Trading Jeff and his Dog Part 21

"I'll swap even for a look at some of your other tapestries."

"My what?"

"Your cloth pictures, like the cat."

"Land! I'll get some."

She bounced from her chair, bustled into an adjoining room, and they heard her open a trunk. A moment later she was back with two tapestries under her arm. She spread one, a yard long by about twenty inches wide, and Jeff gasped.

It was _The Last Supper_, but instead of following conventional patterns, Granny had drawn inspiration from the life around her. Jesus and His disciples were seated at a wooden table that was innocent of any adornment or finery whatsoever, but the table was so finely done that a sliver thrusting out from it seemed both real and symbolic. There was an air of dignity that rose above mere human dignity, and the dyes had been applied with a touch so delicate that holy light seemed to emanate from the picture. Its message was one of hope. Judas was not to be abandoned.

"Do you like it?" Granny asked.

"It--" Jeff was at a loss for words. "It's wonderful!"

"Preacher Skiles thinks the Lord ain't right."

"Preacher Skiles a.s.sumes a great deal of responsibility."

She laughed. "'Twas not the way he meant it. He thinks Jesus should be sittin' above the rest, with maybe angels flyin' at His shoulder."

"It's better this way."

"That's what I thought," Granny a.s.serted. "The Lord, He wasn't above the beggars, the sick and those who done wrong. Somehow I got to think of Him as comin' down to all of us."

"I, too."

"This one," Granny spread the other tapestry, "I call _The Fall of Satan_."

Jeff gasped again. The picture centered around the black silhouette of Satan, with a background done in delicate shades of red. There was about the figure utter misery, abandonment and despair. The gates of h.e.l.l, which he had not yet entered, were merely suggested. But they were suggested so artistically that one sensed the seething fires, the complete torment, that awaited.

Dan looked and shuddered. "Gee!"

Jeff breathed, "Why hasn't anyone else seen these, Granny?"

"Enos," she answered, "didn't hold with hangin' them on the walls and I've tried to keep the house as Enos'd want it. But I knew Enos wouldn't mind Kitty Cat. He--he's company."

"Somebody should see them."

"Pooh! Who'd bother with an old woman's foolishness?"

"I would."

"Then take them. Take them for the knife."

"I won't do it."

She seemed crestfallen. "I didn't think you would."

Jeff said seriously, "It isn't that. These are worth a great deal of money."

"They are? How much?"

Jeff hazarded a guess, "Twenty-five dollars."

"Land!"

"Each," Jeff finished.

"My land!"

"Granny, do you trust me?"

"Pooh! I didn't raise eight of my own 'thout knowin' aught of boys."

"Are these dear to you?"

"I don't set much store by 'em. Enos never liked 'em."

"Let me take them into Ackerton," Jeff urged. "Let me see what I can do with them there."

"Go ahead if you've a mind to. Land! Meal time and I haven't started a thing for you boys to eat!"

8. ACKERTON

Jeff awakened an hour before sunrise. He raised himself on his bunk and listened. Dan's regular breathing proved that he still slept, and Jeff settled back beneath his warm blankets to do some thinking.

In some respects, the trading around Smithville had not gone as well as he had hoped it would. The hill men had been eager for his knives of many uses, his fis.h.i.+ng tackle, his small tools, his nails and all the bolts and screws he had. They had also taken all the novelties. But they had spurned his inferior products because they could make better ones themselves, and Jeff had been able to trade only one watch. Watches were useless to those who guided themselves by the sun.

The women had been happy over the gay ribbons, the thread and yarn, the pins and needles, and the bolt of gingham had gone in two days. It was better and more colorful than anything Abel Tarkman stocked. But the women had wanted only a small portion of his kitchenware and spices.

Jeff had traded all his cinnamon, pepper, tea and the few other things that could not be found locally. But no hill woman would think of offering anything at all for what she could find growing within easy reach of her doorstep or was able to produce in her garden.

The candy had been exhausted by the third day, and Jeff grinned at the way it had gone. He had conceived what he thought was the clever idea of bribing the children with it, and he had discovered that the older folks had a sweet tooth, too. Never to be forgotten was Grandpa Severance, sucking a striped peppermint stick with toothless jaws.

However, in other respects, trading had far exceeded Jeff's fondest hopes.

Though the hill people had rejected some of his wares, they had been willing to pay well for what they did want. Jeff and Dan had visited their cabins or met them on the trails, for news that a peddler who'd rather trade than sell was abroad had penetrated into the remotest valleys. Jeff had a dozen hunting knives whose quality ranged from fair to superb. There were three exquisitely balanced hand-made hatchets, a wonderfully polished hunting horn, a set of fine miniatures made of deer antler, a fringed buckskin s.h.i.+rt, four pairs of superior moccasins and other articles, including an ancient matchlock pistol still in working order. Granny Wilson's tapestries remained his biggest prize.

Jeff knew that, beyond any doubt, his week's work had paid him more than any previous month's. But he knew also that he would have to get trade goods that conformed to the hill people's idea of what they wanted.

Therefore, in order to get new stock and dispose of the wares he had, a trip to Ackerton was necessary. That presented a problem.

Dan had traveled with him all week. Far from lagging, his interest in trading had heightened. So far Dan had kept his promise and had done as Jeff said. But by the fastest route it would take a full day to go to Ackerton, a full day to return, and Jeff thought that he would need at least four or five days in the city. What would Dan do if Jeff were not there to restrain him? The boy had never forgotten that a blood feud had brought him back to Smithville.

Dan's bunk rustled and he whispered, "Jeff."