The deal was struck, but the Walther Store’s legends weren't always about successful trades. Sometimes, the barter went sideways—like the time a customer traded a horse that flatly refused to work, or a cow that, much to Henry’s chagrin, never produced a single calf.

Henry inspected the hides with a practiced eye. "These'll do, Silas. But I heard you’ve got a young heifer back at your place. If you throw her into the trade, I’ll give you enough credit to keep your family fed until the spring thaw."

One humid Tuesday in the early 1900s, a trapper named Silas stepped through the heavy doors. He didn't have a cent in his pocket, but he had a bundle of prime mink and raccoon hides over his shoulder. At Walther’s, cash was just one way to pay. Henry’s sons, Owen and Stanley, often watched as their father bartered for everything from alligator skins to livestock.

"I need supplies for the winter, Henry," Silas said, laying the furs on the counter. "Flour, coffee, and a new set of traps."