In the morning, Francois, taking his loaded snake-whip, hammered the
Huskie dogs into a submission sufficient to permit of their being
harnessed; put a meagre ration for four days in the carryall, tied on
his snow-shoes, and said to Roderick: "I go for pull out now, Boy; I
s'pose t'ree day I make me de Lan'ing. I stop dere one day, hit de
back-trail den, an' come de S'ack here wid de grub stake in fo'r more.
You got grub lef for dat long, soor. Bes' not go far from de S'ack; de
Blue Wolf he migh' come roun' dis side wit' hes Pack--bes' stick close
de S'ack."
[Illustration: "I GO FOR PULL OUT NOW, BOY."]
Then he slipped down the long-terraced river-bank with his train, and
started up the avenue of its broad bosom toward The Landing.
With rather a dreary feeling of lonesomeness Rod watched him disappear
around the first long, Spruce-covered point, then went back into the
Shack and whistled to keep the mercury of his spirits from congealing.
Other eyes had seen Francois wind around the first turn that shut him
out from Rod's vision: Blue Wolf's eyes; the little bead eyes of
Carcajou; the shifting, treacherous, cat-like orbs of Pisew, the Lynx.
Mooswa's big almond eyes blinked solemnly from a thicket of willow that
lined the river bank.
"I wonder if he'll bring the same Huskies back in his train?" said Blue
Wolf, as they returned through the Boundaries together.
"I should think he would," ventured Mooswa.
"Don't know about that," continued Rof, "these Breeds have no affection
for their Dogs, nor anything else but their own Man-Cubs. They do like
them, I must say. Why, I've heard one of them, a big, rough Man he was
too, cry every night for Moons because of the death of his Cub. He was
as savage as any Wolf, though, for he killed another Man in a fight just
at that time, and thought no more of it than I did over killing a Sheep
at Lac La Biche. But every night he howled, and moaned, and whimpered
for his lost Cub, just as a Mother Wolf might when her young are
trapped, or stricken with the breath of the Firestick, or killed in a
Pack-riot. Yes, they're queer, the Men," he mused in a low growl.
"When Francois goes to The Landing, if one of the other Breeds stumps
him for a trade, he'll swap off the whole Train."
"I'm sure he'll stick to Marsh Maid," declared Pisew; "she'll be back
again all right, Brother Rof." Blue Wolf looked sheepishly at Mooswa.
What a devil this Lynx was to read his thoughts like that.
"I hope nothing will happen Francois, for the sake of The Boy," wheezed
Mooswa. "These Breed Men also forget everything when the fire-water,
that makes them like mad Bulls, is in camp; it is always at The Landing
too," he muttered, despondently. "When I was a Calf at the Fort, I
heard the old Factor say--I think I've told you about that time--"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Carcajou impatiently, for he was a
quick-thinking little Animal, "what did the Factor say about these Breed
Men?"
"I'm coming to that," asserted Mooswa, ponderously. "It was at the time
I was a Calf in the Fort Corral, and the Factor, who was my Boy's
father, said that a Breed would sell his Soul for a gallon of this
Devil-water that puts madness in their blood."
"What's a Soul?" asked Carcajou. "I wonder if I smashed Francois's in
the Shack."
"I don't know," answered Mooswa; "it's something Man has, but which we
haven't--it's the thing that looks out of their eyes and makes us all
turn our heads away. Even Rof there, who stands up against Cougar
without flinching, drops his head when Man looks at him--is that not so,
brave Comrade?"
"It is," answered Blue Wolf, dragging his tail a little.
"And a Breed will trade this thing for fire-water?" queried Carcajou.
"So the Factor said," answered the Moose.
"I wouldn't if I had it," declared Wolverine--"not even for the
Fat-eating, and that is good for one. Was it that which made
Wiesahkechack King of Men and Animals, and everything, when he was
here--this Soul thing?" he asked pantingly, for the easy stride of his
long-legged comrades made his lungs pump fast.
"I suppose so," replied Mooswa; "but if Francois gets fire-water at The
Landing, I'm afraid it will be ill with The Boy. But, Comrades, you all
remember your oath to me and the King, that for the Man-Cub shall be our
help, and our care, and not the blood-feud that is against Man, because
of his killing."
"I remember," cried Blue Wolf.
"And I," answered Pisew.
"I never forget anything," declared Carcajou. "When my paws ached
because of Francois, I laid up hate against him; and when Black King's
leg was lost because of this evil Man's Trap the hate grew stronger; but
by the Bars on my Flanks do I bear not hate against The Boy, and bear
the promise given to you, Mooswa."
"I'll carry you for a short trail, Lieutenant," said Blue Wolf, stopping
beside Wolverine; "the Fat-eating has put new strength in my bones--jump
up on my back. Your brains are nimbler than ours, but your short legs
can't get over the deep snow so fast."
"Been to see him off, eh?" piped Whisky-Jack cheerily, fluttering up.
"I heard him tell The Boy they'd go down to Hay River when he comes back
from The Landing; but how did you Fellows know he was leaving this
morning?"
"Rof got it from his Huskie sweetheart," said Lynx. "The Dogs were tied
up last night, and the carryall outfit was lying ready at the door--that
meant hitting the trail early this morning."
"Has the Man-Cub got Eating enough to last against Francois's return,
Jack?" asked Bull Moose, solicitously.
"A dozen White Fish, a little flour, and some tea."
"That will keep the stomach-ache away, if the Breed comes back quickly,"
affirmed Mooswa.
Pisew cocked his Hair-plumed ears hungrily at the mention of Fish; and
the thief-thought that was always in his heart kept whispering, "Fish!
Fish! Fish that is in the Shack--The Boy's Fish!" The woods were so
bare, too. It was the Seventh Year, the Famine Year, and a chance of
eating came only at long intervals. Carcajou had robbed the Shack, and
it had been accounted clever--all the Flesh Eaters had feasted merrily
off the loot. Why should he not also steal the twelve Fish? But he was
not like Carcajou, a feast-giver, an Animal to make himself popular by
great gifts; if he stole the Fish he would cache them, and the eating
would round up his lean stomach.
"Carrier of Messages," began Mooswa, addressing Whisky-Jack, "thy part
of the Oath Promise is watching over The Boy. If aught goes wrong,
bring thou the news."
"Very well, old Sober-sides," answered Jay, saucily. "I'll come and sit
on your horns that have so many beautiful roosts for me, and whisper
each day into your ear, that is big enough to hold my nest, all that
happens at the Shack!"
"He'll keep you busy, Mooswa," smirked Pisew.
"Mooswa has time to spare for his Friends," answered Jack, "because he
eats an honest dinner. You, Bob-tail, are so busy with your thieving and
lying-in-wait for somebody's children to eat, that you have no time for
honest talk."
"Here's your path, Carcajou," cried Blue Wolf, stopping while Wolverine
jumped down. "I'm going on to see how Black King is."
"Last night a strong wind laid many acres of Birch Trees on their backs,
two hours' swift trot from here--I'm going there for my dinner,"
declared the Moose; "it will be fine feeding. It is a pity you Chaps
aren't vegetarians; the Blood Fever must be awful--killing, killing,
killing,--it's dreadful!" he wheezed, turning to the left and striding
away through the forest.
"I'll go and see Black King too," exclaimed Whisky-Jack.
"I'm off to the muskeg to hunt Mice," announced Pisew; "the Famine Year
brings one pretty low."
"Your Father must have been born in a Famine Year," suggested Jack, "and
you inherited the depravity from him."
Lynx snarled disagreeably, and as he slunk cat-like through the woods,
spat in contemptuous anger. "Jack has gone to the King's Burrow," he
muttered; "I'll have a look at The Boy's Shack. I wonder where he keeps
that Fish, and if he leaves the door open at all. Perhaps when he goes
down to the river for water--ah, yes, Cubs and Kittens are all
careless--even the Man-Cub will not be wise, I think. Now, so soon, the
pittance of food I had from that thief, Carcajou, has melted in my
stomach, and the walls are collapsing again. I wonder where the
hump-backed Lieutenant cached the rest of his stolen Fat-eating."
Thus treacherously planning, Lynx stealthily circled to the Shack, lay
down behind a Cottonwood log fifty feet away, and watched with a
ravenous look in his big round eyes. Presently he saw Rod open the
door, look across the waste of snow, stretch his arms over his head
wearily, turn back into the Shack, reappear with two metal pails in one
hand and an axe in the other, and pass from view over the steep river
bank.
With a swift, noiseless rush the yellow-gray thief darted into the
building. His keen nose pointed out the dried White Fish lying on a box
in the corner. Stretching his jaws to their utmost width, he seized
four or five and bounded into the thick bush with them. Two hundred
paces from the clearing Pisew dropped his booty behind a fallen tree.
"I'll have time for the others," he snarled, pulling a white covering
over the fish with his huge paw.
As he stole back again, a sound of ice-chopping came to his ears.
"Plenty of time," he muttered, and once more his jaws were laden with
The Boy's provision. In his eagerness to take them all, two fish
slipped to the floor; Pisew became frightened, and bolted with those he
had in his mouth. "I can't go back any more," he thought, as he rushed
away; "but I've done well, I've done very well."
The Boy returned with the water, took his axe and cut some wood. He did
not miss the fish. Pisew carried his stolen goods away and cached them.
That night Whisky-Jack, sitting on his perch under the extended end of
the roof, heard something that gave him a start. Rod had discovered the
loss of his Fish.
"My God! this is serious," the Bird heard him say. "Two fish and a
handful of flour for ten days' food--perhaps longer. This is terrible.
It's that Devil of the Woods, Carcajou, who has robbed me, I suppose--he
stole the bacon before. If I only could get a chance at him with a
rifle, I'd settle his thieving life."
The misery in The Boy's voice touched Whisky-Jack.
"Pisew has done this evil thing," he chirped to himself. "If he has, he
has broken his oath of the Boy-care."