The large cotton-knit bag hit the countertop with a soft thump. Tucked inside was an assortment of animal pelts ranging from wolves to hawks. Most of them were still fresh and came packaged with an awful stench of blood. The bag's owner peered around the shop, wondering why the clerk was not watching his goods. The light from the noon-time sun shone through the wide windows and into the store, showing off every speck of dust and dirt. A small, silver bell sat on one side of the counter, of which the man took notice. He stretched his arm towards the device, cupped his palm, and rang.
Moments later, a limping, wrinkly old man stepped out from a doorway in the corner of the store, which was not much smaller than your average saloon. He wore a white apron around his clothes that hung down below his knees. His hair was pure white and frilly while his head was full of dimples and freckles. He turned his head towards the counter and stared at his solitary customer with a puzzling gaze. He pushed up his spectacles from the tip of his nose and cocked his head sideways.
"Can I help you, son?" He called out.
The man at the counter took half a step closer towards the clerk and lifted his stare from the bag.
"I'm looking to trade, sir. I was wondering if you'd be interested in some animal skins," Replied the newcomer as he placed his hand on the bag. "I'm new in these parts and in need of some supplies."
The clerk paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then quickly made his way over to the counter.
"Well now, you are a new face. What's yer name, son?" The clerk asked, puzzled.
"The name's Jack. Jack Marston," he exclaimed with pride. "Now if you don't mind, sir, I'd like to hurry this up."
"Marston, huh? Sounds familiar, but I can't put my finger on it," said the shop keep, scratching his scalp. "Anyway, I'd be glad to help ya. What have you got?"
Jack pushed the bag towards the far edge of the counter and untied the knot around the opening. The store owner pulled the rope away, making the small hole wider. He peered inside, but quickly threw his head back at the stench of dead carcass and bloodstained fur.
"Sorry, sir. I didn't have time to wash 'em."
The clerk waved his hand and dismissed the man's apology. The stink of dead animal surely wasn't something new to him. Again, he peered into the bag, pulling out individual skins and pelts while determining a value for each one, likely based on size, quality, and the breed of its former owner.
"Well you've certainly got yourself a nice collection, boy. I'd say that all together, they're worth about twenty-five dollars. Might have been a bit more, but now I gotta wash 'em myself, ya see."
The old man, still watching the furs, slowly looked up towards Jack's face. He could tell his customer was displeased with his offer, but kept a wide smirk on his face.
Jack indeed looked disgruntled. He tugged at the brim of his hat and pushed his upper body closer to the counter.
"Twenty-five? That's it? Those rabbit furs alone are worth fifteen!"
"Take it or leave it, son. But you won't find a better offer around here."
The clerk cleared his throat and coughed, finishing his statement by spitting at the ground. Marston, who knew the clerk was right, agreed to his terms. The clerk smiled and tied the rope around the bag once more. He lifted the furs from the counter and placed them on the floor nearby. He patted his hands together and looked back up towards Jack.
"Now, what do you need?"
"Ammo. Twenty-two and a forty-five. And packed rations. Corn, potatoes, anything like that."
The clerk turned towards the shelves behind him and started looking over his wares. It took a minute, but he eventually found enough and placed several small boxes and cans on the counter.
"Here we go, this should make up the value of those furs. Some ammo, a tin of corn, a bag of bread, some eggs, apples, and potatoes." The clerk counted up some numbers in his head, just to be sure. "Anything else, friend?"
Jack stared at the items on the counter and made sure that was all he needed.
"Naw, that about does it." He took a pack off his shoulder, opened it, and quickly threw his new wares inside. "Thank you, sir. Have yourself a good one." Jack pulled the bag over his shoulder and turned towards the exit.
"Same to you son," replied the clerk, still holding onto his grin. "And welcome to Armadillo."