Right ye are, more cups all around. I'll ask ye one favor: Though I know ye all be peaceable and kindly sorts, a surfeit of drink will sometime make Devils of Angels as my Old Ma would say, and so would I ask that ye lean yer firearms just here behind the bar. That keeps holes out of my roof and out of my clientele too.

Smithy, I've a propositon for ye. If ye can make a metal-head hatchet like this'un ye see before ye, I could buy many such from ye for trade among the Indian. And I have, in a dry crate, the old Franklin stove from out this very trading post. That be 350 pounds of scrap iron, enough to make near fifteen hundred such hatchets. Are ye game to try? I can also use such truck as hoes, adzes, shovels and saw blades. And can ye repair the action of a rifle?

ACHHH...I had best to shovel this snow back from the door, for now it piles up quick. If ye've snow shoes in yer saddle packs ye'd best fetch em, and see to yer animals. Ye might make a lean-to from the rope and canvas on yonder high shelf. Then return ye for the wine and cheer, quite settled in yer minds.

Where'd that vendor of possum arses get to?