"Is there anything in particular you're
interested in, or would you like to just look about?"
"Mostly look about," Rand said. "Is Mr. Rivers in?"
"Mr. Rivers is having luncheon. He'll be finished before long, if you
care to wait.... Have you ever been here before?"
"Not for some time," Rand said. "When I was here last, there was a young
fellow named Jordan, or Gordon, or something like that."
"Oh. He was before my time." The present functionary introduced himself
as Cecil Gillis. Rand gave his name and shook hands with him. Young
Gillis wanted to know if Rand was a collector.
"In a small way. General-pistol collector," Rand told him. "Have you many
Colts, now?"
There was a whole table devoted to Colts. No spurious Whitneyville
Walkers; after all, a dealer can sell just so many of such top-drawer
rarities before the finger of suspicion begins leveling itself in his
direction, and Arnold Rivers had long ago passed that point. There were
several of the commoner percussion models, however, with lovely, perfect
bluing that was considerably darker than that applied at the Colt factory
during the 'fifties and 'sixties of the last century. The silver plating
on backstraps and trigger-guards was perfect, too, but the naval-battle
and stagecoach-holdup engravings on the cylinders were far from clear--in
one case, completely obliterated.
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