Part 5

The Breed stepped over to a Birch tree, peeled from its side a handful of silver, ribbon-like bark, and lighted it with a match; it blazed and crackled like oil-soaked shavings. Then he shoved it into the stove, put chips and three sticks of wood in, shut the door, and thick black smoke curled up from the stove pipe. The animals stared with extraordinary interest.

Whisky-Jack craned his head, and watched the effect of this magic on his Comrades.

"That's the Devil-thing that destroyed all the Birds and their Eggs," said the Red Widow. "It's the Man-fire."

Blue Wolf was trembling. "E-u-h! E-u-h!" he whined; "Man's Fire-medicine. It grows like the wind, and destroys like the Rabbit plague. Once seven Brothers of mine stalked a Man and he started this Fire-medicine."

"What happened, Rof?" asked Carcajou.

"The Man escaped."

"And your Seven Brothers?"

"This red-poison ate them as Otter devours a Fish--bones and all."

"I think the stove is a good thing," decided Black King. "The Man-fire is in a Trap."

"Yes, the Fire-trap is a good thing," concurred his Mother, "if we wish to save the Birds."

"And the Rabbits!" added Lynx.

"And the Berries!" grunted Muskwa.

"The purple Moose-weed grows after fire has eaten the Forest," mused Mooswa; "and if it glows hot and red on one river bank I swim to the other."

"It's all right for you, Long-legs, Pudding-nose, Bob-tail," gibed Whisky-Jack; "but the Law of the Boundaries is for the good of all, and this Fire-trap is a fine thing. I hate to have hot coals falling on my feathers, when the Forest is on fire."

The smoke curled lazily riverward, away from the animals. Suddenly it veered about and the pungent perfume of burning Birch-bark came toward them.

Mooswa straightened his massive head, spread the nostrils of his great cushion-shaped nose, cocked his thick ears forward intently, and discriminated between the different scents that came floating on the sleepy morning air.

"The fire breath--Wh-e-e!" It tickled a cough in his throat. "The odour of the Half-breed," ugh! he knew that--it was the Man-smell. "But stop! What?" A something out of the long ago crept into his sensitive nostrils and touched his memory. Surely once it had been familiar.

The Boy crossed directly in the wind's path, and Mooswa got it stronger. Then he knew. His big eyes glistened softly, eagerly; it was the scent of the Lad he had played with in his youth.

"Comrades," he gurgled, for something was in his throat, "have I not told you of the Boy who was the Factor's Young?"

"Whenever you got a chance!" snapped Whisky-Jack.

Mooswa sighed wearily. Jack's frivolity was tiring to his sedate mind.

"Well, that's my Boy there. I'd like to rub my nose against his rose-flowered cheek."

"While Francois tickled your lean ribs with the Firestick!" jeered the Bird.

"Bring a pot of water," said Francois to his comrade, "while I cut up the fish."

"Great Suckers!" exclaimed Nekik; "Fish! and a beauty, too. It's a Tulabie. I know them; they're first cousin to White-fish. These men have fine taste--a fish diet makes one clever."

"It does!" declared Mink.

"It's better than roots!" concurred Muskrat.

"Slow Birds! it makes me hungry," sighed the Red Widow.

"So it does me, Good Dame," piped Whisky-Jack. "You chaps had better slip away home now; I'm going to breakfast with the Men. It isn't safe to remain, for I can't stop to look after you."

"Go and clear the plates, Feather-front," cried Carcajou, malignantly.

Jack sawed the air energetically with his wings and lighted on the wire guy with which Francois had steadied the stove pipe.

"Shall we move, Comrades?" asked Black King.

"Wait and see how Jack gets on with The Boy," pleaded Mooswa.

"I could sit here and smell that Fish all day," declared Nekik.

"So could I," added Mink. "It's just lovely. I've never tasted Fish dried in the fire-pot. Once I stole one from a Trapper which he had dried in the sun--there was no juice in it."

"Pe-e-p! Peep!" squeaked Whisky-Jack. The Boy looked up at him.

"What a frowsy-headed old bird!" he exclaimed, shying a stick at Jay.

Muskwa dug Mooswa in the ribs with his big paw. "We'll see fun yet if we wait," he chuckled thickly.

"Don't bodder 'bout dat fell'," remonstrated Francois; "dat's only Whisky-Jack."

"Only what?" asked the lad.

"What dey call Canadienne Jay--Whisky-Jack."

"Shall I shoot him?"

"No; dat fell' no good, but he's not wort' de powder an' s'ot."

Jack heard a faint giggle come up from the gray willows, for Wolverine had his big-clawed fist half-way down his throat to choke the sound of laughter.

"Our Clerk's Men Friends are complimentary," remarked Black King.

The Boy cut a small piece of fat pork, stuck it on a sharp stick, and busied himself somewhat at the stove front; but the watchers could not quite see what he was doing.

"I think I'll give Jay some breakfast," he said suddenly; "the bird seems hungry:" and straightening his back, threw towards him the lump of pork.

With a pleased chuckle Jack swooped down and drove his beak into the white mass like a lance. Then he went through a rare set of gymnastic contortions, for the wicked Boy had heated the pork scalding hot. Jack clawed at it with his feet and burnt his toes--his tongue was blistered.

"What's that noise?" exclaimed Rod, for a distinct muffled laugh had escaped from the band of animals.

"It's de float-ice groundin' on de ribber-banks, I tink me," answered Francois, cocking his head sideways to listen.

As the animals slipped away in alarm, Jack came fluffing after them, and perched himself indignantly on Mooswa's great antlers.

"O my Giant Brother!" he cried furiously, "come and kill that debased Man-Cub, I beg you."

The Moose's shaggy sides were heaving with suppressed laughter. "What has he done, Sweet Bird?" he moaned.

"Taken the skin off my toes, and blistered my tongue with his accursed fat pork."

"Why don't you wear boots as I do, and not knock around barefooted? I should be always jamming my toes if I hadn't these thick boots. Why, last year when the big fire was on, I went through miles of burning country, and except a little hardening up of the soles, there was no harm done."

"But you don't wear them on your tongue, do you?" asked the Bird, crossly.

"No, Silent One, I don't--neither do you; but if you'll just wrap it up for a few days and give it a rest, I'm sure it will be all right."

"Do," cried Carcajou; "we sha'n't mind. I suppose that's what The Boy calls his Tongue Trap--he knew whom to set it for, too."

"Come and trample him with your sharp hoofs, dear Mooswa," pleaded Whisky-Jack, the lack of sympathy and the chaff making him furious.

"Oh, sit still, if you're going to ride on my horns," exclaimed the Bull. "You're jigging about--"

"As though he had corns," interrupted Carcajou.

"It was so nice of you, Whisky-Jack," said Lynx, in an oily tone, "to take care of us all while we were there--wasn't it? Some of us might have burned our tongues but for you destroying the hot Bait."

When the animals got back to their meeting-place, which was known as the Boundary Centre, they stopped for a time to compare notes.

"Comrades," said Mooswa, "little have I claimed from you. I kill not anything; neither the Fox Cubs, nor the Sons of Umisk, nor the red-tailed Birds that beat their wings like drums, nor anything. But this new law I ask of you all in the face of the King; for the Boy that was my Man-brother, the safeguard of the Boundaries."

"You have not had the hot-meat thrust in your throat, friend of the rascally Cub," objected Jack, angrily.

"Hush, Chatterer!" growled Bear; "let Mooswa speak."

"The horn-crowned Lord of the Forest gives expression to a noble sentiment," declared Pisew. "By all means let the Kit-Man grow free of the Boundary Fear, until his claws are long and his bone-cracking teeth are strong."

"He must have a Mother also," said the Red-Widow softly. "You have all forsworn malice to my Babe, Stripes, until he is of full strength--let the Man-Cub have the same guard."

"What about Francois?" objected Whisky-Jack. "By my Stone-crop I'll wager he taught that Chick the trick of the hot pork."

"For him," continued Mooswa, gravely, "in defence of our rights and our lives the full law of the Forest; by night, the lone road and the cry of Blue Wolf and his Brothers; by day, the strong clasp of Muskwa; at close quarters, the stamp of my hoofs; and for his Traps and their Bait, the cunning of Carcajou and Black King."

"This is fair--it is a good Law," said Black Fox.

"It is!" they all cried in chorus.

"I am satisfied!" added the Moose.

"I think it would be well, Subjects," said Black King, thoughtfully, "to watch this Man and Man-Cub until the setting out of the Traps; after that we can regulate our lives in accordance. How long will it take them to build their Shack, Clerk?"

"Four days, Francois told The Boy last evening, as he smoked the scent-flower."

"Then on the fourth day, three or four of us who are quick travellers had better go and watch the evil ways of this Slayer. What say you all?"

"Most wise King," exclaimed Pisew, "select thou the Strong Runners."

"Very well: Mooswa, Muskwa, Rof, and myself--also Carcajou, for he has great knowledge of Man the Killer's ways."

"I should like to see the lodge when it is finished," whined Beaver, "but my short little fore-legs travel not overfast on land."

"So you shall, Comrade," growled Muskwa; "You may ride on my back."

"Or on my antlers," suggested Mooswa; "their bowl will be like a cradle for you."

"That's settled, then," declared Black Fox. "On the fourth round of the Sun we meet at Francois's Shack, in the safety time of the Forest, dawn hour; either that or dusk hour. What say you Brothers--which shall it be?"

"It would suit me better on account of my work," ventured Umisk, "to go at dusk hour. I have lost much time lately, and I'm building new lodges for my three-year-old Sons who are starting out for themselves this Fall."

"Don't be late, then--I go to bed at dusk," lisped Whisky-Jack, mincingly, for his tongue was wondrous sore. "I will take note of what the Men do in the meantime."

"And take care of us, O Wise Bird," sneered Pisew.

"Big-feet! Spear-ear! Herring-waist!" fairly screamed Jay, forgetting the sore tongue in his rage. "Before Winter is over, you'll be glad of Jack's advice, or I don't know Francois."

"The white of a Partridge egg is good for a burn," retorted Lynx. "Find one and cool your fevered tongue."

"Are not these wranglers just like Men, Carcajou?" remarked Mooswa. "If you all spent more time in lawful hunt for food you would be fatter. It will profit me more to browse in the Forest than listen to your frost-singed wit, so I leave you, Comrades."

"And I prefer even fat Frogs to hot fat Pork," said Pisew, maliciously, slinking like a shadow into the woods.

"'Fat Frogs,'" sneered Carcajou; "good enough for that smooth-faced Sneak--I hardly know what I'm going to have for dinner, though."

"Fat Birds are the thing to tickle my appetite," declared Black King. "It is coming the time of day for them to shove their heads under wing, too. I'm off--remember we meet on the Fourth day."

THE EXPLORATION OF CARCAJOU

At sunset on the Fourth day Black King and his party once more crouched in the willows at Red Stone Brook. Francois and his young friend were just putting some finishing touches to the Shack roof--placing the last earth sods on top of the poles, for it was a mud covering.

"It's nearly finished," whispered Jay.

"Strong Teeth! but that is funny," laughed Beaver.

"What is funny, Eater of Wood?" queried Jack.

"Why, the Man carries his trowel-tail in his front paws. I wish I could do that. I have to turn around to look when I'm doing a nice bit of plastering."

It was the Half-breed's spade that had drawn forth this remark.

"Yes," declared Whisky-Jack wisely, "one time the Men were like you--walked on four legs and used a trowel-tail for their building; now they stand upright, and have shed the trowel which they use in their hands."

"Wonderful!" soliloquized Umisk; "still they can't do as good work. Fat Poplar! but it's a poor Lodge. The only sensible thing about it is the mud roof."

Francois struck the clod sharply with his spade, settling it into place. "How clumsily the Man works," cried Beaver; "I'm glad my tail is where it is. What's that mud thing sticking up out of the corner, Jay? Is it a little lodge for the Kit-Man?"

"That's a chimney--part of the fire-trap," answered Jack.

"I know what that's like," asserted Carcajou. "I went down one once. The Trapper locked his door, thinking to keep me out while he rounded up his Traps. It's a splendid trail for getting in and out of a Shack. Why, I can carry a side of bacon up that hole--did it."

"Isn't The Boy lovely?" muttered Mooswa. "Isn't his call sweet? What does Francois name him, Jack--Man-Cub or Kit-Man?"

Just then the Half-breed sang out: "Rod, I t'ink me it's grub time--knock off. De ole s'ack s'e's finis'."

"Rod?" mused the Moose. "Yes, that is what the Factor used to call him. 'Rod! Rod!' he would shout, and The Boy would run with his little fat legs."

Rod and the Half-breed went inside, closed the door and lighted a candle, for it was growing dark, put a fire in the stove and cooked their supper.

The watchers, eager to see everything, edged cautiously up to the log walls. Space for a small window had been left by the builders, but the sash was not yet in place.

"I should like to see that mud-work the Man did with his hand-trowel," whispered Umisk.

"Climb on my horns, Little Brother," said Mooswa, softly, "and I will lift you up."

Beaver slipped around gently on the roof inspecting Francois's handicraft, while the others listened at the window.

"By Goss! Rod," said the Breed, "I put me leetle fire in de fire-place for dry dat c'imney, s'e's sof. De fros' spoil him when s'e's no dry."

"I believe they have made the chimney too small," muttered Carcajou. "I'm going up to have a look."

"To-mor' we put out dat Traps," remarked the Half-breed. "What you t'ink, Boy--I see me dat Black Fox yesterday."

"The Black Fox!" exclaimed his young companion, eagerly. "The beauty you spoke of as being in this part of the country?"

The King trembled. Already this terrible Trapper was on his trail.

"Yes; I know me where he have hes hole. I put dat number t'ree Otter Trap close by, cover him wit' leaves, an' put de fis'-head bait on top. Den we see. We keel plenty fur here dis Winter. Dere's big moose track too--mus' be bull."

Black King scratched Mooswa's fore-leg with a paw to draw his attention, but the latter had heard.

"I make some snare to-night, an' put him out wit' Castoreum. Dere's plenty Cat here."

Lynx shuddered.

"We must help each other," he whined, in a frightened voice.

Mooswa felt a little pat on his lofty horn, and looked up. "Lift me down, Brother," whispered Beaver.

"Where's Carcajou?" queried the King.

"Poking around the chimney--he made me nervous.

"Wuf!" sniffed Muskwa, gently. "Our Man burns the stink-weed in his mouth--it's horrible!" Francois was smoking.

Carcajou was busy examining the mud-and-stick wall of the chimney, which stuck up three feet above the roof. "I'm sure they've made it too small," he muttered; "I'll never be able to get down. That will be too bad. By my Cunning! but I'd like to know for sure--I will!" For nothing on earth will satisfy a Wolverine's curiosity but complete investigation.

He gave a spring, grabbed the top of the chimney with his strong fore-legs, and pulled himself up. As he did so the soft mud collapsed and sank with a tremendous crash through the hole in the roof, carrying the reckless animal with it.

"Run for it!" commanded Black King, sharply; "that mischievous Devil has made a mess of the business."

"Whif! Wuf! Whiff!" grunted Bear, plunging through the thicket.

Black Fox melted silently into the Forest darkness as swiftly as a cloud-shadow crosses a sunlit plain.

Lynx gathered his sinewy legs and fairly spurned the earth in far-reaching bounds.

Beaver had been sitting curled up in the bowl of Mooswa's antlers, peeping in the window at the time of Carcajou's mishap. His quick brain took in the situation. Grasping the two strong front points, he squeaked, "Fly, Mooswa!"

"Sit tight, Little Brother!" admonished the Moose, putting his nose straight out and laying the horn-crown back over his withers, as he rushed with a peculiar side-wheel action, like a pacing-horse, from the clearing.

When the crash came Francois jumped to his feet in amazement. Before he could investigate the mass of mud upheaved, a small dark-brown body scuttled across the floor, clattered up the wall, and vanished through the open window.

The Breed jumped for the door, grabbing a gun as he went. Throwing it open he rushed out, but of course there was nothing in sight. Wolverine was busily engaged in working his short legs to their full capacity in an earnest endeavour to place considerable territory between himself and the treacherous Shack.

Francois came back grunting his dissatisfaction.

Rod stood in speechless amazement while his companion examined the pile of soft mud debris critically by the aid of a candle.

"I t'ought me dat!" he remarked, with satisfied conviction, straightening his back and setting the candle down on the rude plank table. "It's dat Debil of de Woods, Carcajou. Wait you, Mister Wolverine; Francois s'ow you some treek."

"What was he after?" queried The Boy.

"After for raise Ole Nick," declared the Half-breed, dejectedly. "You know what we mus' do? We mus' ketc' dat debil firs', or we keel no fur here. He steal de bait, an' cac'e de Trap; s'pose we go out from de S'ack, dat Carcajou come down de c'imney, tear up de clo'es, spill de farina--de flour, t'row de pot in de ribber, an' do ever' fool t'ing what you can t'ink. Never mind, I ketc' him, an' I keel him;" and Francois fairly danced a Red River jig in his rage.

Whisky-Jack had perched on the end of a roof-plate log when the trouble materialized, so he heard this tirade against Wolverine. The Bird could hardly go to sleep for chuckling. What a sweet revenge he would have next day; how he would revile Wolverine. Surely the unfortunate Carcajou had scorched his feet, and mayhap his back, when he fell in the fire-place. "I wonder whose toes are sore to-night," the Jay thought. "I hope he got a good singeing--meddling beast! Nice Lieutenant to upset everything just when we were having such a lovely time. Oh, but I'll rub it into him to-morrow."

THE SETTING OUT OF THE TRAPS

"Royal Son," said the Red Widow next morning, "what is the Burrow of the Men-Kind like?"

"Ask Carcajou when he comes, Mother," replied Black Fox; and he related the incident of the night before.

"Art sure, Son, that the Kit-Man's Mother is not with him?"

"No, Dame, she is not."

"Then he will get into trouble--that is certain. I have looked after you all--a big family, too, nine of you--and know what it means. Pisew, with his cannibal taste for Fox-cubs--and mark this, Son, even Carcajou has a weakness the same way, my Mother taught me to understand. And Rof, who seems such a big, gruff, kind-hearted fellow, would crack one of your backs with his great jaws quick enough in the Hunger-year, were no one looking. Mooswa is honest, but the others bear him no love, surely. And Francois is to set out the Traps to-day, and he has discovered our home here in this cut-bank, you say. Well, Son, thou art the King, because of thy Wisdom; but together we must advise against this Slayer, who has the cunning of Carcajou and the Man-knowledge of Wiesahkechack."

"What shall we do, Dame?"

"Now, thy red Brother, Speed, must take the message to the strong runners of our Comrades, Mooswa and the others, as has been arranged, to meet; and when Francois has passed with the Traps, go you five after this Man, and gain knowledge of where they are placed, and do all things necessary for safety in the Boundaries. The Watcher over Animals has sent soft snow last night, the first of this Cold-time, so your task will be easy. Just the length of a brisk run, higher up the Pelican, is a cut-bank with a hole as good as this. Before you were born, with your beautiful silver coat, I lived there.

"Now, Francois, even as he told the Man-Cub, will trap here, and who knows but he may put his Fire-medicine with its poison breath in the door of our Burrow, and seek to drive us out to be killed."

"That is true, Most Wise Mother; the sight of the twisting red-poison is more dreadful than anything; for it smothers and eats up, and is swift as the wind, and spreads like the flood in the river, and fears neither Man nor Beast, and obeys not even the Spirit God of the Animals when it is angered."

"Well, Son, while you follow the trail of this evil Trapper, I, with all your Brothers, will go to the other Burrow."

"Be sure the Cubs step all in one track, Mother--your track, so this Breed Man, with his sharp eyes, shall not suspect."

"Do you hear, Cubs?" asked the Widow. "Remember what your Brother has said. Also each day one of us will make a fresh trail here, so that the Man may think we still live in this house."

So while Speed glided swiftly through the Boundaries uttering his whimper call to Mooswa, Muskwa, Rof, and Carcajou, Francois and Rod shouldered each a bag of Traps and started to lay out the Marten Road, as was called a big circle of Traps extending perhaps thirty miles, for the Winter's hunt.

The Boy was filled with eager, joyous anticipation. During his school days in town he had thought and dreamed of the adventurous free life of a Fur Trapper in the great Spruce Forests of the North. That was chiefly because it was bred in the bone with him. He threw back to the forty years of his father's Factor-life as truly as an Indian retains the wild instinct of his forefathers, though he delve for half a lifetime in the civilization of the White Man.

"Here is de Marten tracks," cried Francois, stopping suddenly; and with precise celerity he built a little converging stockade by placing in the ground sharp-pointed sticks. In this he set a small steel Trap, covered it with leaves, and beyond placed the head of a fish.

"What's that track?" asked The Boy, as his companion stopped and looked at the trail of some big-footed creature.

"Cat," answered Francois; "dat's Mister Lynk. He like for smell some t'ing, so I give him Castoreum me for rub on hes nose--perhaps some necktie too."

He cut a stick four feet long and four inches thick, and to the middle of it fastened a running noose made from cod-line. Then building a stockade similar to the last, and placing a fish-head smeared with Castoreum inside, he bent down a small Poplar and from it suspended the noose covering the entrance to the stockade.

"Now, Mister Lynk he go for smell dat," explained Francois. "He put hes fat head t'rough dat noose; perhaps he don't get him out no more. By Goss! he silly; when dat string get tight he fight wid de stick, an' jump, and play de fool. De stick don't say not'ing, but jump too, of course, cause it loose, you see. If de stick be fas' den de Lynk break de string; but dis way dey fight, an' by an' by dat Lynk he dead for soor, I t'ink me."

"He has queer taste," said The Boy, "to risk his neck for that stuff--it's worse than a Skunk."

They moved on, and behind, quite out of sight, but examining each contrivance of the Trapper, came Black Fox, Muskwa, Blue Wolf, Mooswa, and Carcajou. Whisky-Jack was with them; now flying ahead to discover where the enemy were, now fluttering back with a dismal "Pee weep! Pee weep!" to report and rail at things generally.