“He must be lucky, to have enough to carry out to the settlements after a couple of days’ trapping,” said the youth, astonished.
Mrs. Conley smiled bitterly.
“Jim don’t wait to git a lot before he commences sellin’,” she said. “It’s the way he’s built.”
“And he’s left you to attend to the traps?”
“Nope, he told me to let ’em be while he was gone. I don’t know nothin’ about traps, anyhow. I was born and riz in the settlements.”
“He might lose some good skins that way—have them et up on him; but it’s his own business, I guess. Well, I must be getting home. If you need anything, m’am, you know where to find my partner and me.”
Young Dan sat down and ate his lunch as soon as he got out of sight of the cabin. He felt depressed; and the cold steak and frosty biscuits didn’t cheer him.
“That’s a poor outfit,” he said. “I guess that Jim Conley’s no darned good. I wonder where he got that gin—and if he’ll get any more? He won’t buy much with the price of a few fox skins, that’s sure. He’s big, and maybe he’s powerful—but I kind of feel that I’ll light right into him next time I see him.”
He made the homeward journey of twelve miles without a stop. It was close to three o’clock in the afternoon when he reached camp; and there, to his astonishment, he found Andy Mace seated by the stove with his right leg cocked up in a chair.
Andy looked ashamed of himself.