Night came down on the Asamuk woods, and the two in the wigwam were
eating their supper of pork, beans, and tea, for the Indian did not, by
any means object to the white man's luxuries, when a strange “yap-yurr”
was heard out toward the plain. The dog was up at once with a growl.
Rolf looked inquiringly, and Quonab said, “Fox,” then bade the dog be
still.
“Yap-yurr, yap-yurr,” and then, “yurr, yeow,” it came again and again.
“Can we get him?” said the eager young hunter. The Indian shook his
head.
“Fur no good now. An' that's a she-one, with young ones on the
hillside.”
“How do you know?” was the amazed inquiry. “I know it's a she-one,
'cause she says:
“Yap-yurr” (high pitched)
If it was a he-one he'd say:
“Yap-yurr” (low pitched)
“And she has cubs, 'cause all have at this season. And they are on that
hillside, because that's the nearest place where any fox den is, and
they keep pretty much to their own hunting grounds. If another fox
should come hunting on the beat of this pair, he'd have to fight for it.
That is the way of the wild animals; each has his own run, and for that
he will fight an outsider that he would be afraid of at any other
place. One knows he is right--that braces him up; the other knows he is
wrong--and that weakens him.” Those were the Indian's views, expressed
much less connectedly than here given, and they led Rolf on to a train
of thought. He remembered a case that was much to the point.
Their little dog Skookum several times had been worsted by the dog on
the Horton farm, when, following his master, he had come into the
house yard. There was no question that the Horton dog was stronger. But
Skookum had buried a bone under some brushes by the plain and next day
the hated Horton dog appeared. Skookum watched him with suspicion and
fear, until it was no longer doubtful that the enemy had smelled the
hidden food and was going for it. Then Skookum, braced up by some
instinctive feeling, rushed forward with bristling mane and gleaming
teeth, stood over his cache, and said in plainest dog, “You can't touch
that while I live!”
And the Horton dog--accustomed to domineer over the small yellow
cur--growled contemptuously, scratched with his hind feet, smelled
around an adjoining bush, and pretending not to see or notice, went off
in another direction.
What was it that robbed him of his courage, but the knowledge that he
was in the wrong?
Continuing with his host Rolf said, “Do you think they have any idea
that it is wrong to steal?”
“Yes, so long as it is one of their own tribe. A fox will take all he
can get from a bird or a rabbit or a woodchuck, but he won't go far on
the hunting grounds of another fox. He won't go into another fox's den
or touch one of its young ones, and if he finds a cache of food with
another fox's mark on it, he won't touch it unless he is near dead of
hunger.”
“How do you mean they cache food and how do they mark it?”
“Generally they bury it under the leaves and soft earth, and the only
mark is to leave their body scent. But that is strong enough, and every
fox knows it.”
“Do wolves make food caches?”
“Yes, wolves, cougars, weasels, squirrels, bluejays, crows, owls, mice,
all do, and all have their own way of marking a place.”
“Suppose a fox finds a wolf cache, will he steal from it?”
“Yes, always. There is no law between fox and wolf. They are always at
war with each other. There is law only between fox and fox, or wolf and
wolf.”
“That is like ourselves, ain't it? We say, 'Thou shalt not steal,' and
then when we steal the Indian's land or the Frenchman's ships, we say,
'Oh, that don't mean not steal from our enemies; they are fair game.'”
Quonab rose to throw some sticks on the fire, then went out to turn the
smoke flap of the wigwam, for the wind was changed and another set
was needed to draw the smoke. They heard several times again the
high-pitched “yap yurr,” and once the deeper notes, which told that the
dog fox, too, was near the camp, and was doubtless seeking food to carry
home.