Trading Jeff and his Dog Part 18

"For that I must have two knives."

"Got but one."

Jeff frowned. The jack-in-the-box was a cheap trinket and the knife was worth four times as much. But Pete considered the jack a very valuable object and Jeff hoped to do much trading around Smithville. He did not want to be known for accepting the first thing offered and, besides, that was bad business. It took all the sport out of trading.

"Have to have something to boot," he said firmly.

"I got this."

From his sagging pocket Pete took a length of braided horsehide. But it had been so skillfully cured and so expertly braided that it was strong as rope and pliable as the finest cloth. It would make a wonderful bridle rein, but Jeff said hesitantly, "I don't know what I'd use it for."

"Fer tyin' things."

"Well--" Jeff allowed himself to be convinced.

Pete sprung the jack again and again, fascinated by this simple thing which smacked of magic, because never before had he seen anything like it. Then, holding his jack-in-the-box as though it were eggsh.e.l.ls, he made the swift transformation from fascinated child to dangerous man.

"Stick to peddlin'," he said shortly, and took his leave.

It was at the same time a threat and a warning and Jeff knew it. For a moment he sat still, then got up and strolled quietly to the window.

Going down the path, Pete Whitney sprung the jack and his t.i.ttering giggle seemed again to be heard in the room.

7. GRANNY

Absorbed in watching Pete, Jeff was almost unaware when Dan came to stand beside him. As Pete disappeared, hidden by foliage, he turned away from the window and came face to face with Dan.

The boy's cheeks were flushed and hot anger burned in his eyes. Both fists were clenched so tightly that straining knuckles showed white.

Jeff said quietly, "Come out of it, Dan."

"He's a Whitney!"

"Sorry you didn't shoot him?"

"I--It's not that, Jeff. I wasn't thinking very straight when I told you I aimed to shoot all the Whitneys. It's--Why should a Whitney be in my pop's cabin?"

"He was at our door and he was hungry."

"Well--Doggonit, Jeff! You talk sense!"

Jeff heaved an inward sigh of relief. Yesterday Dan had not only talked of killing every Whitney, but he had acted fully capable of doing it.

But yesterday he had been tired, hungry and so terribly alone. Good food and proper rest had worked a change, but they had not made him forget why he was here. Nothing would ever do that.

Dan asked, "You think we will get him, don't you?"

"Get who?"

"Whoever killed my pop!"

"Murder can't be hidden, Dan," Jeff spoke with quiet forcefulness, "if somebody really wants to find it out."

"And we'll find out?"

"We'll find out."

"Then," Dan gritted his teeth, "we'll shoot!"

Jeff said nothing. Dan was too young, too angry, and too steeped in the traditions of the hills, to think of anything except violent vengeance.

Rather than tell him he was wrong, Jeff hoped to prove it. When they found whoever had murdered Johnny Blazer--and they must find him if Dan's tangled path was ever to be straight again--the law could take over. Jeff hoped that, at the right time, Dan would see such a course as the proper one. For the present, the less said the better.

"Let's get the place cleaned up and go out trading," Jeff suggested.

"Good!"

Jeff washed dishes while Dan swept the floor, and it made no difference that it had also been swept last night. Only those with little regard for themselves were contented to accept dirty surroundings, and one way to keep dirt from acc.u.mulating was to clean often. The cabin in order, Jeff showed Dan his pack.

Each of its numerous straps, so adjusted that they opened at the flick of a finger, gave access to one compartment, and within themselves some of the compartments were further divided. They were also of various sizes. Obviously it was possible to carry a vast number of pins, needles, spools of thread, etc., in a somewhat small s.p.a.ce. Kitchen ware, of which Jeff had a considerable store, naturally needed more room. There was a place for bright ribbons, one for candy, and articles such as spices and tea were stored by themselves. Jeff had razor blades, pencils, an a.s.sortment of novelties such as the jack-in-the-box, a variety of small tools, nails, and both wood and metal screws. At the rear, reached by thrusting the hand through a hidden flap, were six more knives like the one he'd traded to Barr Whitney, meerschaum pipes, pocket watches, and a few other valuables that were best kept where they were not at once available or easily found.

Jeff explained that he always planned to carry as great an a.s.sortment as possible, with very few large articles. The partial bolt of gingham, the biggest single thing in the pack, he carried, not because there was much profit in carrying it, but because being able to offer gingham often provided an opening wedge to other sales.... When he started, he had operated on a strictly cash basis and had earned a fair amount of money doing so. Then he had discovered a great truth which had its foundations in the complexities of human nature. No matter what the article, from aardvark whiskers to zebra tails, somewhere somebody not only wanted it but wanted it badly enough to pay well. On the Atlantic Coast, Jeff had picked up a box of sea sh.e.l.ls. In Indiana, he had met a trapper who'd never seen any sea sh.e.l.ls and traded them for a bundle of mink pelts.

Taking the pelts to Chicago, he had sold them to a furrier for more money than he might have earned in two weeks peddling for cash.

Though everything was precious, or at least desirable, to somebody, whoever had an abundance of any kind of goods was seldom inclined to regard it highly. But though they'd always sell for cash, whoever offered something that they wanted, did not have and would find it difficult to get, invariably made a better bargain. Jeff cited the knife and thong he had acquired from Pete Whitney. The jack-in-the-box had cost fifteen cents, but Jeff would be able to sell the knife for at least a dollar and twenty cents, and he did not know how much the horsehide thong would bring. But because Pete thought the jack-in-the-box such a treasure, and never would have been able to get one for himself, he hadn't been cheated.

Jeff concluded with the observation that peddlers had to recognize true value when they saw it. Otherwise they would not be able to remain in business.

Dan's eyes sparkled. "That sounds like fun!"

"It has its points," Jeff admitted.

"Take me in with you for good!" Dan pleaded. "I want to be a peddler, too!"

Jeff glanced aside. He had taken this waif under his wing and could not abandon him. Then he was struck by the happy thought that Dan's request gave him control over his charge. "We'll see," he evaded the issue.

"Take me! I'll do anything if you'll teach me!"

Jeff asked quickly, "Can I count on that?"

"Anything! Just ask me!"

"You'll do exactly as I say?"

"Try it! What do you want done?"

Jeff grinned. "Right now let's go peddling--and leave the shotgun here."