Having ridden the "bus," our band, with the assistance of the very kind Roselyn, finally departed the method of transport and began traveling on foot.
Sacagawea, always our best pathfinder, lead the way. The man who had spoken on his "phone" device to retrieve information on where to reclaim Jeep, gave Sacagawea the postal code. Although she found this navigation to be like none she had ever encountered. Indeed, the buildings had numbers on them in sequential order. They appeared to be postal codes of some kind. Perhaps the Spanish were ahead of us in this advancement? The United States had, only twelve years prior, passed a law into effect which dedicated one location in each township for mail to be both delivered to and sent. Through this brilliant Spanish postal coordination, we quickly saw the pattern. We followed the postal numbers which progressed higher, soon to meet the written postal code we possessed. Little Pomp made a game of it, rushing ahead to tell us the next code. Finally we arrived at our location.
We entered the establishment. Clark took the lead and proceeded to the proprietor behind the front desk. Clark, with lack of diplomacy, demanded the return of Jeep. The gruff man, several days past his shaving, gazed up to us with a most displeasing expression. He told Clark we would get our "car" back when we paid him his money. Of course, this infuriated Clark. I could tell Jean Baptise was steaming as well, however, his manner did not display it. Clark insisted that it were preposterous for us to pay for the return of our own wagon when it was taken without our permission, legal or otherwise.
The gruff man, with a stone cold stare only a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake could call upon - my apologies for using this reference, as it is I who named this breed of Crotalus and it, indeed, can only be found on our journey. So for the purpose of this retelling, know it is venomous with angry, hateful eyes. To continue my story forward, the man said to us, and this is for verbatim, "You actors are all the same. You come in with a song and dance about not being able to afford the fee." Certainly this comment left us perplexed. Never once had any of us engaged in the folly of the theatre. Jean Baptise once again pulled out his purse and asked the very rude man how much of a payment was required. The man said bluntly "50 bucks." Clark lashed out again. We only had coyote pelts and had not see any deer since we had arrived here. Jean Baptise pulled out the same coin we had traded to originally take possession of Jeep, but the man merely squinted his eyes further. He said his company would not accept foreign coins for payment. Damn the Spanish Territory! I asked politely, trying to return the situation to a semblance of a gentlemanly like discussion, where might we trade for local currency? Once again, in the most vile of manners, the man said we should "try a bank" and quickly left us to respond to a bell ringing repeatedly.
Our band regrouped outside the business to decide our next course of action. We must find a bank to trade with to acquire the banknotes featuring our first President.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
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