"Black foxes!" cried Fred. "Mac, give me the glass!"
"Black, all right," Macgregor said. "Four of them, black as jet. See
the fur shine! I can't see the old ones. There, I believe I saw
something move just inside the burrow! Anyhow, all the cubs are going
in."
He handed the glass to Fred, who raised it to his eyes just in time to
see the black, bushy tail of the last cub disappear into the hole.
"Black foxes!" he said, in an awed whisper. "Four of them! Why, Mac,
they're worth a fortune, aren't they?"
"And probably two old ones," said the medical student. "A fortune?
Rather! Why, in London a good black fox pelt sometimes brings two or
three thousand dollars. The traders here pay only a few hundreds, but
if I had a couple of good skins I'd take them over to London myself."
"But we haven't got them. And we've no traps."
"One of us might watch here with the rifle for the old ones. I could
hit a fox from here, but the bullet would tear the skin awfully."
"Yes, and it's too late in the spring now for the fur to be any good,
I'm afraid," said Fred.
"Not first-class, that's a fact," Mac admitted sadly. "But what can we
do? We can't wait here all summer for the cubs to grow up."
"Let's go down and take a look at the den," Fred proposed.
"Better not. If the old foxes get suspicious they'll move the den and
we'll never find it again. I think we'd best go quietly away. This is
too big a thing for us to take chances on."
They took careful note of the spot before they left, and in order to
make assurance doubly sure, Mac blazed a tree every ten paces or so
until they struck the river again.
They had followed the river downward for about two miles when they saw
the smoke rising from their camping-ground. Hurrying up, they found
that Horace had come in already. He had brought out the supplies and
was frying bacon.
"What luck?" cried Fred, forgetting the foxes for a moment in his
anxiety to hear the result of Horace's trip.
"None," said Horace curtly. He looked tired, dirty, and discouraged.
"I went clear to the Whitefish--nothing doing. But what are you
fellows grinning about? What did you find at the head of the river?
You haven't--it isn't possible that you've hit it!"
"No, not diamonds," said Mac. "But we 've found something valuable."
And he told of their discovery of the black foxes. "But the problem is
how to get them," he finished. "The only way I can see is to shoot
them at long range."
"Shoot them! Are you crazy?" exclaimed Horace, who was even more
stirred by the news than they had expected. "Never! Catch 'em alive!
They're worth their weight in gold."
"Alive! I never thought of that!" exclaimed Fred.
"Why, their fur is no good now. Besides, suppose you did get a
wretched thousand dollars or so for the pelts--what's that? Why, down
in Prince Edward Island a pair of live black foxes for breeding was
sold for $45,000."
"Gracious!" gasped Fred.
"Down there every one is wild about breeding fur. A big syndicate has
a ranch that's guarded with watchmen and burglar alarms like a bank.
Their great trouble is to get the breeding stock, and they'll pay
almost any price for live, uninjured black foxes. If we could manage
to catch this pair of old ones and the four cubs without hurting them,
they ought to bring--I'd be afraid to guess how much! Maybe a hundred
thousand dollars! Kill them? Why, you'd kill a goose that laid golden
eggs!"
"That's right! I've heard of those fox ranches, of course," said Mac,
"but I didn't think of them at the moment. A hundred thousand dollars!
But how on earth can we catch them? We might dig the cubs out of their
den, but we couldn't get the old ones that way. If we only had a few
traps!"
"Why, there's that trap I found in the woods!" exclaimed Fred suddenly.
They had all forgotten it; they had dropped the trap into the dunnage,
and had not seen or thought of it since. Now, however, they eagerly
rummaged it out, and examined it critically.
It was badly rusted, but not broken. Mac knocked off the dirt and rust
scales, rubbed it thoroughly with grease, and set it. When he touched
the pan with a stick the jaws snapped. The springs were a little
stiff, but after they had been worked several times and well greased,
the trap seemed to be almost as good as new.
"We should have three or four of them," said Peter. "Having only one
trap gives us a slim chance. But suppose we do get them, what then?"
"Why, we'll have to have some sort of cage ready in which to carry
them; then we'll make all the speed we can back to Toronto," replied
Horace.
"And give up the diamond hunt?" cried Mac, in disappointment.
"What else can we do, anyhow?" replied Horace. "The flour is almost
gone and we're almost barefoot. And see here, boys," he went on,
earnestly, "I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid my calculations were
wrong on these diamond-beds. I thought it all out while I was coming
home from Whitefish River. Somewhere up here in the North there must
be a place where those diamonds came from--but I'm beginning to believe
it isn't in this part of the country. You see, the geological
formation is all different from the kind where diamond matrix is ever
found. Those stones I picked up may have been traveling for a thousand
years down one creek and another. They may have come down in the
glacial drift. I was altogether too hasty, I see now, in assuming that
they originated in one of the rivers where I found them.
"They may have come from a river a hundred miles away. Or perhaps from
deep underground. We should have made a study of the geological
structure of this whole North Country, the direction of the glacial
drift, and everything. Then we should have come in here prepared to
travel a thousand miles and stay all summer, or for two summers, if
necessary."
"Hanged if I'll give it up," said Mac stubbornly. "However," he added,
"we must certainly try to catch these black diamonds, and we can keep
on prospecting at the same time."
They uncached their outfit, pitched the tent again, and prepared
supper; meanwhile they talked of the foxes until they reached a high
pitch of enthusiasm. Even Mac admitted that the black foxes bade fair
to be as profitable as a small diamond-bed would be. As for Fred, it
was almost with relief that he let the diamond hunt take second place
in his mind. The continual strain of labor and failure had robbed the
search for the blue clay of much of its fascination.
Early the next morning they paddled up the river to the point where
Mac's blazed trail came down to the shore, and set out to reconnoiter
the den. After half an hour's tramping across the woods they reached
the rocky ridge; through the field-glass they scrutinized the lair,
which was about two hundred yards away.
Not a hair of a fox was in sight, but the burrow looked as if it could
be opened with spade and pick. Horace thought they ought to do that
first of all; in that way they could capture the cubs before there was
any possible danger of the old foxes' moving the den.
On their way back to camp, Mac stopped at a marshy pool and cut a great
armful of willow withes.
"It's lucky that I once used to watch an old willow worker making
baskets and chairs," he said. "I'll see if I've forgotten the trick of
it. We've got to make a cage, for we'll need one the instant we
capture one of those cubs."
He made a strong framework of birch, with bars as thick as his wrist,
which he notched together, and lashed with deer-hide. Then he had the
framework of a box about three feet long, two feet wide, and two feet
deep, through which he now began to weave the tough, pliable withes.
He did not altogether remember the trick of it, and he had to stop
frequently to plan it out. He worked all that afternoon, and continued
his labor by firelight. He did not finish the cage until the middle of
the next forenoon. It was rough-looking, but light, and nearly as
strong as an iron trunk, and had a door in the top.
All that remained for them to do now was to catch the game. They ate a
hasty luncheon, and carrying the cage, the trap, the axe, the spade and
pick, two blankets, and the guns, started back along Mac's blazed
trail. So great was their eager hurry that they stumbled over roots
and stones.
Clambering down the ravine, they cautiously approached the foxes' den.
The opening to the burrow was a triangular hole between two flat rocks.
From it came a faint odor of putrid flesh. The ground in front was
strewn with muskrat tails, small bones, and the beaks and feet of
partridges and ducks. From the rocks Fred picked off two or three
black hairs.
The boys looked into the dark hole and listened intently. They could
not hear a sound, but they knew that the cubs, at any rate, must be
within. Mac cut a sapling, trimmed it down and sharpened one end of
it; with that as a lever the boys loosened the rocks at the entrance of
the burrow, and rolled them aside. The burrow ran backward and
downward into the ground, but there seemed to be nothing in their way
now except earth, gravel, and roots. Horace picked up the spade and
began to dig; occasionally he had to stop to cut a tree root or pick
out a rock. Meanwhile, Peter and Fred stood close behind him, ready to
stuff the blankets into the hole in case the occupants should try to
bolt.
They uncovered the burrow for about four feet; then they had to
dislodge another rather large stone. There seemed to be a large, dark
cavity down behind it. When they stopped to listen, they could hear a
slight sound of movement in the darkness, and a faint squeaking.
"They're there," said Horace; "not a yard away. Now who's going to
reach in and pull 'em out?"
Macgregor volunteered at once; he crept up to the hole and cautiously
thrust in his arm. There was a sound of scrambling inside and a sharp
squeal. Mac, with a strained expression on his face, groped about with
his hand inside the hole.
When he withdrew his arm, there was blood on his hand, but he held by
the neck a little jet-black animal with a bushy tail, as large as a
kitten.
"Open the cage--quick!" he cried.
Fred held the door up, and Mac dropped the cub in. For a moment the
animal rushed from side to side, and then crouched trembling in a
corner.
"Nipped me on the thumb," said Mac, examining his hand. "They've got
teeth like needles. But the old one doesn't seem to be there now, and
I can easily get the rest."
He fished the second out without being bitten, and caged it safely.
But his hold on the third cub could not have been very secure, for the
little creature managed by struggling frantically to squirm out of his
hand. It turned over in the air, landed on its four feet, and darted
swiftly away.
The boys shouted in dismay. Fred flung himself sprawling upon the cub;
but it evaded him like lightning, and bolted into the undergrowth. It
would have been useless to pursue it.
The boys were greatly chagrined.
"It was my fault," said Peter, in disgust. "But it can't be helped
now, and there's another to come out."
He had trouble in getting hold of the last of the cubs. Twice he
winced with pain as the animal bit him, but at last he hauled it into
view. It was a little larger than the others; it scratched and bit
like a fury, and nearly broke away before they got it into the cage.
The boys gathered round and gloated over their prizes. With their
glossy jet coats, bushy tails, prick-eared faces, and comical air of
intense intelligence, the cubs were beautiful little creatures; but
they were all in a desperate panic, and huddled together in the
farthest corner of the cage.
"If we can only get them home in good condition they should be worth
fifteen thousand," said Horace. "But I'm much afraid they won't live
unless we can get the mother to travel with them. But now that we have
the cubs it should be rather easy to catch her, and maybe the father,
too."
They set the cage back into the hollow made by the ruined burrow, and
laid spruce branches over it so that it was well hidden. Then they
wrapped the jaws of the trap with strips of cloth so that they would
not cut the fox's skin, and set it directly in front of the cage.
Finally they scattered dead leaves over the trap. The cubs themselves
would act as bait.
"A fox never deserts her young," Horace said. "She's sure to come back
to-night, probably along with her mate, to carry off the cubs, and
we've a good chance to catch one or both of them."
It seemed dangerous to go away and leave that precious cageful of
little foxes at the mercy, perhaps, of the beaver trappers; perhaps
prowling lynxes or wolves. However, the boys had to take the risk. As
to the trappers, they had seen nothing of them for so long that they
had little fear of them.
They went back to camp and tried to pass the time; but they could talk
of nothing except black foxes. Fred conceived the idea of using their
stock to start a breeding establishment of their own, and Macgregor was
elaborating the plan, when suddenly he stopped with a frown.
"Is it so certain that the parents of those cubs are black?" he asked.
"I've heard that black foxes are an accident, a sport, and that the
mother or father is very often red."
"That's something that naturalists have never settled," replied Horace.
"Some think that the black fox is a distinct strain, others that it's
merely a 'sport,' as you say. However, when all the cubs in the litter
are pure black, I think it's safe to assume that the parents are black
also."
It was scarcely daylight the next morning before the boys were hurrying
along the blazed trail again. Shaking with suppressed excitement, they
approached the ravine of the foxes. When they came in sight of the den
and the cage their anticipation was succeeded by bitter disappointment.
The trap was undisturbed. Nothing had been caught. The cubs were
still in the cage, as frightened as ever.
But they found that one at least of the old foxes had visited the
place, for the dry leaves were disturbed; there were marks of sharp
teeth on the willows of the cage, and inside the cage were the tails of
a couple of wood mice. Unable to get her cubs out of the cage, the
mother had brought them food.
It seemed too bad to take advantage of her mother love, but as Horace
remarked, all they desired was to restore her to her family; once on
the fox ranch, she would be treated like a queen.
They put the cage farther back and piled rocks round it, so that it
could be approached only by one narrow path. In the path they placed
the trap, and again covered it carefully with leaves.
The cubs had to be left for another night, and the boys had another
hard day of waiting. None of them had the heart to try to prospect.
Macgregor went after ducks with the shotgun; the others lounged about,
and killed time as best they could. They all went to bed early, and
before sunrise again started for the den.
It was fully light when they came to the hill over the ravine, and as
they sighted the den, a cry of excitement broke from all three of them
at once.
From where they stood they could see the cage, and the crouching form
of a black animal beside it, evidently in the trap. And over the beast
with the dark fur stood a man in a buckskin jacket, with a club raised
to strike.