The westbound train, like a steel dragon, wound its way across the vast North American continent.
The scenery outside the window gradually changed from New York's crowded urban jungle to Pennsylvania's rolling hills, and then to Ohio's endless farmlands.
"Sir, look outside."
His guard, O'Malley, pointed out the window, his voice carrying a hint of a rural Irish man's awe for the land.
"I've never seen so many cattle in my life. They're like... as numerous as fleas on a lawn."
Allen followed his gaze.
Outside the window, hundreds of thousands of cattle grazed leisurely on the open fields.
"This is just the beginning, O'Malley."
"When we get to Illinois, you'll see what a true sea of cattle looks like. And every single one of those cattle represents gold coins. What we need to do is find the owner who mints those gold coins."
When the train's massive steam engine finally puffed white smoke and slowly pulled into Chicago's Union Station, another taciturn guard, Flynn, spoke up.
"Sir, this place..."
He frowned, carefully sniffing the air.
"It smells different from New York."
"Oh? How is it different?"
"It's full of the smell of livestock and money, and... it's more dangerous."
Allen smiled at his words.
"Well said, Flynn. Let's go, gentlemen. Let's get the most expensive suite in Chicago's most expensive hotel. We need to let all the sharks in this city know that a fatter dragon has arrived."
In the luxurious suite at the Tremont House, which overlooked the entire Lake Michigan, Allen gathered his two guards and gave them his instructions for Chicago.
"Flynn, O'Malley."
"Yes, Sir."
"From now on, your mission is no longer to protect me, but to become my ears and eyes."
Allen placed a stack of cash and coins on the table.
"I want you to go to the liveliest taverns in the city, especially those near the Union Stock Yards. Drink and socialize with the cowboys, railroad workers, and slaughterhouse hands."
"Sir, do you mean for us to gather intelligence?" Flynn asked.
"Yes, but not military intelligence," Allen explained. "I want you to listen for complaints, gossip, and the truths spilled after a few drinks."
"Listen to the cowboys talk about which rancher is the most generous, and which is the most stingy."
"Listen to the railroad workers talk about which line has the highest shipping fees, and which station manager can be bribed with money."
"Listen to the slaughterhouse hands complain about who the true underground king of Chicago is, and who belongs to those big Eastern wholesalers."
"In short, I want a map. A map of the real, dirty power behind Chicago's meat and transportation business. Three days. I'm giving you three days and five hundred dollars in expenses. In three days, I want to hear your report here."
"No problem, Sir!"
After Flynn and O'Malley received their orders and left, Allen put on a respectable suit and entered a place entirely different from those street taverns—the Chicago City Bank.
He did not go to see the ordinary account managers.
Instead, he used a letter of recommendation from New York Bank to directly meet the Bank President of this bank, Mr. Harris.
"Mr. Williams, I've heard much about you, please have a seat!"
Harris was a shrewd Midwestern banker.
"The telegram from New York Bank spoke highly of you. Are you planning to open a branch factory in our city during this visit to Chicago?"
"No, Mr. Harris."
Allen said straightforwardly after sitting down.
"I'm not planning any production in Chicago for now. My purpose here is procurement."
"Procurement?"
"Yes, I want to procure live cattle, large quantities of live cattle, and then transport them by train back to my factory in New York."
The smile on Harris's face faltered slightly. He looked at Allen as if he were an amateur.
"Mr. Williams, if I may be frank, your costs would likely be exorbitant doing it that way."
He advised in a professional tone.
"Chicago has the world's most advanced slaughter and cold chain technology. Mr. Armour's and Mr. Swift's companies can provide you with the highest quality cut fresh meat. Why would you choose this method?"
"Because I hate middlemen, Mr. Harris."
Allen spread his hands, his expression serious.
"I hate having my lifeline controlled by anyone. Especially those 'old friends' in New York."
Harris was a smart man; he immediately understood the subtext of Allen's words.
"I understand."
"You want to bypass the New York wholesalers and establish a direct supply line, entirely your own, spanning east to west."
"Precisely."
"So, I need your help. I need to establish a fifty-thousand-dollar line of credit at your bank. At the same time, I also need your intelligence. Can you tell me, Mr. Harris, who are the real players in this game?"
Harris looked at Allen with a peculiar gaze.
He realized that this young man was likely about to stir up a storm in Chicago.
And he and his bank needed to choose whether to be a partner or an enemy in this storm.
Ultimately, the desire for huge profits overcame all reservations.
"Alright, Mr. Williams." He lowered his voice, "You want to bypass Armour and them to directly approach the ranchers. This is a risky move. Because you will be facing two completely different enemies."
"First, there are the ranchers. They are the true kings of the West. Like Iliff, like Goodnight. They hold hundreds of thousands of cattle. They are crude and direct, believing only in cash. To do business with them, you need to be prepared with mountains of dollars."
"And the second, more difficult enemy, is the railroad."
"All cattle must eventually be transported east by rail, and the main lines connecting Chicago and New York, such as the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central Railroad."
Their shareholders have intricate connections with those 'old friends' of yours in New York.
They would never stand by and watch you snatch the biggest piece of fat from under their noses without immense profit."
Allen raised an eyebrow, crossing his hands and pressing his index fingers to his jaw.
"So, the road to the East is blocked?"
"You could say that." Harris nodded. "However, there are always exceptions."
"Oh? Do tell, Mr. Harris."
"Among the many railroad companies, there is one that has always been an anomaly."
Harris said, with a hint of amusement on his face.
"The Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company. Its owner is Charles Reeves. A stubborn, idealistic old man.
He refuses to join any price alliances, and he refuses to bind his interests with any wholesalers, insisting that the railroad should be free and open.
Therefore, he is ostracized by all the big companies. Although his railroad has a good route, it has been struggling on the verge of losses because it cannot secure a stable supply of goods."
Charles Reeves, Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company.
Allen noted the name in his mind.
It seems this trip won't be too smooth; things are starting to get complicated.