choices. He could have a horse to ride and a packhorse. Beyond that Paul strongly suggested that he take traps to support an appearance as a trapper, if nothing else. That would at least identify him as someone other than a raider.
“No,” Jeebee had said, “there’d be too much risk for Wolf if I started setting traps around.”
He had seen the twin jaws of the metal traps, with their offset teeth and stiff springs, and the part of him that was likely to feel for anyone and anything had imagined itself as an animal with a leg caught by those jaws.
“Suit yourself,” Paul told him, “but I’ll tell you one thing. I haven’t got any cold-weather clothing to trade you. I don’t visit my customers during the winter season, and the room I have for goods is limited, so I just don’t carry that sort of thing. That means you’re going to have to make your own warm clothing. I can give you heavy needles and thread, and instructions on how to tan and use hides. You think you can take it from there?”
Jeebee nodded.
“The thing is,” said Paul, “it’s you, yourself, who’s going to have to produce them when it comes time for them, when the snow and ice season comes. One of the best ways to fit yourself with winter clothes is to use animal pelts, fur and all, and there’s only two ways to get them. One is shooting, the other’s trapping. Trapping’s more practical for you.”
“I’ll still take my chances shooting,” said Jeebee. “What else can you give me?”
It turned out that what Paul was able to give him, not only for the seeds he had gathered with Merry but for the valuable knowledge of the location of the seed farm, were the two horses complete with saddle and packsaddle, bridles, halter ropes, and saddle blankets. Also ammunition, for Jeebee’s two rifles, cooking utensils, some light clothing, salt, and bacon. Also, Paul had thrown in a variety of lesser camp supplies.
“Now,” Paul wound up, “some of these seeds can be yours. If they’re really designed for northern crops, you’ll want to plant a seed source for yourself. If so, and you can meet me along about here, this time each year, with some sacks of clean, good seed, we can make a regular business out of trading for it. Or if it turns out I can get rid of either the seeds or gold for more than I think, I’ll make up the difference to you next time we trade. Fair enough?” “Fair enough,” Jeebee said.
They pulled into camping position by the side of the road while there was still a good two hours of daylight left. Jeebee unharnessed the team and put the horses from it back with the rest of the string that Merry was settling for the night. Then, with both Merry and Nick in attendance as well as Paul, both his saddle and packhorse were picked out.
Jeebee had known nothing about horseflesh three months before. He knew only a little bit more now; but he had picked up enough to appreciate that he was getting two good animals. His riding horse was a large bay, and his packhorse was a small but sturdy-legged black-and-white-splashed mare, calm and agreeable. She had been one of the packhorses on their seed trip.
Jeebee knew of, if not all about her. Her name was Sally. The bay, Brute, was one of the wagon’s horses he had never ridden. He saddled Brute now with the saddle that Paul produced, to try both of them out. It was a good saddle, he thought. But Brute clearly had a mind of his own and a somewhat uncertain temper. However, he, too, was good in all the essential ways. Jeebee rode him around for some five minutes, ending up putting him into a full gallop back along the roadside for a hundred yards or so before turning around and coming back to the wagon. Brute was both fast and strong, and his wind was good.
“I like him,” said Jeebee. “In fact, I like them both.”
“They’re good horses!” said Merry.
“I figured so,” Jeebee said hastily. “I just thought you’d like to know that I liked them.”
“Always good to hear that,” Paul answered.
They unsaddled Brute, gathered all of Jeebee’s goods and possessions together in one spot near the front of the wagon, and Nick got started on planning dinner.
Meanwhile Paul dug back in among his trade goods and came up unexpectedly with a bottle of sour-mash bourbon and four glasses.
“Where did you get this?” Jeebee asked. He knew that Paul did not like to be questioned about where his goods came from. He had picked up that much almost by osmosis, in the time he had been with the wagon. But the words were out before he could stop them.
He added, a little lamely, “Liquor seemed to be the first thing everybody was tearing places apart for when things started to go to pieces.”
Paul climbed down from the wagon with the bottle and began to mix drinks in the glasses, roughly half whiskey and half water, from the evaporation-cooled water bag hanging to one side of the front seat.
“I’ve got homemade stuff back there, if you’d like it better,” he said. “I just figured since this was a special occasion, it needed something special in the way of a drink.”
Jeebee had not known that Paul drank alcohol. But it turned out that he did, with moderation. Jeebee and Nick took a couple of glasses. Merry took a small one.
Jeebee had never thought of alcohol in the past unless he suddenly found himself in a situation where he was expected to drink it, and had never really enjoyed the taste of it. But for some reason, now it tasted good to him. Somehow, standing out by the side of the road in the late-afternoon sun, with the ruined freeway stretching in both directions and at the end of a day in the open, the combination of whiskey and the evaporation-cooled water from the bag combined in a sensation that was pleasant and memorable in his mouth.
Nick came out of the wagon, evidently having decided to do his cooking inside. He was carrying the usual four metal folding chairs, and he set them up on the shoulder of the road. The four of them sat there, enjoying their drinks and watching the afternoon wane, like four people in a backyard before civilization had vanished as the Roman Empire and others like it had done.
Every so often Nick would get up and leave them, to go back inside the wagon to his cooking. But he was never gone long.
It was a curious, almost golden time. Jeebee found himself thinking that if Wolf had been there and lying silent close by, then everything that was worthwhile in his present existence would be caught in this one temporary but timeless moment. He smiled a little ruefully at his own perfect fantasy of a scene. If Wolf had indeed been there, he would not have been lying quietly—not with all the new and uninvestigated things around. He would have been shredding the folding chairs, leaving irreparable tooth scars on Jeebee’s new possessions, and generally disrupting the serenity of the evening. Sometimes the best thing about companioning with Wolf was his absence.
But Wolf had left again during the night just past, and not come back yet. Eventually, the sun set, and they started their evening fire close to the wagon, but safely enough away so that there was no danger of setting anything on fire. Nick brought out the dinner.
It was a remarkable surprise. Nick had made a soup, followed by a small roasted chicken and skinned roast potatoes.
“Where did the chicken come from?” Jeebee asked when they were all at the table beginning to eat it.
“Came from a can,” said Nick, smiling. The smile was a sly one. “Not many of them got sealed up whole like that, in cans. I mean, sealed up, cooked whole, and after you get them out, you can recook them. They were restaurant goods, mostly. I’ve had this one tucked away for a while, now. I had some wine, too, but it went sour. You can’t keep wine in a wagon that jolts around like this.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Jeebee. They were all drinking plain water now, one after another having ceased to add the whiskey to their glasses. “It couldn’t be better than this.”
“He’s right, Nick,” Merry said to the older man.
Nick’s V-shaped face creased in an even deeper smile.
“Special occasion,” he said again. “There’s dessert, too.”
The dessert turned out to be a sort of rich pudding, very black and crumbly, with a thick, buttery-tasting white sauce or icing on it—it was impossible to say which class the topping fell into. At any rate it was very sweet and filling. To Jeebee, who weeks before had lived with hunger, it seemed to be the best dessert he had ever tasted.
After dinner Nick cleared the dinner trays without handing them to Jeebee to wash.
They sat at the table by the fire, drinking coffee, with Paul, in addition, puffing on his pipe. On the open air the smell of the tobacco was fragrant in Jeebee’s nostrils. It was only after a while longer than Jeebee would have
