Amidst Jorge's increasingly aggressive accusations, Angel's expression had become not one of anger, or even righteous indignation but instead confusion. The word "stolen" was brandished like a gun, and he blinked rapidly in response, his brows furrowing together.
The sharp exchange of words between Jorge and Henrietta met an anticlimactic end with the sudden clap of Mayor Briggs' hands.
"That is
quite enough of that."
It was the closest the mayor had ever sounded to true, palpable irritation. And yet, somehow, someway, the increasingly preposterous posturer maintained a genuine and amicable smile. His moustache remained cheerfully lifted at the tips. Only his eyes had twitched somewhat at Jorge's continued impudence, and Henrietta's thinly veiled contempt had caused mixed reactions among his lackymen.
Samuel stood still, ever infuriatingly neutral. Garrett gave a smile of his own, though it lacked the cleanliness of the mayor's pearly whites. And Angel just...stared. He stared unabashedly at the fiery-tongued young woman in his midst; perhaps a star or two lay in those pretty blue eyes of his. At the mayor's rebuke, he started some, hurriedly tearing his eyes away from Henrietta to a more neutral subject: the ground.
"Do not portend and debase yourself to the low tenets of this gentleman, young woman."
Garrett scoffed.
"Gentleman." And in a very ungentlemanlike fashion, he spat to the side.
"Yes. Gentleman," The mayor repeated, "Who I would be remiss to remind voluntarily left his horse here in Angel's care, did he not?"
It was a rhetorical question, despite the enthusiastic nod of Angel's head. Mayor Briggs turned away, straightening his spotless clothes vehemently.
"Come, friends." The salesman's smile had returned, in all its perfectly manufactured glory. "Let us commence with our promenade."
-----------
There was a name for places like Highland. Remote towns that sprang from the red earth over the span of a fortnight, hardy pioneers flocking from all corners of America to fill its hastily built stores and saloons. Boomtowns, as they were: one minute the action was booming, and in the next...nothing. The gold dried up, and the 49ers moved, leaving nothing but a dried husk of civilization. All the signs and symptoms were there for Highland. But its small cluster of citizens held on somehow, desperately clinging to the once bustling town's remains. Twenty buildings hardly constituted a town, and they were a far cry from the bustling East Coast and Midwest cities. But Mayor Briggs was endearingly proud of his small, remote society, and it showed. The pride bristled from the crown of his end to the flared tips of his mustache.
"No doubt you are already familiar with the stables and stable boys," The mayor began, "as well as the West Inn, run by sprightly Mr. Worth. Allow me to elucidate on the finer, cultured things of Highland.
Trade and such - Come. Follow me."
Highland had been purposefully designed to form a curved, oblong shape, each store or home in full or partial view of the other. The bell tower that stood in the center was where the mayor found his means of a podium, and he gathered the newcomers there, urging them to turn with him to point out every building, first starting west of the Stables. It was a small, squat building, rough in body and frankly, an ugly sight. But the mayor's eyes sparked upon seeing it.
"We are blessed to share a public laundry here. Sadly our resident laundress has since transcended to her next course of life, but the facility remains open for use from morning until curfew. I would encourage you ladies and gents to avail yourselves of its services whenever convenient."
He turned ever so slightly, pointing at the even smaller building abutting it.
"There's our newspaper outlet. Clevinger gets by writing it - the postman, by the by - in his off-hours. He tries to get a paper out every odd day or so, highlighting the variable changes of the day and such to our townsfolk. Now let's see, his post office is…"
Much of the mayor's words were inconsequential. Rather, they were carrying a running theme, one the newcomers were sure to notice immediately.
It was a ghost town. Touches of modern day facilities were there: the bakery, the barbershop, the bank. But each introduction was quickly marred by the following details. That the stores were unstaffed, and so produced nothing. There were bakers in the bakery. There were no barbers in the barbershop. The bank held no money, and so sat as an useless decoy for whoever was foolish enough to "rob" it. Even the General goods store appeared lifeless, its owner having suddenly vanished from his cheerful cleaning of the front. In fact, none of the townsfolk could be seen anywhere about town, and the streets hummed with their silence.
The strangest of all was the weapons store. Large and prominently robust in color, the store appeared the newest building of the pop-up town. Through the window, its inventory appeared full, most of the merchandise on candid display beneath crystal-clear glass.
And yet -
"Sadly, it is closed for business today. Pray tell, it will be open sooner or later this week."
And the tour moved on without a bat of an eye.
Despite his enthusiastic presentation, Mayor Briggs could not hide the decay. Building after building, house after house, it became evident: Highland had long been derelict. Neglect seeped through even the freshest layer of paint-covered siding. Wind played and rolled through the empty yards of vacant homes, and Briggs held onto his cowboy hat, squinting against the sun.
"I am cognizant of the befuddled thoughts and inquiries one such as you ladies and gents might possess."
An easily enough debunked statement should one of the newcomers feel compelled to say so. But Briggs was a smart man, and no sooner had he paused than he was then speaking again.
"It is true. We have lost a significant portion of our town to the winds of change and such. But Highland
can be revitalized. First, in no small effort from new townsfolk such as yourselves. But secondly, from our mines. I endeavor strongly to reopen such a venture, for there I tell you blessed riches await us. Why, we have proof of such -"
He had apparently been waiting for that moment. With a flourish, Mayor Briggs produced a small pouch from his red satin pocket. Slowly, he upturned the pouch and dumped its contents onto his hand.
"This is the future that lies ahead for Highland. And I implore each and everyone of you to be a part of it."
It was impossible for one's eyes to not be drawn to it.
They were gold pieces. Nuggets, to be precise, but numerous and large enough in size to be of considerable worth combined. Their edges were more jagged, as if they had been sliced from the mine walls themselves. And there was something else about them: in the sun they shone, but not only gold. Lines of iridescence ran over the ore's surface, glittering rainbow hues under one's eyes.
He reached forward, his palm flattening out into the sun.
"Come," He urged, "A piece for all of you. A reminder of our encroaching prosperity."