Chapter 4
Compared to the lumberyard, it was rather light work, but Righty knew that without the help of all these fine gentlemen, who handled a plow and oxen with as much mastery and finesse as the lasso, he would be huffing and puffing with little progress to show for it.
The oxen did most of the heaviest work. There were around five or six large plows being pulled, each with a team of oxen being supervised with acute supervision by an ambitious rancher who used the whip liberally, his mind no doubt thinking about the $1,000 reward that could be his in exchange for the right level of productivity.
Meanwhile, the rest of the men walked behind them scattering the seeds in as even a fashion as they could. By around 7:30 p.m. it looked to Righty like they had come pretty close to plowing and sowing about five acres, so he whistled loudly.
All the ranchers stopped what they were doing and approached him.
“That’s what I call an honest day’s work,” Righty said, grinning, and passing out a thousand-falon bill to each of the ranchers, whose eyes grew exponentially as the light paper—whose small weight greatly belied its immense worth—made contact with their sweaty fingers. They frantically dried their hands, or tried to, on their shirts in order not to soil the venerable donative, but it was a fruitless task, as not a dry spot could be found on their clothing. The enormity of receiving a month’s pay for one day’s work was slowly beginning to sink into their elated minds.
“How much seed do we have left?” he asked his enthusiastic employees.
“About five barrels,” Tim replied.
“Anybody feel like doing some planting tomorrow? A thousand falons each if you’re as productive as today.”
“You’ve got yourself a crew, Mr. Simmers,” Tim said and was quickly joined by a chorus of “Yes, sir!” “Most definitely!” and “Absolutely, sir!”
“Good,” said Righty. “Just remember that no one here tells anyone for any reason whatsoever what we occasionally plant here. I’m putting my absolute faith in you men,” Righty said and then observed their countenances, with the attention of a skillful physician, looking for the slightest symptom of perfidy.
“We grow corn, coffee, tea, carrots, and other items, all lawful, every last one of them,” Tim replied on behalf of the group with a convincing sincerity.
“I’m glad you’re all loyal, honest men,” Righty said, still scanning their visages with hawk-like attention, and he noticed with inward satisfaction that a few konulans made several non-threatening flybys overhead. “See to it that the remaining barrels of seeds are stored properly. I should be here tomorrow no later than noon, but don’t be afraid to start without me,” Righty said laughing.
He then shook each of their hands, got on a horse, and rode as far as the fence where he usually met the ranchers. He saw a gate nearby, so he opened it up and then led the horse inside.
No sooner was he past the row of trees than he gave a soft whistle for Harold.
To his surprise, there was no sudden gust of air like usual. For a moment, he thought Harold must not have heard him. Then suddenly Harold crept out from behind a bush with a grin on his face.
“You’re getting pretty stealthy,” Righty said. “I like that!”
Harold chuckled and then lowered his body so Righty could climb on top. Righty had Harold stop by the house, whereupon he immediately brought out the two barrels of seeds that he had intentionally withheld from the sight of the ranchers. He bade Harold to pick them up, and then Harold flew Righty to the crest of the neighboring mountain.
Righty cursed his misfortunate at not having a shovel, whereupon Harold immediately began digging with his talons, making the most efficient shovel seem like a crude tool. The razor-sharp edges of Harold’s talons sliced through the ground, while their massive strength squeezed together huge clumps of earth that Harold then tossed peremptorily to the side. Righty almost made an attempt to help but then realized his bare hands were about as equal to the task as a butter knife to skinning a buck.
He decided to profit from the time by asking the konulans what they had learned. They informed him that while the ranchers seemed a bit nervous by the unexpected change of events, treachery had not been detected. Righty was greatly relieved.
A mere five minutes later, Harold had a tomb prepared for the two barrels, which Righty then wasted no time filling with the two barrels, which, in his opinion, held a treasure far more valuable than even a king’s coffin.
It was then and there that he decided that the best way for him to survive in this business was to compartmentalize his operation. The ranchers must never know about his junkyard gang and vice versa. And once this ranch was producing enough product that he was making significant money, he ought to get several more, all or most of which should remain unknown to these ranchers. That way if ever there was a betrayal, the damage could be contained. And he also realized that at some point he should get a family ranch. A ranch where no Smokeless Green would be growing anywhere. A nice, wholesome family environment for his wife and baby on the way. But that was for later.
As for right now, he was going to be lucky not to miss his appointment at the junkyard. He was glad he had the foresight this morning to pack twenty pounds, since there would not have been time to return to Ringsetter. He hopped on Harold and set off for Sivingdel.
The International Businessman Page 4
