Amesbury and Ahmik were old visitors at the post. Every one knew them and gave them a most hearty welcome. Even Chuck, who was mixing biscuit for supper, wiped his dough-debaubed right hand upon his trousers, that he might offer it to the visitors, and Jerry, who lived with his family in a little nearby cabin, and had seen them pass, came over to greet them. Amesbury warned the lads to say nothing of their plan to the post folk. “I’ll break the news gently to Davy MacTavish when the time is ripe for it,” said he. “You fellows keep right at your work as though you were to stay here forever.” And therefore no mention was made of the arrangement to Tammas and the others. During the days that followed Amesbury and Ahmik made some purchases at the post shop, including the provisions necessary for the return journey to their trapping grounds. They had no debt here, and therefore bartered pelts to pay for their purchases. Their trading completed, Amesbury produced two particularly fine marten skins, and laid them upon the counter. “I’ve got everything I need,” said he, “but I don’t want to carry these back with me. How much’ll you give?” “Trade or cash?” asked MacTavish, examining them critically. “Trade. Give me credit for ’em. I may want something more before I go.” “Ten dollars each.” “Not this time. They’re prime, and they’re worth forty dollars apiece in Winnipeg.” “This isn’t Winnipeg.” “Give them back. They’re light to pack, and I guess I’ll take them to Winnipeg.” But MacTavish was gloating over them. They were glossy black, remarkably well furred, the flesh side clean and white. “They are pretty fair martens,” he said finally, as though weighing the matter. “I may do a little better; say fifteen dollars.” “I’ll take them to Winnipeg.” “You can’t get Winnipeg prices here.” “No, but I don’t have to sell them here. I thought if you’d give me half what they’re worth I’d let you have them. You can keep them for twenty dollars each. Not a cent less.” “Can’t do it, but I’ll say as a special favor to you eighteen dollars.” “Hand them back. I’m not an Indian.” “You know I’d not give an Indian over five dollars.” “I know that, but I don’t ask for a debt. You see I’m pretty free to do as I please. Hand ’em back.” But the pelts were too good for MacTavish to let pass him, and after a show of hesitancy he placed them upon the shelf behind him and said reluctantly: “They’re not worth it, but I’ll allow you twenty dollars each for them. But it’s a very special favor.” “Needn’t if you don’t want them. I wouldn’t bankrupt the company for the world.” “I’ll take them.” The bargain concluded, Amesbury strolled away, humming: “‘A diller, a dollar, A ten o’clock scholar, What makes you come so soon? You used to come at ten o’clock, But now you come at noon,’” and MacTavish glared after him.