"Royal Son," said the Red Widow next morning, "what is the Burrow of the
Men-Kind like?"
"Ask Carcajou when he comes, Mother," replied Black Fox; and he related
the incident of the night before.
"Art sure, Son, that the Kit-Man's Mother is not with him?"
"No, Dame, she is not."
"Then he will get into trouble--that is certain. I have looked after
you all--a big family, too, nine of you--and know what it means. Pisew,
with his cannibal taste for Fox-cubs--and mark this, Son, even Carcajou
has a weakness the same way, my Mother taught me to understand. And
Rof, who seems such a big, gruff, kind-hearted fellow, would crack one
of your backs with his great jaws quick enough in the Hunger-year, were
no one looking. Mooswa is honest, but the others bear him no love,
surely. And Francois is to set out the Traps to-day, and he has
discovered our home here in this cut-bank, you say. Well, Son, thou art
the King, because of thy Wisdom; but together we must advise against
this Slayer, who has the cunning of Carcajou and the Man-knowledge of
Wiesahkechack."
"What shall we do, Dame?"
"Now, thy red Brother, Speed, must take the message to the strong
runners of our Comrades, Mooswa and the others, as has been arranged, to
meet; and when Francois has passed with the Traps, go you five after
this Man, and gain knowledge of where they are placed, and do all things
necessary for safety in the Boundaries. The Watcher over Animals has
sent soft snow last night, the first of this Cold-time, so your task
will be easy. Just the length of a brisk run, higher up the Pelican, is
a cut-bank with a hole as good as this. Before you were born, with your
beautiful silver coat, I lived there.
"Now, Francois, even as he told the Man-Cub, will trap here, and who
knows but he may put his Fire-medicine with its poison breath in the
door of our Burrow, and seek to drive us out to be killed."
"That is true, Most Wise Mother; the sight of the twisting red-poison is
more dreadful than anything; for it smothers and eats up, and is swift
as the wind, and spreads like the flood in the river, and fears neither
Man nor Beast, and obeys not even the Spirit God of the Animals when it
is angered."
"Well, Son, while you follow the trail of this evil Trapper, I, with all
your Brothers, will go to the other Burrow."
"Be sure the Cubs step all in one track, Mother--your track, so this
Breed Man, with his sharp eyes, shall not suspect."
"Do you hear, Cubs?" asked the Widow. "Remember what your Brother has
said. Also each day one of us will make a fresh trail here, so that the
Man may think we still live in this house."
So while Speed glided swiftly through the Boundaries uttering his
whimper call to Mooswa, Muskwa, Rof, and Carcajou, Francois and Rod
shouldered each a bag of Traps and started to lay out the Marten Road,
as was called a big circle of Traps extending perhaps thirty miles, for
the Winter's hunt.
The Boy was filled with eager, joyous anticipation. During his school
days in town he had thought and dreamed of the adventurous free life of
a Fur Trapper in the great Spruce Forests of the North. That was
chiefly because it was bred in the bone with him. He threw back to the
forty years of his father's Factor-life as truly as an Indian retains
the wild instinct of his forefathers, though he delve for half a
lifetime in the civilization of the White Man.
"Here is de Marten tracks," cried Francois, stopping suddenly; and with
precise celerity he built a little converging stockade by placing in the
ground sharp-pointed sticks. In this he set a small steel Trap, covered
it with leaves, and beyond placed the head of a fish.
"What's that track?" asked The Boy, as his companion stopped and looked
at the trail of some big-footed creature.
"Cat," answered Francois; "dat's Mister Lynk. He like for smell some
t'ing, so I give him Castoreum me for rub on hes nose--perhaps some
necktie too."
[Illustration: "CAT," ANSWERED FRANCOIS; "DAT'S MISTER LYNK."]
He cut a stick four feet long and four inches thick, and to the middle
of it fastened a running noose made from cod-line. Then building a
stockade similar to the last, and placing a fish-head smeared with
Castoreum inside, he bent down a small Poplar and from it suspended the
noose covering the entrance to the stockade.
"Now, Mister Lynk he go for smell dat," explained Francois. "He put hes
fat head t'rough dat noose; perhaps he don't get him out no more. By
Goss! he silly; when dat string get tight he fight wid de stick, an'
jump, and play de fool. De stick don't say not'ing, but jump too, of
course, cause it loose, you see. If de stick be fas' den de Lynk break
de string; but dis way dey fight, an' by an' by dat Lynk he dead for
soor, I t'ink me."
"He has queer taste," said The Boy, "to risk his neck for that
stuff--it's worse than a Skunk."
They moved on, and behind, quite out of sight, but examining each
contrivance of the Trapper, came Black Fox, Muskwa, Blue Wolf, Mooswa,
and Carcajou. Whisky-Jack was with them; now flying ahead to discover
where the enemy were, now fluttering back with a dismal "Pee weep! Pee
weep!" to report and rail at things generally.
Carcajou at times travelled on three legs. "Got a thorn in your foot?"
queried the Jay? solicitously.
"Toes are cold," answered Wolverine, shortly.
"He-a-weep!" laughed Whisky-Jack, sneeringly; "they were hot enough last
night, when you called on Francois through the chimney. Whose toes are
sore to-day, Mister Carcajou? And the fur is burnt off your back--excuse
me while I laugh;" and the Bird gave vent to a harsh, cackling chuckle.
"Hello!" Carcajou exclaimed, suddenly. "I smell Castoreum; or is it
Sikak the Skunk?"
When they came to the Lynx Snare, almost immediately, he circled around
gingerly in the snow, examining every bush, and stick, and semblance of
track; then he peered into the little stockade. "It's all right!" he
declared; "that Francois is a double-dealing Breed. I have known him
set a Snare like this for Pisew, and a little to one side put a Number
Four Steel Trap, nicely covered up, to catch an unsuspicious,
simple-minded Wolverine."
"Why don't you also say _honest, modest_, Wolverine?" derided
Whisky-Jack.
"But that's a Snare for Pisew, right enough," continued Carcajou.
"It is!" added Black Fox.
"Watch me spring it!" commanded Carcajou, tearing with his strong jaws
and stronger feet at the fastening which held down the bent poplar.
Swish! And the freed sapling shot into the air, dangling the cord like
a hangman's noose invitingly before their eyes. "Now if any one wants
the Fish-head, he may have it," he added.
"Not with Castoreum Sauce," said Black Fox. Even Blue Wolf turned his
nose up at it.
"Well, I'll eat it myself," bravely remarked Wolverine, "for I'm
hungry."
"You always are, 'Gulo the Glutton,' as Men call you," twittered Jay.
"I don't care for hot pork, though," retorted the other, making a
grimace at the Bird.
"I believe they are heading for your house, Black Fox," remarked Rof, as
they trudged on again.
"Francois is setting a Trap in the King's Palace--in the Court Yard,"
cried Whisky-Jack, fluttering back to meet them. Sure enough, as the
friends crouched in a little coulee they could see the Half-breed
covering up a "No. 3" directly in front of Fox's hole. Near the Trap
Francois deposited two pieces of meat.
"If the Old Lady comes out she'll get her toes pinched," remarked
Carcajou.
Black Fox laughed. "When Francois catches Mother, we all shall be very
dead."
When the Trapper had gone, the Comrades drew close, and gingerly
reconnoitred. "Only one Trap!" cried Carcajou; "this is too easy."
Cautiously fishing about in the snow he found a chain; pulling the Trap
out, he gave it a yank--something touched the centre-plate, and it went
off with a vicious snap that made their hearts jump.
"Is the Bait all right, Whisky-Jack," asked Black King. "Was there any
talk of White Powder?"
"There's nothing in it," replied the Bird; "I saw them cut the Meat."
"Well, Jack and I will eat one piece; there's a piece for you, Rof. In
this year of scarce food even the Death Bait is acceptable--though it's
but a tooth-full. Are you hungry, Muskwa?"
"No; I am sleepy. I think I'll go to bed to-morrow for all Winter. You
fellows have kept me up too late now."
"Give me a paw to break the ice in the stream, Muskwa--I'm going to
cache this Trap," said Carcajou.
"All right," yawned Bear; "I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'm afraid
my liver is out of order."
"Shouldn't eat so much," piped Whisky-Jack.
Muskwa slouched down to the river; Wolverine grabbed up the Trap in his
strong jaws and followed. Bruin scraped the snow to one side deftly,
uncovering a patch of the young ice, and two or three powerful blows
from his mighty paw soon shivered a hole in it. Carcajou dropped the
Trap through, saying, "It will close over to-night, and to-morrow
perhaps the wind will cover it with snow."
The King looked on admiringly.
"Bra-vo! br-a-a-vo!" growled Blue Wolf. "I might have put my foot in
that when I came to visit the Widow."
And so all day the conspirators followed Francois and The Boy, undoing
their work.
To Muskwa's horror, near the nest he had prepared for his long Winter's
rest they found a huge Bear Trap. At sight of its yawning jaws drops of
perspiration dripped from Bruin's tongue. "Sweet Sleep! what should I do
if I were to put a leg in that awful thing--it would crack the bone, I
believe. Who in the name of Forest Fools told Francois where my house
was?"
"Whisky-Jack, likely," snapped Carcajou, malignantly.
"Not I," declared Jay--"I swear it! I keep the Law. What evil I've got
to say of any one, I say to his face; I'm no traitor. You're a thief,
Carcajou--your ears were cut off for stealing! Your head's as smooth as
a Bird's egg, and you're a quarrelsome Blackguard--but did I ever accuse
you of betraying our Comrades?"
"Never mind, Sweet Singer," answered Wolverine, apologetically, "I
didn't mean it. Nobody told Francois; it was your own big feet, Muskwa.
If you weren't half asleep you'd know that you left a trail like the
passing of Train Dogs."
"How shall we spring the Trap?" asked Bear.
"Don't touch it," commanded Carcajou. "Just leave it, and Francois will
spend many days waiting for your thick fur."
"But if I 'hole-up' here the Man will break into my house and kill me
while I sleep."
"How can he find you?" asked Jack, incredulously. "It's going to snow
again, you'll be all covered up deep and he'll never know where you
are."
"Won't he, Little Brother? Man is not so stupid. How do you suppose I
breathe? There'll be a little hole right up through the snow, all yellow
about the edges, and Francois will find that; also, if there's frost in
the air, see my breath. No; I've got to make another nest now. I
should have turned in before the snow fell, then I'd have been all
right."
"We'll help you fix a new house," said Black King; "but you had better
wait--perhaps this snow will go away; then there will be no tracks to
lead Trappers to your nest. It is really too bad to keep you up when
you are so sleepy, but it's the only way."
"And to think how I worked over it," lamented Muskwa. "For a week I
carried sticks until my arms ached; and scraped up leaves, and spruce
boughs, and soft moss, until my hands were sore. It would have been the
finest 'hole-up' of any Bear within the Boundaries. Umisk boasts about
his old Mud Lodge, with the lower floor all flooded with water--it's
enough to give one rheumatism. New Ant Hills! I shouldn't like to live
in a cold, cheerless place like that. If I had just pulled all that
nice warm covering over me before the snow fell, I should have been as
comfortable as little Gopher in his hole. It's too bad!"
"I'll tell you what we will do, Muskwa," said Black King; "we'll ask the
Old Lady about this thing. You wouldn't mind a nice dry hole in a
cut-bank somewhere, would you--if the snow lasts and you can't make
another nest? She knows all the empty houses from Athabasca to Peel
River. I am in the same fix myself, for the family are moving
to-day--though we have lived in our present quarters for a matter of
four years."
"That's a King for you!" cried Whisky-Jack. "He's like a Father to us,"
concurred Blue Wolf.
"Now we'll go back," ordered Black Fox; "the Man has set all his Traps.
See! here's the mark of an empty bag on the snow. If you discover
anything new, come to the big dead Cottonwood--the one that was struck
by storm-fire--at Two Rapids, and give the Boundary Call. I don't want
you making a trail up to our new house for Francois to follow."