Aaron had a lot to think over, after spending the day with the older man. He had been thorough in his 'tour' and was able to answer Aaron's questions, such as they were, succinctly enough. They had seen a lot of small farms, a couple larger farms, and a lot of men piling up logs as they cleared land for farming.
Jonathan Bolt had made a point of pointing out the rows and stacks of felled trees, without commen, othe than they would be handy for the next time San Francisco burned.
Shrewd, Aaron thought. Wasn't 'canny' the word usually used to describe the Scots? Shrewd fit the man better. Aaron had come here from San Francisco, where his father had been living for many years, but it wasn't his home.
Come to think of it, he hadn't had a home for quite a long time. Now that was a strange thought, and he dismissed it immediately. Mawkish sentiment!
There wasn't much unclaimed property around, as one would expect in such a small area. Mr. Bolt had said that several parties had arrived nearly simultaneously, and one man of the first party had claimed most of the land, and parceled it out to the ones who came after. Possession being nine-tenths of the law, such as it was. Once the land was sold, the man had taken his money and moved on a bit where he claimed yet other unclaimed lands and repeated his profiting. Profiteering.
The countryside was so green, where it wasn't blue and silver with rippling waters. Trees that must have started when the world was first created. There were some as had been refitted to be houses, and others that just possibly could have served a town in the same manner. (Especially one so small as this mudhole called Seattle.)
Why, one of those large old trees could make a ship or a block of tenements and have wood to spare for furnishings! A man could get rich for life on one or two trees. To package and ship a steady supply of such trees would be to have a steady supply of revenue. His grandfather had been on to something!
Miles and miles, layers and layers of trees climbing hills as far the eye could see, and the hills themselves climbing higher and higher to become mountains. Even the mountains shone in the sunlight.
There was a mountain, just across the way. As the sun came out, it sparkled, despite being heavily treed with those rows and tiers and layers. Above the trees were rock and ice, and from the ice the mountain appeared swathed in lace.
Aaron was in love.
Mr. Bolt was patient as he waited when Aaron stopped to study the terrain.
They were walking along one body of water when he said, "We're on your granda's property now."
Aaron nodded. Water would be needed for a mill such as his grandfather had discussed. Flowing water for a wheel, or perhaps a pool for steam; both possibilities could be used if the building was properly equipped. More water as a storage for uncut timber. Yes, it would take a large expanse of water for all of that.
"Water rights?" Aaron asked, and Jonathan Bolt smiled.
"Tis not an issue here. There's no property between yours and water's edge, none would be affected."
"I see. Is there room for expansion?"
"Some, inland. Towards the town."
"Yonder mountain?"
"Nae. The properties abut, in places."
"The owners would not sell?"
"The owner willna sell."
"One owner?" Aaron was surprised. It looked like one of the places that would have a few farms at its feet, with perhaps a smithy and livery. And, higher up, the possibility of six or ten logging operations. Maybe some mining.
"Aye." His guide crossed his arms.
"One man might be easier to negotiate with than a collection of farmers." It would be easier. Every man had his price, but a group of men would have a group of prices. The object was to make money, not spend it.
"Or not." Mr. Bolt resumed walking, now heading inland, back towards the town.
They stopped at a small locked building, and Mr. Bolt unlocked it.
Inside were all the mechanical parts he'd need to get started. (Other than the actual building.) Fortunately there were plans and diagrams with many of the parts, and his guide showed him his grandfather's plans and blueprints.
Jonathan Bolt leaned against a wall and watched this very sober young man, not much more than a boy, as he opened boxes and unrolled papers as delightedly as any child. This one was not so much older than his own Jason, it seemed. No wonder the two of them had acted as they did this morning.
If the man stayed on, and Jon thought he would, there would be some competition there. For what, he didna know; it did not matter. Each wanted what the other had, perhaps. Twould do Jason good, and probably the grandson as well. Time would tell.