Young Dan continued to recline on an elbow and stare at the fire between half-closed lids in silence for several minutes.
“I was just thinking he must of had great luck with his few traps, considering he didn’t set them out till after that night I saw him,” he said, at last.
“Why was ye thinkin’ that?” asked Andy.
“Well, he’d have to pay a lot for the gin, wouldn’t he, for the man who sold it to him was risking being sent to jail, wasn’t he? He had as many as six bottles when he started for home, or he wouldn’t have four now; and I betcher it cost him as much as eight or ten dollars a bottle. He must of had great luck with his traps—in the two days they were set.”
“I reckon he must of, Young Dan. What’s on yer mind, anyhow?”
“Jim Conley’s luck, that’s what.”
“He must of caught somethin’ special, that’s a fact.”
“What did you bait with last time you tended the west line?”
“The west line? Lemme think. That was the day before the big snow. I baited with porcupine.”
“It’s baited with fish to-day.”