They passed Troy without desiring to stop, and began their fight with the river. It was harder than when coming, for their course was against stream when paddling, up hill when portaging, the water was lower, the cargo was heavier, and Bill not so able. Ten days it took them to cover those eighty miles. But they came out safely, cargo and all, and landed at Warren's alive and well on the twenty-first day since leaving.
Bill had recovered his usual form. Gravely and with pride he marched up to Warren and handed out a large letter which read outside, “Bill of Lading,” and when opened, read: “The bearer of this, Bill Bymus, is no good. Don't trust him to Albany any more. (Signed) Peter Vandam.”
Warren's eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. He took
Rolf aside and said, “Let's have it.” Rolf gave him the real letter that, unknown to Bill, he had carried, and Warren learned some things that he knew before.
Rolf's contract was for a month; it had ten days to run, and those ten days were put in weighing sugar, checking accounts, milking cows, and watching the buying of fur. Warren didn't want him to see too much of the fur business, but Rolf gathered quickly that these were the main principles: Fill the seller with liquor, if possible; “fire water for fur” was the idea; next, grade all fur as medium or second-class, when cash was demanded, but be easy as long as payment was to be in trade. That afforded many loopholes between weighing, grading, charging, and shrinkage, and finally he noticed that Albany prices were 30 to 50 per cent. higher than Warren prices. Yet Warren was reckoned a first-class fellow, a good neighbour, and a member of the church. But it was understood everywhere that fur, like horseflesh, was a business with moral standards of its own.
A few days before their contract was up, Warren said: “How'd ye like to renew for a month?”
“Can't; I promised to help Van Trumper with his harvest.”
“What does he pay ye?”
“Seventy-five cents a day and board.”
“I'll make it a dollar.”