At sunset on the Fourth day Black King and his party once more crouched
in the willows at Red Stone Brook. Francois and his young friend were
just putting some finishing touches to the Shack roof--placing the last
earth sods on top of the poles, for it was a mud covering.
"It's nearly finished," whispered Jay.
"Strong Teeth! but that is funny," laughed Beaver.
"What is funny, Eater of Wood?" queried Jack.
"Why, the Man carries his trowel-tail in his front paws. I wish I could
do that. I have to turn around to look when I'm doing a nice bit of
plastering."
It was the Half-breed's spade that had drawn forth this remark.
"Yes," declared Whisky-Jack wisely, "one time the Men were like
you--walked on four legs and used a trowel-tail for their building; now
they stand upright, and have shed the trowel which they use in their
hands."
"Wonderful!" soliloquized Umisk; "still they can't do as good work. Fat
Poplar! but it's a poor Lodge. The only sensible thing about it is the
mud roof."
Francois struck the clod sharply with his spade, settling it into place.
"How clumsily the Man works," cried Beaver; "I'm glad my tail is where
it is. What's that mud thing sticking up out of the corner, Jay? Is it
a little lodge for the Kit-Man?"
"That's a chimney--part of the fire-trap," answered Jack.
"I know what that's like," asserted Carcajou. "I went down one once.
The Trapper locked his door, thinking to keep me out while he rounded up
his Traps. It's a splendid trail for getting in and out of a Shack.
Why, I can carry a side of bacon up that hole--did it."
"Isn't The Boy lovely?" muttered Mooswa. "Isn't his call sweet? What
does Francois name him, Jack--Man-Cub or Kit-Man?"
Just then the Half-breed sang out: "Rod, I t'ink me it's grub
time--knock off. De ole s'ack s'e's finis'."
"Rod?" mused the Moose. "Yes, that is what the Factor used to call him.
'Rod! Rod!' he would shout, and The Boy would run with his little fat
legs."
Rod and the Half-breed went inside, closed the door and lighted a
candle, for it was growing dark, put a fire in the stove and cooked
their supper.
The watchers, eager to see everything, edged cautiously up to the log
walls. Space for a small window had been left by the builders, but the
sash was not yet in place.
"I should like to see that mud-work the Man did with his hand-trowel,"
whispered Umisk.
"Climb on my horns, Little Brother," said Mooswa, softly, "and I will
lift you up."
Beaver slipped around gently on the roof inspecting Francois's
handicraft, while the others listened at the window.
"By Goss! Rod," said the Breed, "I put me leetle fire in de fire-place
for dry dat c'imney, s'e's sof. De fros' spoil him when s'e's no dry."
"I believe they have made the chimney too small," muttered Carcajou.
"I'm going up to have a look."
"To-mor' we put out dat Traps," remarked the Half-breed. "What you
t'ink, Boy--I see me dat Black Fox yesterday."
"The Black Fox!" exclaimed his young companion, eagerly. "The beauty
you spoke of as being in this part of the country?"
The King trembled. Already this terrible Trapper was on his trail.
"Yes; I know me where he have hes hole. I put dat number t'ree Otter
Trap close by, cover him wit' leaves, an' put de fis'-head bait on top.
Den we see. We keel plenty fur here dis Winter. Dere's big moose track
too--mus' be bull."
Black King scratched Mooswa's fore-leg with a paw to draw his attention,
but the latter had heard.
"I make some snare to-night, an' put him out wit' Castoreum. Dere's
plenty Cat here."
Lynx shuddered.
"We must help each other," he whined, in a frightened voice.
Mooswa felt a little pat on his lofty horn, and looked up. "Lift me
down, Brother," whispered Beaver.
"Where's Carcajou?" queried the King.
"Poking around the chimney--he made me nervous.
"Wuf!" sniffed Muskwa, gently. "Our Man burns the stink-weed in his
mouth--it's horrible!" Francois was smoking.
[Illustration: "WUF!" SNIFFED MUSKWA, GENTLY. "OUR MAN BURNS THE
STINK-WEED IN HIS MOUTH."]
Carcajou was busy examining the mud-and-stick wall of the chimney, which
stuck up three feet above the roof. "I'm sure they've made it too
small," he muttered; "I'll never be able to get down. That will be too
bad. By my Cunning! but I'd like to know for sure--I will!" For
nothing on earth will satisfy a Wolverine's curiosity but complete
investigation.
He gave a spring, grabbed the top of the chimney with his strong
fore-legs, and pulled himself up. As he did so the soft mud collapsed
and sank with a tremendous crash through the hole in the roof, carrying
the reckless animal with it.
"Run for it!" commanded Black King, sharply; "that mischievous Devil has
made a mess of the business."
"Whif! Wuf! Whiff!" grunted Bear, plunging through the thicket.
Black Fox melted silently into the Forest darkness as swiftly as a
cloud-shadow crosses a sunlit plain.
Lynx gathered his sinewy legs and fairly spurned the earth in
far-reaching bounds.
Beaver had been sitting curled up in the bowl of Mooswa's antlers,
peeping in the window at the time of Carcajou's mishap. His quick brain
took in the situation. Grasping the two strong front points, he
squeaked, "Fly, Mooswa!"
"Sit tight, Little Brother!" admonished the Moose, putting his nose
straight out and laying the horn-crown back over his withers, as he
rushed with a peculiar side-wheel action, like a pacing-horse, from the
clearing.
When the crash came Francois jumped to his feet in amazement. Before he
could investigate the mass of mud upheaved, a small dark-brown body
scuttled across the floor, clattered up the wall, and vanished through
the open window.
The Breed jumped for the door, grabbing a gun as he went. Throwing it
open he rushed out, but of course there was nothing in sight. Wolverine
was busily engaged in working his short legs to their full capacity in
an earnest endeavour to place considerable territory between himself and
the treacherous Shack.
Francois came back grunting his dissatisfaction.
Rod stood in speechless amazement while his companion examined the pile
of soft mud debris critically by the aid of a candle.
"I t'ought me dat!" he remarked, with satisfied conviction,
straightening his back and setting the candle down on the rude plank
table. "It's dat Debil of de Woods, Carcajou. Wait you, Mister
Wolverine; Francois s'ow you some treek."
"What was he after?" queried The Boy.
"After for raise Ole Nick," declared the Half-breed, dejectedly. "You
know what we mus' do? We mus' ketc' dat debil firs', or we keel no fur
here. He steal de bait, an' cac'e de Trap; s'pose we go out from de
S'ack, dat Carcajou come down de c'imney, tear up de clo'es, spill de
farina--de flour, t'row de pot in de ribber, an' do ever' fool t'ing
what you can t'ink. Never mind, I ketc' him, an' I keel him;" and
Francois fairly danced a Red River jig in his rage.
Whisky-Jack had perched on the end of a roof-plate log when the trouble
materialized, so he heard this tirade against Wolverine. The Bird could
hardly go to sleep for chuckling. What a sweet revenge he would have
next day; how he would revile Wolverine. Surely the unfortunate
Carcajou had scorched his feet, and mayhap his back, when he fell in the
fire-place. "I wonder whose toes are sore to-night," the Jay thought.
"I hope he got a good singeing--meddling beast! Nice Lieutenant to
upset everything just when we were having such a lovely time. Oh, but
I'll rub it into him to-morrow."