Fred never quite knew how he got back to camp after he had found the
river. He found his companions still sound asleep, but it did not take
him long to rouse them and to tell them the news.
"I couldn't see any tracks on the shore. I don't think any one has
passed," Fred said.
In less than a minute the boys, wild with joy, were hurrying through
the woods again. It was almost dark when they reached the river;
peering close to the ground they examined the trail carefully, to make
sure that the trappers had not already passed.
The heavy rain had washed the shores, and no fresh tracks showed in the
mud. The men had not been over the portage that day, and they could
hardly have passed the rapids without making a carry. They had
evidently camped for the night at some point below, and would not come
up the river until morning.
After piling up some hemlock boughs for a bed, the boys lay down, and
dropped into a heavy sleep. Now that the strain was over, Fred slept,
too. In fact, for the last quarter of an hour he had hardly been able
to stay on his feet.
In the gray dawn Horace awakened them. They were stiff from their
thirty-mile race of the day before, and their feet were swollen. Hot
food--especially hot tea--was what they longed for; but they were
afraid to make a fire, and they had to content themselves with a little
raw venison for their breakfast.
Horace thought that they could make their ambush where they were as
well as anywhere else. The portage was about thirty yards long, and
the narrow trail passed over a ridge and ran through dense hemlock
thickets. If the trappers came up the trail in single file, carrying
heavy loads, they could not use their rifles against a sudden attack.
The boys armed themselves each with a hardwood bludgeon; then they
ensconced themselves in the thickets where they could see the reaches
of the river below--and waited.
An hour passed. It was almost sunrise, and there was no sign of the
trappers on the river. The boys grew nervous with dread and anxiety.
The tree-tops began to glitter with sunlight. It was almost six
o'clock.
"Could they have gone some other way?" asked Fred uneasily, staring
upstream.
At that very moment Macgregor grasped his arm and pointed down the
river. Two small objects had appeared round a bend, half a mile below.
They were certainly canoes, making slow headway against the stiff
current, but they were too far away for the boys to make them out
plainly. Minute by minute they grew nearer.
"The front one's a Peterboro!" said Mac. "There's one man in it, and
two in the other. I think I can see the fox cage."
Without doubt it was the trappers. The young prospectors slipped back
through the thickets, almost to the upper end of the trail, and
concealed themselves in the hemlocks.
"Above all things, try to get hold of their guns!" said Horace.
For a long while they waited in terrible suspense. They could not see
the landing, nor at first could they hear anything, for the tumbling
water of the rapids roared in their ears. After what seemed almost an
hour, stumbling footsteps sounded near by on the trail, and the bow of
the Peterboro hove in sight. A man was carrying it on his head; he
steadied it with one hand, and in the other grasped a gun--Horace's
repeating rifle.
When he was almost within arm's reach, Mac sprang and tackled him low
like a football player. The trapper dropped the gun with a startled
yell, and went over headlong into the hemlocks--canoe and all.
Horace leaped out to seize the gun that the man had dropped. Before he
could touch it, the second trapper rushed up the trail with his rifle
clubbed. Fred struck out at him with his bludgeon. The blow missed
the fellow's head, and fell on his arm. Down clattered the rifle,
discharging as it fell. The trapper made a frantic leap aside, and
disappeared into the bushes.
As Fred snatched up the rifle, he caught a glimpse of the third
trapper, the wiry half-breed, hastening up the path.
"Halt! Hands up!" shouted Horace, raising the repeater.
The man stopped, fired a wild shot, turned and bolted back toward the
landing. Fred and his brother rushed after him; they reached the
landing just in time to see him leap into the birch canoe, which still
held the fox cage, shove off, and digging his paddle furiously into the
water, shoot down the stream.
"After him! The canoe! Quick!" shouted Horace.
They dashed back. The man that Fred had struck was nowhere to be seen.
Macgregor had pinned his antagonist to the ground, and seemed to have
him well subdued.
"Never mind him, Mac!" Fred cried. "Pick up that canoe in a hurry!
One of the scoundrels has got away with the foxes!"
All three of them seized the canoe and rushed it down to the landing.
There they found the shore strewn with articles of camp outfit where
the men had unloaded the canoes.
"Load it in, boys!" cried Horace. "Take what we need. We're not
coming back."
They pitched an armful or two of supplies into the canoe. Fred's
shotgun was there, and several other articles that the boys recognized
as their own. The rest was a fair exchange for the outfit that they
had abandoned in their tent.
They shoved the canoe off. The half-breed had gained a long lead by
this time. He was nearly a quarter of a mile ahead, paddling
frantically; he did not even stop to fire at the boys. But there were
three paddles in pursuit, and the boys began to gain on him noticeably.
More than two miles flashed by, and then the roar of rapids sounded
ahead.
"Got him!" panted Mac. "He'll have to land now."
Round another bend shot the birch canoe, with the Peterboro three
hundred yards behind, and now the broken water came in sight. It was a
long, rock-staked chute, and the boys thought it would be suicidal to
try to run it. But the half-breed kept straight on in mid-channel.
"He's going to try to run through!" Horace cried. "He'll drown himself
and the foxes!"
The boys yelled at him; but the next instant the man's canoe had shot
into the broken water. For a moment they lost sight of him in a cloud
of spray; then they saw him half-way down the rapids, going like a
bullet. With incredible skill, he was keeping his craft upright.
The boys drove their canoe toward the landing, and still watched the
man. When he was almost through the rapids, they saw his canoe shoot
bow upward into the air, hang a moment, and then go over.
Shouting with excitement, they dragged the canoe ashore, picked it up,
and went over the portage at a run. Far down the stream they saw the
birch canoe floating on its side, near the fox cage. They had just
launched the Peterboro at the tail of the rapids, when they saw
something black bobbing in the swirling water.
It was the head of the half-breed. He was swimming feebly, and when
they hauled him into the canoe, was almost unconscious. He had a great
bleeding gash just above his ear, where he had struck a rock; but he
was not seriously injured. The boys paid little attention to him, but
hastened to rescue their treasure. When they came up with the birch
canoe, they found that the fox cage had been lashed to it with a strip
of deerskin, and, to their great relief, that the foxes were there, all
four of them, alive and afloat.
They got the cage ashore as quickly as possible. The foxes were
dripping with water, but looked as lively as ever. To all appearances,
the ducking had not hurt them.
The canoe itself had not come off so well. It had a great rent in the
bottom, and Horace stamped another hole through the bow. Then the boys
examined their new outfit. From their own former store they had a
kettle, a frying-pan, a box of rifle-cartridges, and a sack of tea.
They had taken from the trappers' supplies half a sack of flour, a lump
of salt pork, two blankets, and two rifles.
The half-breed had recovered his wits by this time; sitting on the
bank, he glared savagely at them.
"You'll find your partners waiting for you up the river," Horace said
to him. "We've got what we need, and you'll find the rest of your kit
on the shore where you unpacked it. As for your rifles--"
He picked them up and tossed them into six feet of water. "By the time
you've fished them out and mended your canoe I guess you won't want to
follow us. If you do, you won't catch us napping again, and we'll
shoot you on sight. _Savez_?"
The half-breed muttered some sullen response. The boys loaded the fox
cage into the Peterboro, got in themselves, and shot down the river
again in a fresh start for home. They left the trapper sitting on the
rock, glaring after them.
Now that the strain was over and the fight won, the boys felt utterly
exhausted. They kept on at as fast a pace as they could, however, and
reached the Missanabie River a little after noon. There they stopped
to cook dinner.
Once more they had hot, black _voyageurs'_ tea, and fried flapjacks,
and salt pork. It seemed the most delicious meal they had ever eaten;
but when they had finished, they felt too weary to start up the
Missanabie, and reckless of consequences, they lay down and slept for
almost two hours.
Then they continued their journey with double energy, and made good
progress for the rest of the day.
They were entirely out of fresh meat, and had nothing whatever to give
the foxes, but fortunately Mac shot three spruce grouse that evening.
They dropped the heads of the birds into the cage; the foxes devoured
them with a voracity that indicated that the trappers had fed them
nothing. Early the next morning Horace by a long shot killed a deer at
the riverside.
It was a rough journey up the Missanabie, but not nearly so hard as the
trip up the Smoke River had been. For eight days they paddled, poled,
tracked, and portaged, until they came at last to the point where they
had first launched the canoe.
The "long carry" over the Height of Land now confronted them. It is
true that they had by no means so much outfit to carry now, but, on the
other hand, they had no packers to help them. They had to make two
journeys of it, and, as a further difficulty, one of the boys had to
remain with the fox cage. As they reached the top of the ridge on
their first journey, Macgregor turned and looked back over the wild
landscape to the northwest.
"Somewhere over there," he murmured, "is the diamond country."
"Shut up!" exclaimed Horace, in exasperation.
"I never want to hear the word 'diamond' again," added Fred.
They left the foxes together with the rest of their loads at the end of
the "carry," and Fred remained to guard them, while Peter and Horace
went back for the remainder of the outfit. While they were gone Fred
noticed that one of the cubs was not looking well. It refused to eat
or drink; its fur was losing its gloss, and it lay in a sort of a doze
most of the time. Plainly captivity did not agree with it.
Horace and Peter were much concerned about its condition when they came
back. None of them had any idea what to do; in fact it is doubtful if
the most skilled veterinary surgeon could have prescribed.
"The real trouble is their cramped quarters, of course," said Horace.
"We must get home as quickly as possible, and get them out of this and
into a larger cage. Some of the others will sicken if we don't look
sharp."
They made all the speed they could, and, now that they were fairly on
the canoe route south of the Height of Land, they felt that they were
well toward home. It was downstream now, and portages grew less and
less frequent as the river grew. They did not stop to hunt or fish;
the paddled till dusk, and were up at dawn. They felt that it was a
race for the life of the valuable little animal, and they did not spare
themselves. Two days afterward, late in the afternoon, they came to
the little railway village that had been their starting-point.
The cub seemed no better--worse, if anything. There was a train for
Toronto at eight o'clock that night. The boys hurried to the hotel
where they had left their baggage, and changed their tattered woods
garments for more civilized clothing. There was time to eat a
civilized supper, with bread and vegetables and jam,--almost forgotten
luxuries,--and time also to send a telegram to Maurice Stark.
They carried the cage of foxes to the hotel with them, for they were
determined henceforth not to let the animals out of their sight for a
moment. The unusual spectacle of the three boys with their burden
attracted much attention, and when the contents of the cage became
known, nearly the whole population of the village assembled to have a
look.
The crowd followed them to the depot, and saw the foxes put into the
baggage-car. They had secured permission for one of them to ride with
the cage and stand guard, and the boys took turns at this duty. The
other two tried to snatch a few hours of rest in the sleeper; but the
berths seemed stifling and airless. Accustomed to the open camp, they
could not sleep a wink, and were rather more fatigued the next morning
than when they had started. It was still four hours to Toronto, but
they reached the city at noon. Macgregor was standing the last watch
in the baggage-car, and as Fred and Horace came down the steps of the
Pullman they saw Maurice Stark pushing through the crowd.
"What luck?" Maurice demanded anxiously, lowering his voice as he shook
hands. "Did you find the--the--?"
"Not any diamonds," replied Fred, with a laugh. "But we brought back
some black gold. Come and see it."
They went forward to the platform where the baggage was being unloaded.
Macgregor was helping to hand out the willow cage. It looked strangely
wild and rough among the neat suit-cases and trunks.
"What in the world have you got there?" cried Maurice, peering through
the bars.
Fred and Horace were also looking anxiously to learn the condition of
the sick cub.
"Why, he's dead!" exclaimed Fred, in bitter disappointment.
"Yes," said Mac; "the little fellow keeled over just after I came on
guard. I didn't send word to you fellows, for I knew there was nothing
to be done."
The rest of the family were alive and looked in good condition. The
boys had already decided what they would do immediately, and, calling a
cab, they drove with the foxes to the house of a well-known naturalist
connected with the Toronto Zoölogical Park. He was as competent as any
one could be, and he readily agreed to take care of the foxes till they
should be sold.
Naturally, however, he declined to be responsible for their safety, and
Horace at once attempted to insure their lives. No insurance company
would accept the risk, but after much negotiation he at last managed to
effect a policy of two thousand dollars for one month, on payment of an
exorbitant premium. He was more successful in getting insurance
against theft, and took out a policy for ten thousand dollars with a
burglar insurance company, on condition of a day and night watchman
being employed to guard the animals.
It was plain that the foxes were going to be a source of terrible
anxiety while they remained on the boys' hands. Horace at once
telegraphed to the manager of one of the largest fur-breeding ranches
in Prince Edward Island, and received a reply saying that a
representative of the company would call within a few days.
The man turned up three days later, and inspected the foxes in a casual
and uninterested way.
"We'd hardly think of buying," he remarked. "We've got about all the
stock we need. I was coming to Toronto just when I got your wire, and
I thought I'd look in at them. What are you thinking of asking for
them?"
"Fifty thousand dollars," said Horace.
The fur-trader laughed heartily.
"You'll be lucky if you get a quarter of that," he said. "Why, we
bought a fine, full-grown black fox last year for five hundred. Your
cubs are hardly worth anything, you know. They 're almost sure to die
before they grow up."
"Professor Forsythe doesn't think so," replied Horace.
"Well, I'm glad I saw them," said the dealer. "If I can hear of a
buyer for you I'll send him along, but you'll have to come away down on
your prices. You might let me have your address, in case I hear of
anything."
"It doesn't look as if we were going to sell them!" said Fred, who was
not used to shrewd business dealing. "Perhaps we can't get any price
at all."
Horace laughed.
"Oh, that was all bluff. I saw the fellow's eyes light up when he saw
these black beauties. He'll be back to see us within a day or two."
Sure enough, the man did come back. He scarcely mentioned the foxes
this time, but took the boys out motoring. As they were parting he
said carelessly, "I think I might get you a buyer for your foxes, but
he couldn't pay over fifteen thousand."
"No use in our talking to him then," replied Horace, with equal
indifference.
That was the beginning of a series of negotiations that ran through
fully a week. It was interspersed with motor rides, dinner parties,
and other amusements to which the parties treated one another
alternately. The Prince Edward Island man brought himself to make a
proposal of twenty thousand, and Horace came down to thirty-five
thousand, and there they stuck. Finally Horace came down to thirty.
"I'll give you twenty-five," said the furbreeder at last, "but I think
I'll be losing money at that."
"I'll meet you halfway," replied Horace. "Split the difference. Make
it twenty-seven thousand, five hundred."
Both parties were well wearied with bargaining by this time, and the
buyer gave in.
"All right!" he agreed. "You'll make your fortune, young man, if you
keep on, for you 're the hardest customer to deal with that I've met
this year."
The dealer went back next day to the east, taking the foxes with him,
and leaving with the boys a certified check for $27,500. It was not as
much as they had hoped to clear, but it was a small fortune after all.
"Comes to nearly seven thousand apiece," Fred remarked.
"Not at all," remonstrated Maurice. "I don't see where I have any
share in it."
"Oh, come! We're rolling in money. You must have something out of it.
Mustn't he, Horace?"
They knew that Maurice really needed the money, and it was not by his
own will that he had failed to go with the expedition. In the end he
was persuaded to accept the odd five hundred dollars, but he refused to
take a cent more. The remainder made just nine thousand dollars apiece
for each of the three other boys.
"I've lost a year's varsity work," said Peter, "but I guess it was
worth it. Nine thousand is more than I ever expect to make in a year
of medical practice. Besides, we know there are diamonds in that
country. Horace found them. Why can't we--"
"Shut up!" cried Fred.
"Take his money away from him!" exclaimed Horace. "I don't want to
hear any more of diamonds."
"--And why can't we make another expedition," continued Peter, "and
prospect for--" But Fred and Horace pounced on him, and after a
violent struggle got him down on the couch.
"Prospect for what?" cried Fred, sitting on his chest.
"Ow--let me up!" gurgled Mac. "Why, for--for more black foxes!"
THE END
The Riverside Press
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End of Project Gutenberg's Northern Diamonds, by Frank Lillie Pollock