“They’ll wiggle through legislation to prevent export of raw salmon,” MacRae suggested; “same as they have on the sockeye.”

“No chance.  They’ve tried, and it can’t be done,” Stubby grinned.  “There aren’t going to be any special privileges for British Columbia salmon packers any more.  I know, because I’m on the inside.  The fishermen have made a noise that disturbs the politicians, I guess.  Another thing, there’s a slack in the demand for all but the best grades of salmon.  But the number one grades, sockeye and blueback and coho, are short.  So that a cannery man with an efficient plant can pay big for those fish.  If you can hold that Squitty fleet of trollers like you did last year, you’ll make some money.”

“Do you want those salmon?” MacRae asked.

“Sure I want them.  I want them as soon as they begin to run big enough to be legally taken for sale,” Stubby declared.  “I’m going to rush that cold-storage construction.  By the time you begin collecting bluebacks I’ll have a place for them, all you can buy.  I’ll have storage for three hundred thousand fish.  I’m going to buy everything and start half a dozen retail stores at the same time.  Just imagine the situation in this burg of a hundred and fifty thousand people with waters that swarm with fish right at our doors—­salmon selling for thirty cents a pound, hardly ever below twenty, other fish in about the same proportion.  It’s a damned scandal, and I don’t much blame a man who works for four dollars a day thinking he might as well turn Bolshevik.  I know that I can pay twelve cents for salmon and make a good profit selling for sixteen.  Can you make money supplying me with bluebacks at twelve cents a pound?”

“Yes, more money than I made last year,” MacRae replied—­“unless Folly Bay boosts prices to the sky in an effort to drive me out of business.”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of that,” Stubby said.  “I doubt if Folly Bay opens this season.  It’s reported that Gower is broke.”

“Eh?” MacRae looked his doubt.

“That’s what they say,” Stubby went on.  “It’s common talk.  He sold his place in town a short while ago.  He has the cannery on the market.  And there are no takers.  Folly Bay used to be a little gold mine.  But Gower rode the fishermen too hard.  And you balled things up last season.  He lost his grip.  I suppose he was involved other ways, too.  Lots of these old-timers are, you know.  Anyway, he seems to be trying to get out from under.  But nobody wants to take over a plant that has a black eye among the men who catch the fish, in a territory where you appear to have a pretty strong hold.”

“At the same time, if I can pay so much for salmon, haul them up the coast and make a profit on that, and if you can pay this advanced price and pack them at a still bigger profit, why in blazes can’t a plant right there on the grounds pay top price and still make money?” MacRae asked impatiently.