away. “I’ll see you after breakfast.”
“I said it last year, and I’ve said it more than once this summer already,” Wyeth declared to Bass that following morning, “but most of these men out here in the mountains are nothing less than a low breed of scoundrel.”
“You countin’ me in that bunch?”
Wyeth slung his head back and laughed heartily. “Not by a long shot, Mr. Bass.”
Titus thumbed through some more of the lighter amber-colored flints. “If’n you had yourself whiskey to trade, I’d be one to give you all my business.”
“Looking to give yourself a celebration, are you?” Wyeth asked. “And a good-sized headache when you’re done too?”
“Maybe a good carouse, but the days are past when Titus Bass gets so far down in his cups he can’t crawl back out till a morning or two later. Gimme a dozen of them wiping sticks,” and he shoved a double handful of flints across the top of a wooden box at Wyeth’s clerk.
“How many winters you been out here, Bass?”
“Twenty-five were my first summer.”
“An Ashley man.”
“No,” and he wagged his head emphatically. “Come west on my own hook and paid dearly for it, I s’pose. Lost some hair to some red niggers down to Bayou Salade, but I ain’t gone under yet.”
Wyeth clucked sadly, then said, “Appears the only ones making any real money out of the mountain fur trade was Ashley and now Sublette. Damn him, damn him.”
“Heard how he finagled the Rocky Mountain Fur boys to break their agreement with you.”
“Sublette overtook my supply train not far out of the western settlements,” Wyeth declared, “and he stayed ahead of me the rest of the way.”
“Knowed the trail better, I’d s’pose,” Bass stated as he rubbed a thumb across the edge of a camp ax.
“I couldn’t travel as fast as he with the cattle,” Wyeth explained. “Started out with more. But what I have left we’ll put to good use eventually.”
“How much for an ax?”
“Two-fifty,” Wyeth said.
“Gimme two. What you figger to do for fur season?” Titus said as he inched down the rows of crates and blankets Wyeth’s men had opened and spread across a shady patch of ground beside Ham’s Fork—not all that far south of where Bass had camped with his family so that he might stay as far away as he could from the loud and raucous company camps pitched downstream toward Black’s Fork.
“I may send some of the men out. I’ve been struggling to convince more to sign on with me when I venture into the Snake River country.”
“Beaver country there.”
“Yes,” Wyeth exclaimed, beaming. “I want to get as far as I can from that country where Sublette and Campbell are building their fort on the Platte.”
“Jehoshaphat!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop. “W-where on the Platte?”
“Mouth of La Ramee’s Fork, right there on the trail to the mountains.”
Nodding, Bass said, “I know the place. Damn, a fort just east of the mountains. And you know them two Bent brothers got theirs down south on the Arkansas. So you’re gonna trap west of the mountains, eh?”
“I’ve got these men in my employ, and a supply train filled with trade goods,” Wyeth explained. “I’ll put them to work in the Snake country before the end of August, then go on to the mouth of the Columbia. Plan to return to the Snake before winter sets in hard.”
“All the way down the Columbia,” Bass repeated. “Going to see that white-headed Doctor there?”
“No. I’m meeting a ship there. Our enterprise plans tocatch enough salmon to fill the belly of that ship before we turn it around for Boston and I turn east to rendezvous with my brigade.”
“I got a friend what’s come here with Hudson’s Bay,” Bass explained. “It was him told me about how Sublette dealt you off the bottom of the deck with Rocky Mountain Fur.”
“Ah, but Doctor McLoughlin’s spies don’t realize that I’ll be up there on the Columbia real soon to take, for myself
“I said it last year, and I’ve said it more than once this summer already,” Wyeth declared to Bass that following morning, “but most of these men out here in the mountains are nothing less than a low breed of scoundrel.”
“You countin’ me in that bunch?”
Wyeth slung his head back and laughed heartily. “Not by a long shot, Mr. Bass.”
Titus thumbed through some more of the lighter amber-colored flints. “If’n you had yourself whiskey to trade, I’d be one to give you all my business.”
“Looking to give yourself a celebration, are you?” Wyeth asked. “And a good-sized headache when you’re done too?”
“Maybe a good carouse, but the days are past when Titus Bass gets so far down in his cups he can’t crawl back out till a morning or two later. Gimme a dozen of them wiping sticks,” and he shoved a double handful of flints across the top of a wooden box at Wyeth’s clerk.
“How many winters you been out here, Bass?”
“Twenty-five were my first summer.”
“An Ashley man.”
“No,” and he wagged his head emphatically. “Come west on my own hook and paid dearly for it, I s’pose. Lost some hair to some red niggers down to Bayou Salade, but I ain’t gone under yet.”
Wyeth clucked sadly, then said, “Appears the only ones making any real money out of the mountain fur trade was Ashley and now Sublette. Damn him, damn him.”
“Heard how he finagled the Rocky Mountain Fur boys to break their agreement with you.”
“Sublette overtook my supply train not far out of the western settlements,” Wyeth declared, “and he stayed ahead of me the rest of the way.”
“Knowed the trail better, I’d s’pose,” Bass stated as he rubbed a thumb across the edge of a camp ax.
“I couldn’t travel as fast as he with the cattle,” Wyeth explained. “Started out with more. But what I have left we’ll put to good use eventually.”
“How much for an ax?”
“Two-fifty,” Wyeth said.
“Gimme two. What you figger to do for fur season?” Titus said as he inched down the rows of crates and blankets Wyeth’s men had opened and spread across a shady patch of ground beside Ham’s Fork—not all that far south of where Bass had camped with his family so that he might stay as far away as he could from the loud and raucous company camps pitched downstream toward Black’s Fork.
“I may send some of the men out. I’ve been struggling to convince more to sign on with me when I venture into the Snake River country.”
“Beaver country there.”
“Yes,” Wyeth exclaimed, beaming. “I want to get as far as I can from that country where Sublette and Campbell are building their fort on the Platte.”
“Jehoshaphat!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop. “W-where on the Platte?”
“Mouth of La Ramee’s Fork, right there on the trail to the mountains.”
Nodding, Bass said, “I know the place. Damn, a fort just east of the mountains. And you know them two Bent brothers got theirs down south on the Arkansas. So you’re gonna trap west of the mountains, eh?”
“I’ve got these men in my employ, and a supply train filled with trade goods,” Wyeth explained. “I’ll put them to work in the Snake country before the end of August, then go on to the mouth of the Columbia. Plan to return to the Snake before winter sets in hard.”
“All the way down the Columbia,” Bass repeated. “Going to see that white-headed Doctor there?”
“No. I’m meeting a ship there. Our enterprise plans tocatch enough salmon to fill the belly of that ship before we turn it around for Boston and I turn east to rendezvous with my brigade.”
“I got a friend what’s come here with Hudson’s Bay,” Bass explained. “It was him told me about how Sublette dealt you off the bottom of the deck with Rocky Mountain Fur.”
“Ah, but Doctor McLoughlin’s spies don’t realize that I’ll be up there on the Columbia real soon to take, for myself
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