his own eyes how far his land in the west had come. Walking would have taken far too long, and Morgan seemed eager under him, sensing the purpose in his rider.
The ride to the train station was short, the town still mostly asleep. The stagecoach, a mud spattered Concord, was already stationed, its team of four horses looking bored as the driver checked the traces. He dismounted, hitched Morgan nearby, and lit a cigarette, leaning casually against a post as he waited, his eyes scanning the approach from the town.
A few minutes later, the slight, precise figure of Leopold Strauss emerged from the morning gloom, his suitcase held firmly in one hand. He spotted Caleb and adjusted his course, his expression a mixture of determination and nervous anticipation.
"Mr. Thorne," Strauss said, his voice respectful.
"Strauss. Ready for your expedition?"
"As I shall ever be, sir."
Caleb took a final drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light. "You brought the piece I gave you?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Strauss's free hand went unconsciously to the side of his coat, where a subtle bulge sat under the tailored fabric. He had traded his usual formal wear for something sturdier, a dark tweed suit more suited to travel, but he still looked every inch the clerk, not a field agent.
"Yes, sir. It is here. Rest assured, I… I shall use it wisely, if the need arises." The last part was spoken with a slight tremor.
Caleb dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. He stepped closer and placed a firm, steadying hand on Strauss's shoulder. "If it comes to that, Herr Strauss, remember, take a deep breath. Just like on the range. Sight, breath, squeeze. Don't jerk it. The gun is a tool, an argument of last resort. Your mind is your primary weapon on this trip. Use that first."
Strauss swallowed, visibly gathering himself, and gave a firm nod. "Understood, sir. Mind first."
"Good man." Caleb released his shoulder. "Now go. Bring me back the lay of the land."
Strauss turned to the stagecoach driver, a grizzled man with a thick beard. "A ticket to Strawberry, please."
"7 dollars," the driver grunted, not looking up from his harness check.
Strauss produced the coins with efficient grace. As the driver nodded and pocketed them, Strauss glanced back at Caleb one final time, offered a brief, formal wave, and then climbed into the dim interior of the coach.
The door shut with a solid thump. The driver heaved himself up onto the box, gathered the reins, and with a shout and a crack of the whip, the coach lurched into motion, the wheels crunching on the gravel as it headed west, out of Valentine and into the vast openness of the Heartlands.
Caleb watched until it was a dust cloud on the horizon. The deed was in motion. He mounted Morgan, his own direction set. With Strauss seeking intelligence in the west, he would turn his attention to the tangible proof of his ambitions growing to the west of town.
The ride to his purchased land was a tonic. The rolling grasslands, the slow meander of the Dakota River, the sheer space of it all, it was the opposite of the claustrophobic deal making of the hotel porch. Here, progress was measured in raised beams and stacked stones, not whispered agreements and bank notes.
As he crested the final rise, the activity below came into view. It was a hive of purposeful industry. The skeleton of the main house was now unmistakable, the foundation of local stone was complete, and the first floor walls of sturdy timber were climbing skyward.
Nearby, the barn was almost fully enclosed, its roof a promise of shelter. The rhythmic pounding of hammers, the rasp of saws, and the occasional shout of instruction created a symphony of construction. Fence posts were being sunk along the perceived boundary, defining the claim upon the earth.
George, his foreman, was everywhere at once. A big man with forearms like cured hams, he was directing Seth and Elias in positioning a major support beam for the house while simultaneously yelling instructions to a pair of workers roofing the barn. Caleb dismounted and approached, a faint smile touching his lips at the organized chaos.
"—no, move it two inches to the left, I said," George snapped. Then he turned, caught sight of Caleb, and broke into a grin. "Boss!" George called out, noticing him. He wiped sweat from his brow with a bandana, leaving a smudge of dirt. "Come to inspect the construction as usual?"
"Something like that," Caleb replied, shaking George's calloused hand. "I see the bones are taking shape. Looks solid."
"Solid as we can make 'em," George said, pride evident in his voice. He gestured expansively. "Foundation's done, first floor walls are goin' up quick. Barn's about weather tight. Fences are the easy part, we'll have 'em done in a few days. The house…" He scratched his chin, looking at the open framework.
"That's the puzzle. Your three story design, with them interior stairs and the wide floorspace… it's a big ask. The staircase alone is a week's work for a skilled carpenter, and we gotta make sure the supports for the second and third floors are over engineered. Don't want your bed rooms and other room ending up in your cellar one night."
Caleb nodded, his eyes critically tracing the lines of the structure. His Crafting Skill, though primarily honed on smaller crafting and inventions, gave him an innate understanding of load, joinery, and structural integrity.
He could see what George meant, the central spine of the house needed additional cross bracing before they went any higher.
"The design is sound," Caleb said, thinking aloud. "But the execution needs to be perfect. The pillars here," he pointed to the central support posts, "could use a sister post alongside each, bolted together. Doubles the strength for the cost of a little extra timber."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 4)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 4)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 4)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,526 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 77,892 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, & 1 Broken Pirate Sword
Bank: -