“All in cash, Mr. Watt?”
“Not at the same price. I always figger on making part payment in trade. But what’s the matter with that? Wasn’t Conley satisfied last time?”
“I reckon he was—but gin ain’t good for him. He got lost getting home.”
“Not so loud,” whispered Luke Watt. “Call it trade. Didn’t Conley warn you to mind yer tongue? You talk like a fool; and if you ain’t more careful you’ll land yer pardner in jail. But that’s all right, seein’ it’s yerself. I’ll buy yer skins—all you have there—an’ give you top price. But you got to take part payment in trade. Any kind o’ trade. Tea, tobacco, flour—anything you want or yer pardner wants. My prices are right.”
“That’s fair, Mr. Watt. Will you pay me forty dollars for these two fishers? They are the best fishers I’ve seen this winter, color and size.”
The storekeeper stood upright and laughed heartily. He straightened his back to it and squared his shoulders to it until Young Dan thought the buttons would fly off the straining front of the big waistcoat.
“Forty dollars!” exclaimed the big man at last, like one who sees the point of a good joke and immediately repeats it to show that he has seen it. “Forty dollars! That’s pretty good, Dan! Darned good!”
“Pretty fair,” returned Young Dan, quietly. “They’re worth more.”
“Are you serious, young fellow? D’ye mean forty real dollars for them two skins? You look kinder as if you meant it. You must be crazy!”
Young Dan sighed and removed the pelts from the counter to the rest of the pack. Slowly he tied up the pack, watching the storekeeper all the while with the tail of his right eye. He shouldered the pack and took up the axe and stockinged rifle.