Part 23 (1/2)

”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.