"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 accumulating 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 space. 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 assortment 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 assortment 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 shells. In Indiana, he had met a trapper who'd
never seen any sea shells 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.