some of their salmon!” Wyeth spouted with glee.
Titus ran his thumbnail down a bar of lead. “What’s your lead going for?”
“Dollar the pound.”
“Gimme twenty pounds,” Bass advised. “Tell me, how you figure them Hudson’s Bay men are spies?”
“Hell,” Wyeth gushed, “they couldn’t come here expecting to do much business at all. You take a look at their camp?”
“I was there yestiddy.”
“See much in the way of trade goods?” Wyeth prodded. “Anything anywhere close to what I got laid out for you here?”
Scratch looked it over, side to side, and had to admit the Yankee was right. “Didn’t see nowhere near what you got.”
“And you won’t—because they didn’t bring but enough to make a little show. They aren’t here to trade, not really. They come to be McLoughlin’s eyes and ears. Ever since Jedediah Smith stumbled into Vancouver, the Doctor wants to stay informed of just what Americans will be trapping this side of the mountains—in what Hudson’s Bay claims is their country.”
“Maybeso,” Bass replied, not really wanting to admit that Jarrell Thornbrugh could be there for the unexpressed purpose of spying in the American fur country for McLoughlin.
And this was American fur country, no matter what Hudson’s Bay believed, no matter what treaty some government fellas had signed their names to in jointly occupying this ground. But if the central Rockies ever began torun out of beaver, Bass was damned sure the American trapping brigades would push farther and farther west, bumping right up against the British outfits with greater frequency.
Mayhaps that would leave the northern rivers for him to trap with little crowding to speak of.
Scratch turned to find one of those who had been grading his pelts now coming up behind Wyeth. “What you gonna give me for my beaver?”
Wyeth took the slip of paper, glanced at it, then stuffed it into the pocket of his canvas breeches. “You didn’t have much in the way of fur.”
“Already took care of most down to Taos.”
“Didn’t leave you with much in the way to outfit you for another year,” Wyeth explained.
“I don’t need much. ’Sides, I got some possibles cached up on the Yallerstone,” Bass replied. Then he gestured toward all that he had chosen so far. “My plews gonna cover what’s here? And still leave me a little for at least one good whiskey headache?”
“Believe me, Mr. Bass,” the Yankee said, “for bringing the last of your furs to me instead of taking them to that thief William Sublette, you’re going to get yourself a one-day bargain in trade goods—the likes of which you’ll never see again!”
Throughout the rest of that morning they arm-wrestled on the value of the last of Bass’s pelts, then on the price of each and every item Scratch had pulled from the crates and barrels of trade goods. And when it was over, they both could smile and have themselves a drink, toasting their mutual fortunes.
“I’ll be trapping up in Crow country,” Bass explained, eyeing the number of crates and bales in Wyeth’s camp. “My wife’s people. If’n the furs are good up there, I’ll stick close to home for spring too. You gonna haul this hull outfit around, supplying ’em from your winter camp?”
Wyeth stared at the last of his whiskey shimmering in the bottom of his cup a moment, then declared, “I suppose I have no choice—seeing how I’ve been left with all thesetrade goods, abandoned by a faithless group of bastards who are refusing to honor their contract with me.”
“Goddamned shame a man’s word ain’t wuth near what it used to be,” Bass commiserated.
“So what does such a man with all these trade goods do, Mr. Bass?”
For a minute he reflected on the possibilities. “I been out to the Columbia where you said you was going to meet that ship of your’n.”
“You’ve been to Vancouver yourself?”
“Yep—so I don’t figger a savvy nigger would wanna build hisself a
Titus ran his thumbnail down a bar of lead. “What’s your lead going for?”
“Dollar the pound.”
“Gimme twenty pounds,” Bass advised. “Tell me, how you figure them Hudson’s Bay men are spies?”
“Hell,” Wyeth gushed, “they couldn’t come here expecting to do much business at all. You take a look at their camp?”
“I was there yestiddy.”
“See much in the way of trade goods?” Wyeth prodded. “Anything anywhere close to what I got laid out for you here?”
Scratch looked it over, side to side, and had to admit the Yankee was right. “Didn’t see nowhere near what you got.”
“And you won’t—because they didn’t bring but enough to make a little show. They aren’t here to trade, not really. They come to be McLoughlin’s eyes and ears. Ever since Jedediah Smith stumbled into Vancouver, the Doctor wants to stay informed of just what Americans will be trapping this side of the mountains—in what Hudson’s Bay claims is their country.”
“Maybeso,” Bass replied, not really wanting to admit that Jarrell Thornbrugh could be there for the unexpressed purpose of spying in the American fur country for McLoughlin.
And this was American fur country, no matter what Hudson’s Bay believed, no matter what treaty some government fellas had signed their names to in jointly occupying this ground. But if the central Rockies ever began torun out of beaver, Bass was damned sure the American trapping brigades would push farther and farther west, bumping right up against the British outfits with greater frequency.
Mayhaps that would leave the northern rivers for him to trap with little crowding to speak of.
Scratch turned to find one of those who had been grading his pelts now coming up behind Wyeth. “What you gonna give me for my beaver?”
Wyeth took the slip of paper, glanced at it, then stuffed it into the pocket of his canvas breeches. “You didn’t have much in the way of fur.”
“Already took care of most down to Taos.”
“Didn’t leave you with much in the way to outfit you for another year,” Wyeth explained.
“I don’t need much. ’Sides, I got some possibles cached up on the Yallerstone,” Bass replied. Then he gestured toward all that he had chosen so far. “My plews gonna cover what’s here? And still leave me a little for at least one good whiskey headache?”
“Believe me, Mr. Bass,” the Yankee said, “for bringing the last of your furs to me instead of taking them to that thief William Sublette, you’re going to get yourself a one-day bargain in trade goods—the likes of which you’ll never see again!”
Throughout the rest of that morning they arm-wrestled on the value of the last of Bass’s pelts, then on the price of each and every item Scratch had pulled from the crates and barrels of trade goods. And when it was over, they both could smile and have themselves a drink, toasting their mutual fortunes.
“I’ll be trapping up in Crow country,” Bass explained, eyeing the number of crates and bales in Wyeth’s camp. “My wife’s people. If’n the furs are good up there, I’ll stick close to home for spring too. You gonna haul this hull outfit around, supplying ’em from your winter camp?”
Wyeth stared at the last of his whiskey shimmering in the bottom of his cup a moment, then declared, “I suppose I have no choice—seeing how I’ve been left with all thesetrade goods, abandoned by a faithless group of bastards who are refusing to honor their contract with me.”
“Goddamned shame a man’s word ain’t wuth near what it used to be,” Bass commiserated.
“So what does such a man with all these trade goods do, Mr. Bass?”
For a minute he reflected on the possibilities. “I been out to the Columbia where you said you was going to meet that ship of your’n.”
“You’ve been to Vancouver yourself?”
“Yep—so I don’t figger a savvy nigger would wanna build hisself a
Similar Books
