THE-LAKE-OF-THE-FOX-THAT-YELLS
Leaving 'Merican Joe to look after the line of marten and mink traps,
Connie Morgan struck out from the little cabin and headed for the Indian
village. Straight to the cabin of Pierre Bonnet Rouge he went and was
welcomed by the Indian with the respect that only the real sourdough
ever commands in the Indians of the North. For Pierre knew of his own
knowledge of the boy's outwitting the _hooch_-runners, and he had
listened in the evenings upon the trail to Fort Norman, while big Dan
McKeever recounted to McTavish, as he never tired of doing, the
adventures of Connie in the Mounted.
After supper, which the two ate in silence, while the squaw of Bonnet
Rouge served them, they drew up their chairs to the stove. The boy asked
questions as to the success of the trading, the news of the river
country, and prospects for a good spring catch. Then the talk drifted
to fox trapping, and Connie told the Indian that he and 'Merican Joe had
set some traps on the lake a day's journey to the south-eastward. Pierre
Bonnet listened attentively, but by not so much as the flicker of an
eyelash did he betray the fact that he had ever heard of the lake.
Finally, the boy asked him, point-blank, if he had ever been there.
Connie knew something of Indians, and, had been quick to note that
Pierre held him in regard. Had this not been so, he would never have
risked the direct question, for it is only by devious and round-about
methods that one obtains desired information from his red brother.
Pierre puffed his pipe in silence for an interminable time, then he
nodded slowly: "Yes," he answered, "I be'n dere."
"What is the name of that lake?"
"Long tam ago _nem_ 'Hill Lak'. Now, Injun call um
'Lak'-of-de-Fox-Dat-Yell'."
"You have seen him, too--the fox that yells?" asked the boy, eagerly.
"Yes. I kill um two tam--an' he com' back."
"Came back!" cried the boy. "What do you mean?"
"He com' back--an' yell w'en de sun com' up. An' w'en de sun go down he
yell on de side of de hill."
"But surely he couldn't yell after you'd killed him. You must have
killed the wrong fox."
"No. Wan tam I trap um, an' wan tam I shoot um--an' he com' back an'
yell."
"Where did you trap him? At the hole that goes under the rocks?"
"No. Wan tam I trap um on de shore of de lak'. An' wan tam I watch um
com' out de hole an' shoot um."
"But the one you trapped--how do you know that it was the same one?
There's lots of foxes over there."
"Yes, I trap odder wans, too. Kin tell de fox dat yell. He wear de
collar."
"Wears a collar!" cried the boy. "What do you mean? Are you crazy?"
"No. He _tamahnawus_ fox. He wear de collar."
"What kind of a collar?"
"Ermine skin collar--always he got it on."
"Look here," exclaimed Connie, shortly. "Are you lying to me? Do you
expect me to sit here and believe any such rot as that? Did you save the
collars? I want to look at 'em."
"De collar, an de skin, dey on de _cache_ at de end of dat lak'."
"What do you leave the black fox skins out there for, they're worth a
lot?"
The Indian shrugged. "I ain' want for mak' de _tamahnawus_ mad. I put de
skin an' de collar under de blankets on de _cache_."
"Are they there now?"
The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know dat. Mebbe-so _tamahnawus_ fox com'
an' git he's skin an' he's leetle w'ite collar an' wear um agin."
"But you've been to the _cache_ lately. There was grub on it that hadn't
been there more than a month at the most."
"Yes. I got bad luck w'en I kill dem fox, so I build de _cache_ an' mak'
de _tamahnawus_ de present. All de tam I tak' mor' grub, an' now I ain'
got de bad luck."
For a long time Connie was silent as he went over in his mind step by
step the happenings at the lake where 'Merican Joe had set the fox
traps. Then he thought over what Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, but
instead of clearing things up, the Indian's words had only served to
deepen the mystery of the fox that yelled like a man. Suddenly the boy
remembered the action of Pierre when McTavish had asked him if he knew
anything about James Dean, the missing prospector. He glanced at the
Indian who was puffing his pipe in silence, and decided to risk another
direct question although he knew that in all probability Pierre Bonnet
Rouge would relapse into a stubborn muteness; for in matters touching
upon his superstitions, the Indian is a man of profound silence. "I
won't be any worse off than I am, now," thought the boy, "if he don't
say another word--so here goes." He addressed the Indian gravely.
"Pierre," he began, watching the man narrowly to note the effect of his
words, "you know I am a friend of yours, and a friend of the Indians. I
gave them meat, and I saved them from being robbed by the
_hooch_-runners." The Indian nodded, and Connie felt encouraged to
proceed. "Now, I believe there is something else beside a _tamahnawus_
down there at Hill Lake. And I'm going back there and find out what it
is."
Pierre Bonnet Rouge shook his head emphatically. "No. I ain' goin'
'long. I w'at you call, learn lesson for fool wit' _tamahnawus_."
"That's all right. I won't ask you to go. I am not afraid of the
_tamahnawus_. If 'Merican Joe won't go with me, I'll go alone. I want
you to tell me, though, what became of James Dean? Is he mixed up in
this?"
The Indian smoked without answering for so long a time that the boy
feared that he would never speak, but after a while he removed the pipe
from his mouth and regarded the boy sombrely. "You _skookum tillicum_,"
he began, gravely. "I ain' lak I see you mak' de _tamahnawus_ mad. De
_tamahnawus_, she mor' _skookum_ as you. She git you. I tell you all I
know 'bout dat _tamahnawus_. Den, if you goin' back to de lak--" he
paused and shrugged meaningly, and turning to the squaw, who had
finished washing the supper dishes, he motioned with his hand, and the
woman threw a brilliant red shawl over her head and passed out the door.
Pierre Bonnet Rouge refilled his pipe, and hunching his chair closer to
Connie, leaned toward him and spoke in a low tone. "She start long tam
ago--six, seven year. We camp on de Blackwater. Wan tam in de winter,
me, an' Ton-Kan, an' John Pickles, we go on de beeg caribou hunt. We
swing up by de beeg lak' an' by-m-by we com' on de cabin. She w'ite man
cabin, an' no wan hom', but de fresh track lead sout'. Ton-Kan, he t'ink
de man got de _hooch_ to trade an' he want som' _hooch_, an' John
Pickles too--so we fol' de track. By-m-by we com' to Hill Lak', an' de
man she got de leetle camp by de hill. He ain' got no _hooch_. We got
som' fox trap 'long, so we mak' de camp. Plent' fox track roun' de lak',
an' we say tomor' we set de trap. Dat night com' de man to de camp. Say,
'nem James Dean.' Say, 'w'at you Injun goin' do?' I say, 'we goin' trap
de fox. He ain' lak dat. By-m-by he say, 'you got look out. De
_tamahnawus_ fox here. She talk lak de man.' I ain' b'lieve dat. I t'ink
he say dat 'cos he wan' to trap de fox. But Ton-Kan an' John Pickles git
scare. I say, 'de _tamahnawus_ ain' git you, he mebbe-so ain' git me,
neider.' He say, 'me--I got de strong medicine. De _tamahnawus_ she know
me. She do lak I say.' I ain' b'lieve dat, an' he say, 'You wait, I show
you. I go back to my camp an' mak de medicine an' I tell de _tamahnawus_
to burn de snow out on de lak'.' He go back to he's camp an' Ton-Kan an'
John Pickles is ver' mooch scare. De night she ver' black. Wan tam I
t'ink I hear som' wan walk out on de lak', but I ain' sure an' Ton-Kan
say dat _tamahnawus_. Den he point out on de lak' an' I kin see leetle
fire lak' de eye of de fox in de dark. Den she mak de leetle spark, an'
she move 'long ver slow. I laugh an' I say, 'Dat James Dean out dere,
she mak de fire to scare Injun.' Den rat behine me som' wan laugh, an'
stands James Dean, an' he say, 'No, James Dean is here. Dat de
_tamahnawus_ out on de lak'. He burn de snow, lak I tell um.' I say,
'Mebbe-so, de piece of rope burn lak dat.' An' he say, 'No, dat ain' no
rope. Dat _tamahnawus_ burn de snow. You t'ink you smart Injun--but I
show you. If dat is rope she goin' out pret' queek, ain' it? She can't
mak' de big fire?' I say, 'No, rope can't mak' no big fire.' 'A'right,'
he say, 'I tell de _tamahnawus_ to mak' de beeg fire dat mak' de lak'
all light.' Den he yell at de _tamahnawus_. He say, 'Mak' de beeg fire!
Mak' de beeg fire!' But she ain' mak' no beeg fire, an' de leetle fire
crawl slow out on de snow, an' I laugh on heem. He say, 'De _tamahnawus_
ain' hear dat. I got yell louder.' So he yell louder, 'Mak' de beeg
fire! Mak' de beeg fire!' An den." Pierre Bonnet Rouge paused and
shuddered. "An' den de beeg fire com'! So queek--so beeg you kin see de
trees. An' den she all dark, so black you can't see nuttin'. An' James
Dean laugh. An' Ton-Kan, she so scare she howl lak' de dog. An' John
Pickles, she try to dig de hole in de snow an' crawl in. An' me--I'm so
scare I can't talk.
"Nex' mornin' w'en she git light nuff to see we go 'way from dat lak'
jes' so fas lak we kin, an' we ain' stop till we git to de Blackwater."
Pierre Bonnet Rouge lapsed into silence, and at length Connie asked:
"But the _cache_? And the foxes that wore the collars?"
"Nex' year I hunt caribou agin, but I ain' go by Hill lak', you bet.
Young Injun 'long _nem_ Clawhammer, an' we swing roun' by de beeg lak'
an' com' by de cabin. Lots of tracks, but I ain' see James Dean tracks.
By-m-by, we com' on de camp of 'bout ten Innuit. Dey mak' de track by de
cabin, an' dey got all de stuff out. I ain' see James Dean. _S'pose_
James Dean dead. He los' de medicine, an' de _tamahnawus_ git um.
"So I keep way from Hill Lak'. T'ree, four year go by, an' de fox
trappin' is bad. I ain' so mooch fraid of _tamahnawus_ no mor' an' I
t'ink 'bout dem plent' fox tracks on Hill Lak' so me an' Clawhammer we
go dere. We set 'bout twent' traps de firs' day. Never see so many fox
track. We set um by de hill. We git t'rough early an' set up de tent on
de shore of de lak'. She almos' sundown an' I look up de hill an' rat
beside wan leetle rock-ledge, I see wan fine black fox. I grab de gun,
an' tak' de res' on de sled, an' den I hear de yell! It soun' lak' wan
man w'at is los'! But it com' from de fox! I shoot queek, an' de fox
com' roll down de hill! Clawhammer he run an' git um, an' den we see
it--de collar of ermine skin! Den I know dat de _tamahnawus_ fox James
Dean say talk lak' de man, an' I ver' mooch scare. I ain' tell
Clawhammer 'bout James Dean, an' he t'ink som' wan git los' mak' de
yell. He ain' see it com' from de fox. I look on dat leetle fox, an' I
see he ver' dead. But no blood. De fur jes' scratch' cross de back of de
head--but, she ver' dead--I look good.
"Clawhammer he wan' to skin dat fox, but I don' know w'at to do. If de
Injun kill de fox, he mus' got to skin um. Dat bad to waste de fox.
_Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ don' want de Injun to waste de peoples. I got to t'ink
'bout dat an' so I lay de fox behine de tent an' mak' de supper. After
supper I t'ink long tam. _Tamahnawus_, she bad spirit. _Sah-ha-lee
Tyee_, she good spirit. If I skin de fox, _tamahnawus_ git mad on me. If
I ain' skin de fox, _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ git mad on me. I ain' know w'at to
do. I t'ink som' mor'. By-m-by I t'ink dat bes to skin de fox. I ain'
know where _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ liv'. If I mak' um mad I ain' kin giv' um
no present. Better I mak' _tamahnawus_ mad cos he liv' rat here, an' if
I mak' um mad I kin give um de present an' mebbe-so he ain' stay mad on
me. So, I go behine de tent to git de fox. But, de fox, she gon'! An' de
track show she gon' back up de hill, an' I ver' mooch scare--cos she was
dead!
"In de morning Clawhammer say he look at de traps to de wes', an' swing
on roun' de hill to fin' de track of de man w'at git los' an' yell. I
ain' say nuttin', an' he start ver' early. I go look at de traps down de
lak', an' w'en de sun com' up, I hear de yell agin! An' I ver' mooch
scare, cos I'm fraid de _tamahnawus_ mad on me for kill de fox w'at yell
lak de man. So I go back, an' I skin two fox w'at I ketch in de trap.
Clawhammer ain' back, so I go an' build de _cache_. An' I put my
blankets an' rifle on it, an' plenty grub, for de present to
_tamahnawus_. Clawhammer com' 'long an' he say he ain' fin' no track. He
begin to git scare 'bout dat yell, w'en he don' fin' de track. So he
show me wan fox what he took from de trap. It is de black fox wit' de
ermine collar! Clawhammer ver' mooch scare now. He wan' to run away. But
I tell um we got to skin dat fox. If we don' skin um, we goin' to mak'
_Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ ver' mad. _Tamahnawus_ he ver' mad anyhow; so we mak'
him de present, an' we skin de fox, an' put de skin an' de collar on de
_cache_ too. Den mebbe-so _tamahnawus_ ain' so mad w'en he git de guns
an' de blankets, an' de fox skin back. So we go 'way from dat lak' ver'
fas'.
"Dat day I bre'k my leg. An' nex' day Clawhammer's tepee burn up. So we
git bad luck. Den de bad luck go 'way, cos _tamahnawus_ fin' dat
_cache_, an' he ain' so mad. But every tam de leetle moon com' I tak'
som' mor' grub to de _cache_. An' so, I keep de luck good."
"And do you think it's still there on the _cache_--the fox skin and the
collar?"
The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know 'bout dat. Mebbe-so de _tamahnawus_
fox com' an' git he's skin. 'Bout wan year ago Bear Lake Injun, _nem_
Peter Burntwood, trap wan fox way up on de beeg lak'. She black fox, an'
she got de collar of ermine skin. Me--I'm over to Fort Norman w'en he
bring in de skin an' de collar, an' trade de skin to McTavish."
"What did McTavish make of it?" asked Connie eagerly.
"He ain' b'lieve dat. He t'ink Peter Burntwood mak' dat collar to fool
um. He say Peter Burntwood lak too mooch to tell de beeg lie."
"But didn't you tell McTavish about the fox you shot, and the one you
trapped with the collar on?"
"No. I ain' say nuttin'. Dat hurt too mooch to bre'k de leg. I ain' want
dat _tamahnawus_ mad on me no mor'."
Connie was silent for a long time as he racked his brain for some
reasonable explanation of the Indian's strange story, pieced out by what
he, himself, had actually seen and heard at the lake. But no explanation
presented itself and finally he shook his head.
"W'at you t'ink 'bout dat?" asked Pierre Bonnet Rouge, who had been
watching the boy narrowly.
"I don't know. There's something back of it all--but I can't seem to
figure what it is. I'm going back to that lake, though, and I'm going to
stay there till I do know."
The Indian shook his head forebodingly. "Dat better you keep way from
dat lak'. She no good. James Dean he fool wit de _tamahnawus_. An' he
hav' de strong medicine to mak' de _tamahnawus_ do lak' he tell um. But
de _tamahnawus_ git James Dean. An' he git you--too."
Connie waited for two days after 'Merican Joe returned from the trap
line before he even mentioned returning to
The-Lake-of-the-Fox-That-Yells, as the Indians had renamed Hill Lake.
Then, one evening he began to make up a pack for the trail.
"Were you goin'?" asked 'Merican Joe, eying the preparations with
disapproval.
"It's about time we went down and looked at those fox traps, isn't it?"
he asked casually. "And we ought to get some more out."
The Indian shook his head. "Me--I'm lak' dat better we let de
_tamahnawus_ hav' dem fox trap. We go on som' nudder lak' an' set
mor'."
"Look here!" ripped out the boy, angrily, "if you're afraid to go you
can stay here and snare rabbits like a squaw! I ain't afraid of your
_tamahnawus_, and I'll go alone! And I'll stay till I find out what all
this business is about--and then I'll come back and laugh at you, and at
Pierre Bonnet Rouge, too. You're a couple of old women!" 'Merican Joe
made no answer, and after puttering a bit he went to bed.
When Connie awakened, before daylight the following morning, the fire
was burning brightly in the stove, and 'Merican Joe, dressed for the
trail, was setting the breakfast table. Connie drew on his clothing and
noticing that the pack he had thrown together the night before was
missing, stepped to the door. A pack of double the size was lashed to
the sled, and the boy turned to 'Merican Joe with a grin: "Decide to
take a chance?" he asked.
The Indian set a plate of beans on the table and looked into the boy's
eyes. "Me--I'm t'ink you too mooch _skookum_. Wan tam on Spur Mountain,
I say you good man, an' I say 'Merican Joe, she good man, too. But she
ain' so good man lak you. She scare for _tamahnawus_ mor' as anyt'ing
on de worl'. Rat now I'm so scare--me--dat de knees shivver, an' de hair
com's from de head an' crawl up an' down de back an' de feet is col' lak
de piece of ice, an' de belly is sick lak I ain' got nuttin' to eat in
my life. But, I'm goin' 'long, an' I stan' rat beside you all de tam,
an' w'en de _tamahnawus_ git Connie Mo'gan, by Goss! she got to git
'Merican Joe, too!"
The boy stepped to the Indian's side and snatched his hand into both his
own. "'Merican Joe," he cried, in a voice that was not quite steady,
"you're a brick! You're the best doggone Injun that ever lived!"
"Me--I'm de scarest Injun ever liv'. I bet I lak she was nex' week, an'
I was t'ousan' miles 'way from here."
"You're braver than I am," laughed the boy; "it's nothing for me to go,
because I'm not scared, but you're scared stiff--and you're going
anyway."
"Humph," grinned the Indian, "I ain' know w'at you mean--you say, if you
scare, you brave--an' if you ain' scare, you ain' so brave. By Goss! I
lak dat better if I ain' so mooch brave, den--an' ain' so mooch scare
neider."
Travelling heavy, darkness overtook them some six or eight miles from
their destination, and they camped. The sun was an hour high next
morning when they pushed out on to the snow-covered ice and headed for
the high hill at the end of the lake. 'Merican Joe agreed to look at the
traps on the way up while Connie held the dogs to a course parallel to
the shore. As the Indian was about to strike out he pointed excitedly
toward the point where he had made the first set. Connie looked, and
there, jumping about on the snow, with his foot in the trap was a
beautiful black fox! It is a sight that thrills your trapper to the
marrow, for here is the most valuable skin that it is possible for him
to take, and forgetting for the moment his fear of the lake, 'Merican
Joe struck off across the snow. A few moments later he halted, stared at
the fox, and turning walked slowly back to the sled.
"Mebbe-so dat fox is de fox dat yell lak' de man. She black fox, too.
Me--I'm 'fraid to tak' dat fox out de trap. I'm 'fraid she talk to me!
An' by Goss! She say jus' wan word to me, I git so scare I die!"
Connie laughed. "Here, you take the dogs and I'll look at the traps. I
remember where they all are, and I'll take out the foxes. But you will
have to reset the traps, later."
As Connie approached, the fox jerked and tugged at the chain in an
effort to free himself from the trap, but he was fairly caught and the
jaws held. Connie drew his belt ax, for 'Merican Joe had explained that
the fox is too large and lively an animal to be held with the bow of the
snowshoe like the marten, while the trapper feels for his heart. He must
be stunned by a sharp blow on the nose with the helve of the ax, after
which it is an easy matter to pull his heart. As he was about to strike,
the boy straightened up and stared at a small white band that encircled
the neck of the fox. It was a collar of ermine skin! And as he continued
to stare, little prickly chills shot up and down his spine. For a moment
he stood irresolute, and then, pulling himself together, he struck. A
moment later the fox's heart-strings snapped at the pull, and the boy
released the foot from the trap, and holding the animal in his hands,
examined the ermine collar. It was nearly an inch wide, of untanned
skin, and was tied at the throat. "No Injun ever tied that knot,"
muttered the boy, "and there's no use scaring 'Merican Joe any more than
necessary," he added, as with his sheath knife he cut the collar and
placed it carefully in his pocket, and carrying the fox, proceeded up
the shore.
In the fifth trap was another black fox. And again the boy stared at the
ermine skin collar that encircled the animal's neck. He removed this
collar and placed it with the first. 'Merican Joe was a half-mile out on
the lake, plodding along at the head of the dogs. The two foxes were
heavy, and Connie decided to carry them to the sled.
'Merican Joe stared, wide-eyed, at the catch. "Did dey talk?" he asked,
huskily. And when Connie had assured him that they had not, the Indian
continued to stare.
"Dat funny we git _two_ black fox. De black fox, he ain' so many. You
trap wan all winter, you done good. We got two, sam' day. I ain' never
hear 'bout dat before!"
"I knew this was a good lake for foxes," smiled the boy. 'Merican Joe
nodded, sombrely. "Som't'ing wrong. Dat lak' she too mooch good for fox.
Som' t'ing wrong."
The twelfth trap yielded another black fox, and another ermine collar,
and as the boy removed it from the animal's neck he gave way to an
expression of anger. "What in thunder is the meaning of this? Who is out
here in the hills tying ermine collars on black foxes--and why? The most
valuable skin in the North--and some fool catches them and ties a collar
on them, and turns them loose! And how does he catch them? They've never
been trapped before! And how does it come there are so many of them and
they are so easy to trap?" He gave it up, and returned to the sled, to
show the astounded 'Merican Joe the third black fox. But the Indian took
no joy in the catch, and all the time they were setting up the tent in
the shelter of a thicket at the foot of the high hill, he maintained a
brooding silence.
"While you skin the foxes, I guess I'll slip over and have another look
at that _cache_," said the boy, when they had eaten their luncheon.
"You sure git back, pret' queek?" asked the Indian, "I ain' want to be
here 'lone w'en de sun go down. I ain' want to hear dat yell."
"Oh, I'll be back long before sundown," assured Connie. "That yell is
just what I _do want_ to hear."
At the _cache_ he raised the rotting blanket and peered beneath it and
there, as Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, was a black fox skin, and
its ermine collar. The boy examined the collar. It was an exact
counterpart of the three he had in his pocket. He replaced the blanket
and walked slowly back to camp, pondering deeply the mystery of the
collars, but the more he thought, the more mysterious it seemed.