I've come to barter with the United States Army. See, they've got something I want; I've got something they want. Come and see what I brought to trade.

Do you see all those burlap bags piled high, stenciled with my trademark? Try and lift one. Heavy, right? That's salt in there—salt—that precious mineral, so essential to life. I produce tons of it down at my saltworks on the Salt Branch of Hubbard Creek. I've been in business over five years now.

Settlers come from miles around to get salt from my place—and risk their lives doing so. With Comanches continually raiding my saltworks and murdering innocent people, no one is safe. A couple of years ago, poor Phil Reynolds had just left my place when Indians ambushed his wagon and killed him. But despite the danger, people keep coming back to get their salt. They can't exist without salt. Salt is not just used to make food taste better. Way out here, we have no ice to keep meat fresh. We need salt to preserve beef and pork to make it last a long time. We need salt to make butter. Horses and cows have to have it, too, or they will die.

Soldiers also need salt. General Sherman himself once declared that salt is more important than gunpowder to the army. Without it, he said, armies cannot survive. I think these new Ft. Griffin soldiers will agree with the general.

Today I have come to meet with the commander of the Sixth Cavalry. I plan to propose a trade—one of their cannons for my salt. With the protection of a small cannon, I can defend my saltworks against any future raids the Comanches might be planning. Without a heavy gun, though, I cannot continue. I'll just load my iron kettles and all my equipment onto my wagon, shut down my operation, and move on. If that happens, we all lose. There's not another source of salt anywhere near this settlement.

Here comes Colonel Sturgis. Good, he looks like a reasonable man. Sorry, I must take leave of you and strike my deal. I just must have that cannon.