settlement or even for gold; and there were more serious crimes and high-handed robberies over the right to trade a few furs than over any other legitimate business. These things were new to Rolf within the year, but he was learning the lesson, and Warren’s remarks about fur stuck in his memory with growing value. Every incident since the trip began had given them new points.
The morning passed without sign of Bill; so, when in the afternoon, some bare-legged boys came along, Rolf said to them: “Do any of ye know where Peter Vandam’s house is?”
“Yeh, that’s it right there,” and they pointed to a large log house less than a hundred yards away.
“Do ye know him?”
“Yeh, he’s my paw,” said a sun-bleached freckle-face.
“If you bring him here right away, I’ll give you a dime. Tell him I’m from Warren’s with a cargo.”
The dusty stampede that followed was like that of a mustang herd, for a dime was a dime in those days. And very soon, a tall, ruddy man appeared at the dock. He was a Dutchman in name only. At first sight he was much like the other loafers, but was bigger, and had a more business-like air when observed near at hand.
“Are you from Warren’s?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alone?”
“No, sir. I came with Bill Bymus. But he went off early this morning; I haven’t seen him since. I’m afraid he’s in trouble.”
“Where’d he go?”
“In there with some friends.”
“Ha, just like him; he’s in trouble all right. He’ll be no good for a week. Last time he came near losing all our stuff. Now let’s see what ye’ve got.”
“Are you Mr. Peter Vandam?”
“Of course I am.”
Still Rolf looked doubtful. There was a small group around, and Rolf heard several voices, “Yes, this is Peter; ye needn’t a-worry.” But Rolf knew none of the speakers. His look of puzzlement at first annoyed then tickled the Dutchman, who exploded into a hearty guffaw.
“Wall, wall, you sure think ill of us. Here, now look at that,” and he drew out a bundle of letters addressed to Master Peter Vandam. Then he displayed a gold watch inscribed on the back “Peter Vandam”; next he showed a fob seal with a scroll and an inscription, “Petrus Vandamus”; then he turned to a youngster and said, “Run, there is the Reverend Dr. Powellus, he may help us”; so the black-garbed, knee-breached, shovel-hatted clergyman came and pompously said: “Yes, my young friend, without doubt you may rest assured that this is our very estimable parishioner, Master Peter Vandam; a man well accounted in the world of trade.”
“And now,” said Peter, “with the help of my birth-register and marriage-certificate, which will be placed at your service with all possible haste, I hope I may win your recognition.” The situation, at first tense, had become more and more funny, and the bystanders laughed aloud. Rolf rose to it, and smiling said slowly, “I am inclined to think that you must be Master Peter Vandam, of Albany. If that’s so, this letter is for you, also this cargo.” And so the delivery was made.
Bill Bymus has not delivered the other letter to this day. Presumably he went to stay with his sister, but she saw little of him, for his stay at Albany was, as usual, one long spree. It was clear that, but for Rolf, there might have been serious loss of fur, and Vandam showed his appreciation by taking the lad to his own home, where the story of the difficult identification furnished ground for gusty laughter and primitive jest on many an after day.
The return cargo for Warren consisted of stores that the Vandam warehouse had in stock, and some stuff that took a day or more to collect in town.
As Rolf was sorting and packing next day, a tall, thin, well-dressed young man walked in with the air of one much at home.
“Good morrow, Peter.”
“Good day to ye, sir,” and they talked of crops and politics.
Presently Vandam said, “Rolf, come over here.”
He came and was presented to the tall man, who was indeed very thin, and looked little better than an invalid. “This,” said Peter, “is Master Henry van Cortlandt the son of his honour, the governor, and a very learned barrister. He wants to go on a long hunting trip for his health. I tell him that likely you are the man he needs.”
This was so unexpected that Rolf turned red and gazed on the ground. Van Cortlandt at once began to clear things by interjecting: “You see, I’m not strong. I want to live outdoors for three months, where I can have some hunting and be beyond reach of business. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars for the three months, to cover board and guidance. And providing I’m well pleased and have good hunting, I’ll give you fifty dollars more when I get back to Albany.”
“I’d like much to be your guide,” said Rolf, “but I have a partner. I must find out if he’s willing.”
“Ye don’t mean-that drunken Bill Bymus?”
“No! my hunting partner; he’s an Indian.” Then, after a pause, he added, “You wouldn’t go in fly-time, would you?”
“No, I want to be in peace. But any time after the first of August.”
“I am bound to help Van Trumper with his harvest; that will take most of August.”
As he talked, the young lawyer sized him up and said to himself, “This is my man.”
And before they parted it was agreed that Rolf should come to Albany with Quonab as soon as he could return in August, to form the camping party for the governor’s son.
Chapter 55. The Rescue of Bill
Bales were ready and the canoe newly gummed three days after their arrival, but still no sign of Bill. A messengers sent to the brother-in-law’s home reported that he had not been seen for two days. In spite of the fact that Albany numbered nearly “six thousand living human souls,” a brief search by the docksharps soon revealed the sinner’s retreat. His worst enemy would have pitied him; a red-eyed wreck; a starved, sick and trembling weakling; conscience-stricken, for the letter intrusted to him was lost; the cargo stolen — so his comforters had said — and the raw country lad murdered and thrown out into the river. What wonder that he should shun the light of day! And when big Peter with Rolf in the living flesh, instead of the sheriff, stood before him and told him to come out of that and get into the canoe, he wept bitter tears of repentance and vowed that never, never, never, as long as he lived would he ever again let liquor touch his lips. A frame of mind which lasted in strength for nearly one day and a half, and did not entirely varnish for three.
They passed Troy without desiring to stop, and began their fight with the river. It was harder than when coming, for their course was against stream when paddling, up hill when portaging, the water was lower, the cargo was heavier, and Bill not so able. Ten days it took them to cover those eighty miles. But they came out safely, cargo and all, and landed at Warren’s alive and well on the twenty-first day since leaving.
Bill had recovered his usual form. Gravely and with pride he marched up to Warren and handed out a large letter which read outside, “Bill of Lading,” and when opened, read: “The bearer of this, Bill Bymus, is no good. Don’t trust him to Albany any more. (Signed) Peter Vandam.”
Warren’s eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. He took Rolf aside and said, “Let’s have it.” Rolf gave him the real letter that, unknown to Bill, he had carried, and Warren learned some things that he knew before.
Rolf’s contract was for a month; it had ten days to run, and those ten days were put in weighing sugar, checking accounts, milking cows, and watching the buying of fur. Warren didn’t want him to see too much of the fur business, but Rolf gathered quickly that these were the main principles: Fill the seller with liquor, if possible; “fire water for fur” was the idea; next, grade all fur as medium or second-class, when cash was demanded, but be easy as long as payment was to be in trade. That afforded many loopholes between weighing, grading, charging, and shrinkage, and finally he noticed that Albany prices were 30 to 50 per cent. higher than Warren prices. Yet Warren was reckoned a first-class fellow, a good neighbour, and a member of the church. But it was understood everywhere that fur, like horseflesh, was a business with moral standards of its own.
A few days before their contract was up, Warren said: “How’d ye like to renew for a month?”
