Read Online Preacher's Peace by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

blue jacket, came out of the building and began looking Art’s load over. The man’s whiskers were neatly trimmed, his hands clean, his eyes bright and direct.
    â€œYou’ve got some good-looking plews here,” he said.
    â€œWould you be Ashley?” Art asked.
    â€œIndeed that is who I am, sir, William Ashley, at your service.” He bowed slightly, politely, but not in servility.
    â€œThen you’re the man Clyde told me to look up.”
    â€œClyde?”
    â€œClyde Barnes.”
    â€œAh, yes,” Ashley said, smiling. “I know of Mr. Barnes. How is he?”
    â€œHe’s dead. Killed by Indians on our way downriver.”
    â€œI’m sincerely sorry to hear that. Blackfeet?”
    â€œArikara.”
    â€œI see. Well, the Blackfeet have always been hostile to our fur-trading enterprise, but the problem with the Arikara is more recent.”
    â€œIs it true that a couple of your men traded bad whiskey to the Arikara for pelts?”
    â€œWord does get around, doesn’t it?” Ashley said. “Yes, unfortunately it is true. The men were working for me. But the idea of trading whiskey for plews was their own. I don’t do business that way, never have, and never will. Believe me, Mr. McDill and Mr. Caviness were severely reprimanded.”
    â€œReprimanded? What does that mean?”
    â€œIt means I gave them a good scolding.”
    â€œPeople have gotten killed over that, and more people are likely to get killed, and all you did was give them a scolding?”
    â€œI have no authority to do anything more to them,” Ashley said. “I’m not the law.”
    â€œI reckon not.”
    â€œWhat’s your name, sir?” Ashley asked.
    â€œArt,” the young trapper said simply.
    â€œArt? Art what?”
    â€œJust Art.”
    â€œWell, I reckon if Art is enough for you, it’s enough for me,” Ashley said.
    Since leaving home at an early age, Art had made a point of never using his last name. This way, he figured, he would never do anything that would bring dishonor to his family back in Ohio. He needn’t have worried about such a thing, for so far in his young life, he had been the epitome of honorable conduct. It was the way of the man that the onetime runaway boy had become.
    â€œThat your animal?” Mr. Ashley asked, pointing to Dog, who stood at alert between the cart and Art.
    â€œNot mine, but we have traveled a piece together.”
    â€œTell you what, Art. Give me a day to get your plews counted and graded. Come on back tomorrow morning and I’ll have your money.”
    â€œAll right,” Art agreed. He started to leave, then caught himself and turned back. “Do you suppose I could have twenty dollars now?” he asked.
    Ashley chuckled knowingly. He had dealt with mountain men for a long time. “Want to take advantage of the big city, do you? Yes, of course you can. You can have much more than that, if you need it.”
    â€œTwenty is enough.”
    â€œCome on inside.”
    Art followed Ashley into his storehouse. As the door opened, a little bell attached to the top of the door rang. Surprised, Art looked up at it.
    Ashley chuckled. “If I’m in the back, that little bell lets me know when someone comes in,” he explained.
    The back of the store that Ashley mentioned was his counting and grading room. A counter separated the front of the store from the back, and through a door that led into the back, Art could see several long tables around which men were working.
    Ashley went around behind the counter, took twenty dollars from a strongbox, then opened a ledger book and wrote Art’s name in it. Beside Art’s name he wrote, “Twenty dollars on advance.” He turned the book around and handed the quill pen to Art. “Make your mark here,” he said.
    â€œI can read and write,” Art said.
    â€œA mountain man who can read and write? I’m