Page 23 - Tales from the Bear Cult: Bear Stories from the Best Magazines

Tales from the Bear Cult 15

That redhead McKenzie,
the Half-Breed,
and six pairs of dice...

trapperS

BoB Vickery

Six pelts,” I said, disgusted, shaking my head. “I spend
a week up at Greenwater Creek trapping beaver,
and that’s all I get. Six goddamn pelts. Hardly worth the
effort. Hell, I remember five or six years ago I could pull
down forty, maybe fifty skins from that creek. Almost ain’t
worth my while to head out for the trading rendezvous
tomorrow with the pitiful load of furs I got this season.”
Coyote Jim grunted, ’cause his mouth was ’round my
cock, but didn’t say anything. I stared down at the top of
his head. Off in the distance a wolf howled so mournful
you’d think his heart was breaking. I took a slug of whis-
key, washed it around in my mouth, and let the liquid fire
slide down my throat. “You know,” I added, my voice ris-
ing, “on my way back I ran into a hunting party of Crees. I
recognized one of them from our stay at Fort Defiance last
winter. He told me he spotted a feller trapping around by
Greenwater, hair the color of a new-polished copper kettle.
That was how he put it. I’ll bet that was McKenzie, snoop-
ing around, trapping in the spots I staked out years ago.
McKenzie was always poaching my stuff. “That red-headed
sonuvabitch,” I said.
Coyote Jim took my cock out of his mouth and glared
at me. “Hey,” he said. “Shut your trap about trappin’ right
now, Cyrus. You’re ruinin’ my mood.”
I looked down at him, taken aback. I’d not been minding
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