Outside Dodge City, Kansas.
Next to the corrals of Elias Vance's ranch.
Thompson, the Cooperative's agent, along with two of his men, finally arrived on the morning of the deadline. But what he brought was not a money box filled with silver coins, but a face full of apologies.
"Mr. Vance, I swear to God the funds will arrive this afternoon."
A hint of imperceptible pleading was in Thompson's voice, "There was some trouble in Philadelphia, but Mr. Armour has gone to handle it personally. Please, just give us a little more time."
Elias Vance said nothing. He just slowly turned around and pointed to the cowboys not far away, who were gathered around a campfire, drinking coffee. Their eyes, like wolves on the prairie, stared coldly at Thompson.
"Thompson," Vance's voice was calm, "My men have been waiting here for their pay since last night. I told them they could have their money and go have a good time at the city's saloon this morning. Now, what do you want me to tell them?"
