Connie Morgan in the Fur Country Part 23

"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 _skook.u.m_. 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 s.h.i.+vver, 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 p.r.i.c.kly 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 sh.o.r.e.

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 a.s.sured 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," a.s.sured 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.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE MAN IN THE CAVE

It was late afternoon when 'Merican Joe finished skinning the three foxes and stretching the pelts. As the sun approached the horizon Connie seated himself upon the sled at a point that gave him a clear view of the rock-ledge on the hillside. 'Merican Joe went into the tent and seated himself on his blankets, where he cowered with his thumbs in his ears.

The lower levels were in the shadows, now, and the sunlight was creeping slowly up the hill. Suddenly, from the rock-ledge appeared a black fox.

Connie wondered if he, too, wore an ermine skin collar. The fox sniffed the air and trotted off along the hillside, where he disappeared behind a patch of scrub. Again the boy's eyes sought the ledge, another fox was trotting away and still another stood beside the rock. Then it came--the wild quavering yell for which the boy waited. The third fox trotted away as the yell came to its wailing termination, and Connie leaped from the sled. "It's just as I thought!" he cried, excitedly. "_The fox never gave that yell!_" The boy had expected to find just that, nevertheless, the actual discovery of it thrilled him with excitement.

The head of 'Merican Joe peered cautiously from the tent. "Who giv' um den?" he asked in fear and trembling.

"The man that's at the bottom of that fox-hole," answered the boy, impressively, "and if I'm not mistaken, his name is James Dean."

The Indian stared at the boy as though he thought he had taken leave of his senses. "W'at you mean--de bottom of de fox-hole?" he asked "Dat hole so leetle small dat de fox she almos' can't git out!"

"That's just it!" cried the boy. "That's just why the man can't get out."

"How he git in dere?" asked 'Merican Joe, in a tone of such disgust that Connie laughed.