Free Rendezvous by Richard S. Wheeler Page A

in. That’s about as much as I can get away with, Mister Skye. It’s a trade for the meat.”
    Skye hefted the iron hatchet head as if it were gold, and then examined the trap.
    â€œHere, let me explain a few things,” Ogden said. “This is an American trap we picked up on the Malade. It’s not even in my HBC inventory. It’ll catch beaver, but you can use it for small animals as well. If you’re going for beaver, you’ll need castorum for bait, and you’ll need to learn a few things.”
    Skye listened quietly while Ogden demonstrated how to set the trap, how to chain it in place, how to bait it, how to look for beaver grounds, how to check the trap. Ogden described how to cook and eat beaver tail, how to gut the beaver, flesh the hide, stretch it on a hoop and let it dry that way into a presentable plew. It all seemed too much to master, but Skye absorbed all he could, listening carefully. Ogden gave Skye a small, stoppered bone flask of castorum as a final gesture, and then led Skye to the cookfires. The fare that morning was salmon. The brigade, at the end of its trapping season, had little else.
    The sun was rising by the time the cookfires were extinguished, and Skye knew he had only minutes to strike a trade. He pulled out his pea jacket and approached a Creole.
    â€œAh, you are Monsieur Skye,” the man said. “I have the great honor. You gave us meat. I am your humble servant, Bordeau.”
    â€œI’m interested in a trade, Mr. Bordeau. How about this wool coat? Does it interest you?”
    â€œAh, such a warm coat always interests Bordeau.”
    â€œTry it on. It looks about right.”
    â€œAh, but what is it that you wish to trade for? I am only a trapper, owing HBC all that I make.”
    â€œA horse and bridle and saddle.”
    â€œAh, non, that is not possible. My two horses must carry me and my equipage, and I have none to spare. A pity. I would give two wives and a daughter for such a fine coat. Too much do I freeze my bones in these wilds.”
    Skye approached the other free trappers, one by one, with the same result. They all had their reasons, but it came clear to Skye that none of them considered the coat worth a horse and bridle, and so they had politely declined to trade. Skye caught Ogden grinning. Skye’s efforts had become this morning’s spectacle.
    Skye considered trading for other things. A good warm coat should fetch him all sorts of items: moccasins, knives, things to trade to the Indians, gloves, leggings, spoons, forks, a frying pan. But time had run out. Ogden was putting his brigade on the road. The beaver packs were back on the gaunt, hard-wintered horses, the camp gear stowed, the trappers standing about, scratching under their buckskins for greybacks, or off in the bushes.
    Ogden approached. “No luck, eh?”
    â€œMr. Ogden, I’m a lucky man. I’m free, and I’m outfitted, and I have you to thank.”
    Ogden smiled, mischief dancing in his eyes. “See that log? You sit on one side and I’ll sit on the other. We’ll arm wrestle. You lose, and I take you with me. I lose, and you get a horse.”
    Skye darkened swiftly. “Mr. Ogden, I’ll arm wrestle, but not on those terms. No bet. Nothing, no one, takes me back—alive.”
    Ogden gestured Skye toward the log and sat himself on the far side of it. The trappers congregated. Très bien, what a morning! Skye settled himself on the other side, and dug his boots into the clay. The bourgeois looked to be slightly shorter but powerfully built.
    Skye had done this before with many seamen, and he knew the tricks. So he was ready when Ogden clasped his hand and went for a victory with one violent lurch. Skye had intended to do the same, and the result was a brutal standoff. Skye felt his sweat rise and the muscles of his arm strain and hurt. He dug in and threw his weight into a victory plunge, only to lose ground. Much