He pressed down the spurt of frustration. Trading could be an art in giving and taking, bluffing and being careful not to show one’s true thoughts. Always having something in reserve and reading the other person’s intent, far more than what they showed.
He would be good at this. He’d become a master at deciphering motivations and hidden intentions as well as hiding his own thoughts and emotions.
Best he examine the other two furs and value them all, then he could show which merchandise he would be willing to trade for these three skins. The fellow could bring in more furs for the rest of what he wanted.
The other two pelts showed the same quality workmanship as the first. He would be fair in his offer; a worker was worthy of his pay, after all. But he would not give away thesesupplies that they’d worked so hard to haul all the way from St. Louis.
He stepped around the counter and crouched beside the stack of goods on the floor. After laying several bundles aside, he pulled out a few of the things the men had selected first. A couple blankets, two knives, and several bead necklaces.
After grouping them together, he looked at the man and pointed to the much smaller pile, then to the furs on the counter. He made the motion fortrade.
A scowl darkened the man’s face, and he shook his head. He moved to the group Tanner had pushed aside, then removed the two felt hats and pushed the rest toward Tanner. He spoke a slew of words and a flurry of signs.
The only one Tanner could pick out was the sign fortrade. He locked his jaw against another round of frustration. He had to be able to communicate with more than one word. He’d learned so many, but none appeared to apply here.
Still, the man’s message seemed clear. He thought this entire cluster of trade goods was worth those three furs. They might possibly be worth the entire load on that horse, but Tanner needed to count and inspect them before he could be sure.
He gave a hard shake of his head and pointed firmly in the direction of the horse. “All the furs. I need to see them all.” He rose to his feet and stepped back from the goods. He’d made his offer clear, and it was fair. Even if the fellow waited for the summer rendezvous, he wouldn’t get better.
The brave glared at him, a look that—along with his strong frame and the weapons hanging from the sheath at his neck and the belt at his waist—would make any manshirk back. He spoke a slew of angry words and gave a quick wave of his hand, which sent the younger man trotting outside again. Then he leaned down and began gathering all the trade goods together.
Unease rippled through Tanner. It looked like the brave planned to walk out with them. Tanner alone, even with his rifle tucked behind the trade counter, would be no match for six braves if they were bent on taking these things.
For that matter, they could abscond with every piece in this entire room and leave him with tomahawks and knives poking from his chest if they really wanted to. Why had he thought running this post by himself a good idea? Maybe they should have waited until George recovered. Tanner had counted on each man’s honor in the trade process. But he didn’t know the people out here. Any of them could be scoundrels, and with enough against him at once, not even his sharpshooting skills could help him hold his own. But he’d wanted to get the fort up and running before the summer rendezvous brought more supplies that would compete against their business.
Now he had to handle things on his own.
He inched toward the trade counter so he could grab the rifle if he needed to. He would defend his property if it came to that, but first he would try to use words.
The man picked up as much as he could hold, then spoke to the elder with a nod of his head toward the rest on the ground.
Tanner tried once more, making his tone firm. “Stop. Leave those things and take your furs. If we can’t agree on a trade—” But he cut off his words as the younger man appeared in the doorway, his face a deep shadow but themountain of furs in his arms easy to see. Was that everything loaded on the packhorse?
He carried them in and heaved the stack onto the counter where he’d placed the others. That pile must weigh close to a hundred pounds.
The fellow in charge spoke a few sounds to the younger man, who swooped down and picked up the hats that had been set aside. Then the leader turned to Tanner and gave a satisfied nod. Once more, the man spoke to him, but as before, the language was indecipherable. And this time the fellow’s arms were too full to make signs. Not that they would’ve helped much, it seemed.
All three men turned and strode out of the building. Tanner stayed where he was, watching the open doorway and listening for the sounds of their leaving. Perhaps he should go watch and make sure they didn’t take the cow as part of the trade.
His gaze slipped to the stack of pelts. His first guess as to count and quality appeared to be correct. He would have taken a few more things out of the stack the Indians carried off to make the trade even. But he could live with this exchange.
He would have to.
As the sound of hoofbeats faded in the distance, he blew out a long breath. Somehow he had to shore up his gaps so he could better communicate with the Natives. If only he could special order a few more men just in case a group came bent on thieving.
But that wasn’t an option. He would have to find a way to add to his defenses by himself.
seven
Lorelei pulled the extra dough away from the circle she’d cut. They didn’t have a biscuit shaper in their small stock of cooking supplies, but she could carve a decent circle with a knife.
Just having biscuits would be a taste of heaven.
They’d not had flour since a few weeks after last summer’s rendezvous, though she and her sisters had become adept at finding the edible roots and berries White Horse and Riley taught them to identify. They’d had plenty of meat.
Since Rosie and Faith had visited the trading post yesterday, they finally had a bit of flour. Coffee too. This morning’s cup had been a bit of nectar straight from heaven, especially with a splash of milk mixed in. And she’d churned fresh butter to put on the biscuits.
Hopefully she could manage to bake them over the open fire in the hearth without turning the bottoms black. The last time she’d attempted such in the rendezvous camp, the insides had still been doughy though the bottoms were burned. At this point, she’d eat them even if they jiggled like pudding.
