If you have trading cards you don't want or plan to use/sell I will take them off your hands.

I am a trapper, living mostly alone these last years. But I would descend into town, ever so often, with my pelts. Sell ‘em. And talk, keep m’hand in. Talk. You have got to keep your hand in, talkin. Even if you live in the wild.

In town I would talk to them was innnarested. Saloon mostly, till I was asked to take m’bidness elsewhere. What sense does that make, there was only the one saloon! The keeper called me tedious. Tedious? Me?Townsmen. Why, if tidings from the greater world are tedious, if the greater world, not trammeled by... by... human.

I would descend from the mountains, not having talked for many months, with much to tell. Much to tell, having stored considerable. Though for many years I was not alone in the wild, I did have a consort, a stout woman of the Hunkpapa Sioux, we had a companionship of sorts but there is a lady present. A life together marked by the passing of the seasons and the corresponding travels of game. In the latter she took little interest——wal, her duties was domestic, I would track and trap and she would tarry hearthside. We did not talk: she did not have English and I am not schooled in the gibberings of the nations.

Wal I say we did not talk but we sometimes would, each in our own tongue, often at length, without benefit of understanding the other. But the sound of a human voice is a comfort when you’re cabined up in the woods’n all’d otherwise be but the murmur a wind and the plop a snow from an overloaded branch. I say not understanding each other but twarn’t entirely so, I could often read by means of the tenor of her speech and certain facial expressions the emotional import a what she was sayin and she was often vexed with me, I seldom knew why. And then she moved on.