He was a trading genius. Anything he had for sale soon became the rage with the large native population. He got to know most of the great ladies of the land. Knowing that great ladies, be they white or black, set the fashions, he persuaded them to patronise his store and accept long credit.
If this particular pattern of print did not generally commend itself to the community, one of the important dames would shortly appear draped in yards of it. If that coloured bead did not sell freely, a personage in the Chief's household would soon be seen wearing string after string of it.
But it was cattle he wanted, and cattle he got. So large did his herd of fine beasts become that the Chief himself grew jealous, and issued a warning to his people not to sell too freely.
Still the herd increased. The man dealt more fairly with the people than the other traders, and, moreover, did not make the mistake of getting upon too familiar terms with his customers.
During my absence on a tour of inspection a crisis arose. The Chief forbade his people to have any further dealings with the Cattle King.
Schiller counted his gains, branded his cattle, and sent them south to the rail-head for sale. Then he closed his store.
Just at this time a number of waggons arrived bearing many cases and bales of new goods for him. These were off-loaded, unpacked, and disappeared into the closed store.
Then Schiller made a hatch in the store door not unlike that of a railway booking-office. He left the shutter ajar, but piled up goods in front of all the windows. Black noses in plenty gathered against the panes, but goods—goods everywhere—blocked a view of the interior of the store.
Through the hatch Schiller could be seen mysteriously occupied. He had a chequered board in front of him with many little discs of wood upon it. He sat with eyes fixed on the board, and from time to time moved a disc.
He told all inquirers that his store had been closed by orders of the Chief, and that he himself was very busy.