"Francois is a great Hunter. He has the cunning of Wolverine, the
strength of Muskwa, the speed of mine own people, and the endurance of
Mooswa. Besides, there are the Traps, and the Ironstick; and Snares
made from Deer-sinew and Cod-line. The soft strong cord which Man
weaves. Also will this Evil Slayer, who is but a vile Half-breed, have
the White Powder of Death in a tiny bottle--such a small bottle, and yet
holding enough Devil-medicine to slay every Dweller in the Boundaries."
"That it will, Your Majesty," confirmed Jack; "and it kills while you
breathe thrice--so, If-f-h, if-f-h, if-f-h! and you fall--your legs kick
out stiff, and you are dead. I've seen it do its terrible work."
"Just so," assented Black King. "The use of that is against Man's law,
even; but Francois cares not, so be it the Red-coats know not of its
use. Now must we take an oath to help one the other, if we prefer not
to have our coats nailed on the Hunt-Man's Shack walls, or stretched on
the wedge-boards he uses for the hides of Otter, and Mink, and Fisher,
and myself. Even Muskrat and Pisew go on a wedge-board when they are
skinned. You, Beaver, and Muskwa, and Mooswa have your skins stretched
by iron thorns on the side of a Shack.
"Now take we the oath?" he asked, looking from one to the other.
A murmur of eager assent started with the deep bass of Blue Wolf and
died away in the plaintive treble of Wapoos.
"Then, listen and repeat with me," he commanded.