"While the poor white critters out in the woods gets scalped by fifties and hundreds. Reckon that's a shame," growled Jim. "But about these pelts."
"Lave it to Steve," burst in Mac, putting his strong fingers through his shock head of tousled hair. "He's our shopman, so he is, and faith he'll get as big a price as any. Bigger, me bhoy, so lave it to him."
"You're right, Mac. Steve's the boy," Jim agreed, with a nod, while Tom Mainwaring smiled approvingly as his son's name was mentioned. "Yer see, that thar feller Schiller's as hard as a stone I reckon, and when it comes to a deal with me, or you, Mac, he jest twists us kinder round his finger. He knows we ain't got no other market, and so he jest offers what'd be a fair price for a dozen of the skins. Then, if we looks disgusted, as like as not he'll put a little extry to his price as a kind of bait. Reckon he's 'cute. He knows we've got to take his stuff or well nigh starve before we reach another settlement. I've felt often that I was being robbed by the skunk, but what air a man to do? Refuse did yer say, Mac?"
"That's so, me bhoy. Indade ye wouldn't be giving the pelts away, so ye wouldn't."
"Then jest you try that 'ere game," exclaimed Jim, somewhat hotly. "That chap Schiller's got the broadest back and the coolest temper I ever saw. It's what he offers or nothing. If you ain't pleased, he jest gets up from his chair and starts to walk into his house. Reckon a fellow can't stand that. He's got to soften and give way. But Steve's the boy. Steve, will yer trade with this 'ere Schiller?"
"Ready and willing, Jim," was the tall lad's eager answer. "I did it last time, and I'll try again on this occasion. But mind you, you must back me up."
"We'll do that," sang out Jim. "Then bring them pelts along."
They went to the pile of skins, and each taking a load, marched into the town of Albany, leaving Tom Mainwaring and the Indians to guard the camp. And a strange procession they made as they came along the wide street, past the prosperous Dutch houses and the well-dressed and comfortable-looking owners. Not that they attracted much attention, for hunters and trappers were a common sight in the streets of Albany in those days, and pelts often exchanged hands there.
To the trapper, the tough and hardy woodsman who had been scouring the forest during the winter and late summer before, hunting game and caring for the skins, this visit to Albany was one of no small importance. This expedition and the stores he would obtain were a source of interest and expectation during the long cold months, and the trade he could do was of no small importance. For each skin meant so much in the way of powder, so much lead, or perhaps a new musket. With the goods he obtained he went back to his log hut, and by dint of great care managed to eke them out over the winter. As for the trader who took the pelts, he found an eager market for them in New York, and made a huge profit over the transaction.