“All this I knew very well. But like many another purse-broken man, I wanted a fling at the trade. I saw that a man could get in touch with the tribes, give them fair exchange for their furs—give them treble the Hudson’s Bay rate of barter—and still make a fortune. I needed the fortune, Bob; I am still on the trail of it. But I had too little capital to play a lone hand. So I hied me to St. Louis and broached the scheme to Montell. I have known him all my life. He also is an old hand in the trade. He had the capital I lacked.” Barreau stopped for a minute, digging at the earth with his heel. The fire had dwindled to a few coals. I could not see his face. But his voice had changed, a note of resentment had crept into it, when he began again. “Montell jumped at the plan. Later I learned things that led me to believe he was near the end of his rope, financially, at the time. So my scheme was in the nature of a Godsend to him. I had a little money, and every dollar I could raise I put in. It was to be an equal partnership: my knowledge of the country and the conditions to offset his extra capital. “The first year we made expenses, and a little over. But we were getting known among the Indian hunters, convincing them that we would treat them better than the Hudson’s Bay. Secure in their established grip on the tribes, the Company passed us up. The second year we made money. Then the Company woke up and fought us tooth and nail. Not openly; that is not their way. They fought us, nevertheless. There were reprisals. The brunt of it fell on me. They seemed to guess that with my teeth drawn their fight was won. So they carried the war systematically into the open country. Our jail-breaking last night took its inception in that struggle for and against a monopoly. “This year, if things do not go awry, we stand to clear more than a hundred thousand dollars. And it will be the last. No individual trader can break lances with the Company on its own ground. They are lords of the North beyond gainsaying. At the best we can but take a slice and leave the loaf to them. Next spring sees the last of our trading. This fall there will be fierce work to do, tramping here and there, issuing guns and powder and foodstuffs, bargaining with the hunters for the winter’s take of pelts. A hundred lodges have promised to trade with us this season, and an Indian rarely breaks his word, once given in good faith. We will get others, in spite of the Company runners. But we must be on the alert; we cannot sit in our posts and wait for these things to come about of themselves. And that brings me to the point.