“No packhorse?” said Jeebee.
“No packhorse,” said Paul. “If you’re smart, you’ll use the horse I give you as a packhorse and travel on foot. Also, you’d better watch your wolf with a single horse. I’m sorry. But I’m stretching what your stuff’s worth as it is. Oh, I’ll get my money back in the long run when I find somebody who’s really hoarding gold and is willing to pay a good price for those gold coins. But I’m going to have to hang on to them for some time—and that’s just plain not good business. You need to turn over your goods and keep turning them over fast if you want to make enough profit to live on. This wagon has to be practically rebuilt after each year’s trip. Did you realize that? New material for it costs. As it is, I’ll have the equivalent of the worth of the one horse I give you tied up in those coins a year or more, and not likely to get it back until I find a buyer at the price I want.”
“Well,” said Jeebee, dispirited. “If you can’t, you can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” said Paul. “We’ve all ended up liking you, and we’d do what we could for you. But nowadays it just isn’t practical for us to act as a charity. All sorts of things can happen, from me getting sick or killed on down, that could put Merry in a bind. There’s no real cash going around anymore; but what used to be called ‘cash flow’ is still important. You need things that can be turned over fast and you need somebody who knows how to turn them that way. I’m responsible in both directions. We’d help you more if we could. But we can’t.”
“Even Merry?” Jeebee said, with a slight stab of emotion that made him speak before he thought.
“Now look here,” said Paul, “there’s something you’ve got to understand. Merry probably likes you better than anyone else we’ve ever taken on with us at the wagon. But she’s known from the start that you’re going to take off again. And her life is tied to this wagon. It’s her security as well as mine. She couldn’t leave and go with you, for instance. And you’re determined to go. Wasn’t that just what you said?”
Jeebee hesitated.
“If I didn’t have to go, I’d really like to stay,” he said. “I want you to know that.”
“Well, there you are,” said Paul. “It’s self-defense on her part. She can’t afford to get too attached to a young fellow like you, one she’ll never see again, possibly.”
“You mean ‘probably,’ don’t you?” Jeebee said wryly.
“If you want the truth, yes,” Paul answered. “Nick tells me you’re good with weapons. Not the greatest shot, but good at handling and taking care of them. You’ve learned a lot with us about horses and trading and something of blacksmithing, plus a few other things. Count that learning as part of your pay. But there’s something about you. You’re a born innocent, Jeebee. You’ve got to understand that. The same thing that made you look right at your figures, or whatever they were, and see the world was going smash but still believe that somehow it wouldn’t have anything to do with you—that’s still with you. Until you learn this is a different world nowadays, that you’re either top dog or bottom dog but there’s no such thing as in-between dog, you’re a walking risk to yourself.”
“I wish I was Wolf,” said Jeebee.
The words surprised himself. But Paul understood.
“He’s just an animal, but he knows what it’s about, better than you,” Paul said. “That’s because he listens to his instincts. Learn from him if you can, about the way life is, now. It’s exactly the same for you and me now as it is for him.”
“I have,” Jeebee said glumly, “but I don’t think I could ever see things the way he does.”
“You’ve got instincts, too,” Paul said. “Listen to them, and get this top-dog, bottom-dog idea clear in your head. You’ve got to understand that much of it. There’s a reason I run this wagon and everybody in it. There’s a reason my daughter’s one of my hired hands first and my daughter afterwards, in spite of all she means to me. It’s that way because it has to be that way if we’re all going to survive. The same for you. You learn that much, and if you ever run into Merry again, it may be a different situation.”
“No chance until next year.” Jeebee looked at Paul. “Do you think I can last out the winter if I don’t find my brother’s ranch before then?”
“Up to you,” Paul answered.
He flipped the reins.
“Get up there,” he told the team.
Jeebee, knowing he was dismissed, began to leave the wagon seat once more to go back into the wagon interior.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I want to make some plans and there’s some things about blacksmithing I want to ask Nick.”
“Go ahead,” Paul answered, without taking his attention off the team and the road, “we’ll be stopping a little early tonight, anyway. Nick wants to have a special dinner to see you off right; even if it’ll be some days before you actually go.”
Jeebee went back into the Quiet Room, found Nick, and asked him where paper and either pens or pencils were to be found.
“What do you want it for?” Nick asked. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of writing a letter?”
“Nothing like that,” said Jeebee. “I just want to write down some notes and plans.”
Nick got up and went into the forward compartment where the trade goods were kept, rummaged around, and came back with three sharpened lead pencils, a ballpoint pen, and some fairly thin typing paper.
“What notes and plans?” he asked as Jeebee sat down with the paper and pencils at the little table that hinged up against the Quiet Room wall.
“For one thing,” said Jeebee, “I want to write down some of the things you’ve told me about building my own backwoods smithy.”
“Paul told you we’re turning south, then?” Jeebee nodded.
“Well, all right then,” said Nick. “What do you want to hear from me?”
“The whole process,” said Jeebee.
“Let me tell you some other things first,” said Nick. “Might be you’ll find them more important.”
Nick sat down at his seat behind the nearest machine gun, swiveled his chair to face Jeebee at the table, and looked out the window beyond the machine gun’s muzzle, where a flap of the outer canvas shell of the wagon hid the firing slot for the weapon in the wagon’s metal armor. Then he looked back at Jeebee.
“You know much about Montana?” he asked.
“No,” Jeebee confessed. “I was there for a visit to my brother about fifteen years ago. But I don’t remember much, really. My brother’s eighteen years older than I am. In fact, I remember more about making the flight in by myself—it was my first plane trip alone—than I do about the drive up to the ranch. And most of what I remember about the ranch is just the main ranch house and the buildings around it. I know we had to drive more than an hour or so to get to it, from where I got off the plane in Billings. We went up- and down-hill a lot toward the end.”
“It’ll be cattle country. You want land below the pines,” said Nick. “You need to understand something else, too. It’s that a lot of these ranches made the switchover to the way things are now a lot easier and more natural than people closer to the cities. Particularly, easier than someone from farther east. They weren’t that far different in lots of ways from the way things were there in their great-grandfolks’ time. Like some of these farms you’ve seen us trade at, they were almost ready to operate on their own—maybe more so—even before they had to.”
“I can understand that.” Jeebee now knew Nick well enough to understand such a statement meant Nick had more than that to tell him. But Nick liked to be told that his listener was interested. “Why tell me this?”