“There’s the Planters’ Hotel, Red,” he spoke, pointing. “It’s the biggest. The company’s office is right across the street, kittycorner. See it?”
Kittycorner from the Planters’ Hotel (which was a large three-story building, with a wide porch and a verandah, too, running around its face) Dave saw a sign reading, in big letters, “Russell, Majors & Waddell,” on a brick building. The streets hereabouts were more crowded than at any other point, and the two boys had difficulty in threading their way, dodging people and horses and oxen and wagons.
“Better tie up here,” spoke Billy abruptly, his quick eye sighting a vacant hitching spot at the sidewalk. “This place is getting too populous for me; can’t hardly breathe.”
They wedged in, tied their horses, and Billy led the way to the Russell, Majors & Waddell office—headquarters of the great overland freighting firm.
“That’s Mr. Majors at the desk,” he informed, undertone, to Dave, on the threshold. And—“How do you do, Mr. Waddell?” he said respectfully, as another man was brushing past them.
“How-do-do, Billy,” responded the man. “Back again, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, take care of yourself, my boy,” and Mr. Waddell hastened away, as if on matters important.
“He’s the third partner,” whispered Billy. “But you don’t see him very often. Mr. Majors and Mr. Russell seem to run the plains part of the business.”