At the invitation from the madam, Jess' expression changed in a most peculiar way, both rapidly and subtly.  Surprise, suspicion, curiosity, then finally settling on a smile that was much more satisfied than the false carnival-barker grin she had worn only a moment ago.  "Why yes ma'am, I'll be sure to do just that," the dark-haired woman replied.  Then her voice dropped to on conspiratorial whisper.  "I imagine a couple of captains of industry like ourselves could talk just as much business as any fella in New York, given the chance, couldn't we now, Miss Vickie?"  She patted her jacket pocket gently, where the top of a small notebook was just visible.<br/><br/>But if the reporter was watching the madam like a prized milk-cow, when her dark gaze fell on the little blonde coming up the street her jaw was damn-near on the ground.<i>Here</i>was a gal with some real walking around change, a veritable gold mine if Jess played her cards right.  While Victoria was clearly a wealthy woman, the reporter saw more value in her as a source of information than investments.  Not so with Missy Huntington.  Girl looked like she might put two and two together and come up with six, but the short woman hadn't seen a clothes like that since leaving Chicago, when she and Jules had eyed the blue bloods with a mixture of awe and envy that eventually drove them west to seek their own fortunes.<br/><br/>"How do ya do, Miss...uh, Missy."  The quick talk, fast hand, and flashing smile had returned as Jess greeted the newcomer.  "Jessamine Barrow, Onxy Landing Sentinel.  Do mine ears deceive me, or do I detect another daughter of the stately east?  I hope the journey was pleasant for you.  Lord knows my sister over there and I had a<i>time</i>of it.  Come in on the train, did you?"<br/><br/>At the mention of Jules, the elder sister glanced back towards the wagons, where the tall woman was still struggling by herself to carry in all their worldly possessions, then looked back at the small group of men that had gathered around at the promise of a day's work and cash to go with it.  The little woman sighed heavily, then touched her bowler in apology to Missy.  "You'll have to excuse me a just a moment, sees as I've got some unfinished business to attend to.  Real nice making your acquaintance though, ma'am.  I'll be sure to come looking for you when we're ready to start taking on subscriptions!"<br/><br/>Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to the men.  "All right then laddies, you just go over there and help out Big Red, she'll give you the rundown.  Once that wagon's completely unloaded, she'll see you get your pay.  But mind your manners, you hear?"  Jess' gaze fell in particular on the one-armed man, whose comments she noticeably did<i>not</i>appreciate.  "I once saw her damn near take a fella's head off up in Kearney when he got sassy with her.  So if you want to finish with the same number of arms you're all starting with today, you'd best act like the nice young gentlemen I'm sure you all are.  In the meantime, I need to see a man about selling a horse or four."  Jess winked at the men, curtsied to the ladies, and went off skipping like a schoolgirl in the direction what she assumed was the mine.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">*****​</div><br/>Over by the wagon, Jules' heart began to race as the men approached.  "Um...hi.  I'm Jules," she stammered, heaving up an oilskin-wrapped spool of paper to hide the face growing as red as her hair.  "Let me just put this inside, and we can start bringing in the press.  That's really the only heavy thing, I think I can handle the rest myself."  But at five dollars a head, Jess would probably kill her if she didn't force the men to at least help with some of the trunks as well.  If they'd been alone, Jules might have even called her sister out at the extravagance of spending twenty dollars on labor when they only had fifty to their name, but maybe if they were lucky the horses and wagon would get a good price when everything was unloaded.<br/><br/>Inside the barbershop there were still two chairs and a wall of mirrors along one side, but there was plenty of room on the other for the press.  They'd have to figure out desks later, but Jules thought maybe they could use the wide counter underneath the mirrors as a temporary solution, especially considering they'd left most of their furniture behind them in Kiowa.  There was also one room in the back that had been Bob's living quarters, complete with a stove, wobbly table, one chair, and most foul-smelling mattress the redhead was sure would have to be burned.<br/><br/>Rolling up her sleeves and tying her twin braid together behind her head, Jules went back outside to join the men, counting them off as they lifted the heavy machinery and carried it into the building.  All in all it would take six trips to get every part of the press inside, with a few excruciating pauses to assemble the thing in the meantime.  But when all was said and done, the dusty black monstrosity dominated the barbershop and left only the smallest path to go through to the back.  That left the question of where to store the rest of the equipment--there was still plenty of paper, ink, type, and not to mention an entire barrel full of coal to run the boiler.  For now the sheltered back porch of the building would have to do, and Jess only prayed the area didn't get much rain.<br/><br/>"That's the worst of it.  Thank you all so much for your help," she said to the men after the press was fully assembled.  "I uh...well..." She didn't want to force any of them to help her continue the unpacking, not when she could carry everything else in the wagon herself.  But Jess would kill her if she paid them each the full five dollars with still so much work left to do.<br/><br/>"Do you want breakfast?" she said quickly, an idea striking her.  "We don't have much, but I can make some panbread and succotash if you want.  And coffee, if you can tell me where the well is."  That would at least buy her some time while she figured out what to do.  Maybe some of then would be willing to help out of the goodness of their hearts if she fed them.  Or if not, she could argue that breakfast was payment enough for the relatively quick work they'd made of the move.<br/><br/>Then again, that would require her to argue, an idea in itself which terrified the freckle-faced young woman to no end.