“Why couldn’t he light it?” asked Young Dan.
“Well, every time he’d get it lit he’d fall down slam on top o’ the little flame an’ smother it out.”
“That’s what I suspicioned, so I drug him off an’ sot him down an’ lit the bit o’ brush an’ bark for him. I cut some dead stuff, an’ some chunks o’ green wood, an’ built up a good fire; then I looked round an’ seen him settin’ back as comfortable as you please sucking away at a square-face. That riled me, Young Dan. That would rile a more peaceable man nor me—to see him draggin’ at that there bottle, an’ it more’n three-quarters empty already—an’ considerin’ how I’d nigh busted my leg off to find him, thinkin’ it was yerself shootin’ an’ hollerin’. Yes, I reckon even a deacon would of felt kinder sore. So I went up to him an’ grabbed the bottle an’ hove it away an’ bust it agin a tree; an’ up he come, spry’s a cat, an’ lammed me one on the shoulder that laid me flat; but up I come on one leg, quicker’n a wink, an’ finished him. I looked into his pack—an’ then I wisht I’d hit him harder.”
“Considerable baccy, and a pound o’ tea, an’ maybe as much as a whole pound o’ bacon, and a box o’ seegars, and a bran’ new razor an’ strop, an’ some ca’tridges, and a red weskit, an’ four more square-faces o’ gin. That’s what’s in his pack!”
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.
“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?”
“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.”
“I mean it was already baited with fish when I got to it. I mean that someone had rebaited it—and reset it, too, I guess—since your last visit.”