Merican Joe climbed"'Merican Joe climbed the tree and a few minutes later Connie heard the blows of his belt ax as he hacked at the limb that held the clog."Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover
"No! Dat ain' no good!" he exclaimed. "Dat fat she melt an' de heat she dry de skin too queek, an' she git, w'at you call, grease burnt. Dat why we nail de bear skin on de outside of de cabin. De skin she got to dry in de cold. W'en de frost dry um, den we mus' got to scrape all de fat an' de meat off, an' wash um, and dry um ag'in—den we got de good prime skin." The Indian fastened a stout piece of line into the nose of each pelt, and climbing the ladder, secured them to one of the poles of thecachein such manner that they hung free to the air, and yet out of reach of any prowling animals. When they returned to the cabin 'Merican Joe proceeded to cut thick slices from the hams of the two lynx carcasses.
"Is that good for bait?" asked the boy.
'Merican Joe laughed. "Dat too mooch good for bait!" he exclaimed. "We goin' have dat meat for de breakfas'."
"For breakfast!" cried Connie. "You don't mean you're going to eat lynx meat! Why, a lynx is a cat!"
"Mebbe-so cat—mebbe-so ain't. Dat don't mak' no differ' w'at you call um. You wait, I fry um an' I bet you t'ink dat de bes' meat you ever eat."
"I don't believe I could tackle a cat," grinned the boy.
"Dat better you forgit dat cat business. If it good, it good. If it ain' good, it ain' good.W'at you care you call um cat—dog—pig? Plenty t'ing good to eat w'en you fin' dat out. De owl, she good meat. De musquash, w'at you call de mushrat—dat don' hurt de meat 'cause you call um rat! De skunk mak' de fine meat, an' de porkypine, too."
"I guess Injuns ain't so particular what they eat," laughed Connie.
"De Injun know w'at de good meat is," retorted 'Merican Joe. "By golly, I seen de white mans eat de rotten cheese, an' she stink so bad dat mak' de Injun sick."
"I guess you win!" laughed the boy. "I've seen 'em too—but you bet I never ate any of it!"
"You try deloup cerviersteak in de mornin'," the Indian urged earnestly. "If you don' lak him I bet you my dogs to wan chaw tobac'!"
"I don't chew tobacco," Connie grinned, "but seeing you've gone to all the trouble of slicing the meat up, I'll take a chance."
"How you lak him, eh?" 'Merican Joe grinned across the little table at Connie next morning, as the boy gingerly mouthed a small piece of lynx steak. Connie swallowed the morsel, and, without answering, took another bite. There was nothinggingerly about the action this time, and the Indian noted that the boy's jaws worked with evident relish.
"Well," answered Connie, when the second morsel had gone the way of the first, "if the rest of the things you were telling me about are as good as this, all I've got to say is: Bring 'em along!"
Daylight found them on the trap line with sleeping bags and provisions in their packs, for it would require at least two days to "fresh up" the line.
At noon they camped for lunch almost at the end of the line of steel traps. So far they had been unusually lucky. Only two traps had been sprung empty, and eight martens and a mink were in the pack sacks. Only two of the martens, and the mink were alive when found and Connie quickly learned the Indian method of killing a trapped animal—a method that is far more humane and very much easier when it comes to skinning the animal than the white man's method of beating him on the head with the ax handle. With the latter practice the skull is crushed with the result that there is a nasty mess which discolours the flesh side of the pelt and makes very disagreeable work for the skinner.
The first live marten was in one of the "groundset" traps and upon the approach of the trappers he arched his back and stood at bay, emitting sharp squalls and growls of anger. 'Merican Joe simply planted his snowshoe on him, pressing him into the snow, then with one hand he reached down and secured a firm hold on the animal's neck and gradually worked the fore part of his body from under the snowshoe, taking care to keep the hinder part held fast by the web. Snapping the mitten from his other hand, the Indian felt just behind the lower ribs for the animal's heart, and grasping it firmly between thumb and fingers he pulled quickly downward. The heart was thus torn from its position and the animal died instantly and painlessly. The mink which was suspended by the tossing pole, and the other marten which had fallen victim to one of the "tree sets," of course, could not be held by the snowshoe. As both were caught by the fore leg, a loop of copper wire was slipped about their hind legs and the animals thus stretched out and dispatched in the same manner as the first.
As these three animals were not frozen, 'Merican Joe skinned them at the noon camp, thereby doing away with the weight of the useless carcasses.
"What are we going to do when we finish up this trap line?" asked Connie. "It won't be time to look at the snares again."
"No. We tak' a day an' res' up, an' skin de martens an' stretch um. Den we mus' got to git som' dog feed. We put out de fish nets an' hunt de caribou. Leloo, he be'n killing caribou wit' de wolf pack—he ain' hongre w'en we feed de dogs."
But the revelation of the next few miles drove all thought of a day of rest or a caribou hunt from the mind of the Indian, for real trouble began with the second trap visited in the afternoon. This trap which had been set upon the trunk of a leaning tree, was found dangling empty by its chain, and held firmly between its jaws was the frozen leg of a marten. The keen eyes of 'Merican Joe saw at a glance that the animal had neither gnawed nor twisted its own way out of the trap but had been torn from it by violence. The Indian scowled darkly at certain telltale tracks in the snow, and an exclamation of anger escaped him.
Connie laughed. "Now who's growling about the loss of a skin? One marten more or less won't make much difference."
'Merican Joe continued to scowl. "No, one marten don't mak' mooch differ', but we ain' goin' to git no more marten on dis trap lines'posewe ain' kill datcarcajo! He start in here an' he clean out de whole line. He steal all de marten, an' he bust up de deadfalls. An' we got to ketch um or we got got to move som' nodder place!" And in all truth, the Indian's fears were well justified. For of all the animals of the North, thecarcajois the most hated by the trappers. And he has fairly earned every bit of hatred he gets because for absolute malicious fiendishness this thick-bodied brute of many names has no equal. Scientists, who have no personal quarrel with him, have given him the dignified Latin name ofgulo luscus—the last syllable of the last word being particularly apt. In the dictionaries and encyclopædias he is listed as the glutton. In the United States he is commonly known as the wolverine. The lumberjacks call him the Injun devil. While among the trappers and the Indians themselves he is known as thecarcajo, or as bad dog—which is the Indian's idea of absolute cussedness and degeneracy.
Connie broke the silence that had fallen uponthe two as they stared at the empty trap. "Well, we won't move!" he cried. "There's no measlycarcajogoing to run me out of here! We'll get busy, and in two or three days from now we'll have that scoundrel's hide hanging up on thecachewith the lynx skins!"
The Indian nodded slowly. "Mebbe-so—mebbe-so not. Decarcajo, she smart. She hard to ketch."
"So are we smart!" exclaimed the boy. "Come on—let's go!"
"Ain' no good we go 'long de trap line. De trap she all be bust up. We go back to de cabin an' git som' beaver trap, an' we start out on de odder end an' back-track 'long de trap line. Mebbe-so decarcajoain' had time to git over de whole line yet. Anyhow, we got to set plenty trap for him."
Hastening back to the cabin, the frozen martens were thawed out and skinned, and 'Merican Joe made up his pack for the trail. Connie refrained from asking questions, as the Indian solemnly made up his queer pack, but the boy resolved to keep his eyes open the following day, for of all the things the Indian placed in his pack sack, therewas nothing that appeared to be of any use whatever except the six stout beaver traps.
Daylight next morning found them at the end of the trap line which they back-trailed for some five or six miles without seeing any signs of the presence of thecarcajo. They had four martens in their packs, and Connie was beginning to believe that the outlook was not so bad after all, when they suddenly came upon one of the deadfalls literally torn to pieces. There had been a marten in this trap, but nothing remained of him except a few hairs that clung to the bark of the fall-log. The bait was gone, the bait house was broken apart, and the pieces strewn about in the most savage and wanton manner. The tracks were only a few hours old, and Connie was for following them and killing the marauder with the rifle. But 'Merican Joe shook his head: "No, we ain' kin fin' him. He climb de tree and den git in nodder tree an' keep on goin' an' we lose time an' don' do no good. He quit here las' night. He start in ag'in tonight w'ere he leave off. We go back, now, an' set som' trap w'ere he ain' be'n."
Retracing their steps to the first unmolesteddeadfall, the Indian set one of the beaver traps. But instead of baiting it, or setting it at the opening of the bait house, he carefully scooped a depression in the snow at the back of the house. Placing the trap in this depression so that it lay about two inches below the level of the snow, he carefully laid small clusters of needles from the pan outward so that they rested upon the jaws. This was to keep the snow from packing or freezing on the trap which would prevent it from springing. When the trap was completely covered the Indian took two pieces of crust from the snow and, holding them above the trap, rubbed them together, thus grinding the snow and letting it fall upon the needles until the whole was covered with what looked like a natural fall of snow. "Decarcajohe com' to de trap at de back an' break it up," he explained as he stood up and examined his handiwork critically.
"I hope he tries it on that one," grinned Connie, as he followed the Indian who had already started for the next set.
This set was different, in that it was not made at any trap. The Indian paused beside a fallen log and with the ax cut a half-dozen green poles.These he cut into three-foot lengths and laid them one on top of the other in the shape of a three-cornered crib. Then he took from the pack some of the articles that had excited Connie's curiosity. An old coat, tightly rolled, was first placed within the enclosure of the crib. Then several empty tin cans were placed on top of the coat, and covered with an old scrap of canvas. On top of the canvas were placed the snowshoes that had been crushed by the bear. Four of the beaver traps were now set, one on each side of the crib, close to the wall and one on top of the snowshoes inside the enclosure. The traps on the outside were covered in exactly the same manner as the trap set at the deadfall, and the one inside was simply covered with an old worn-out sock.
"Where does the bait go?" asked Connie, as he glanced curiously at the contrivance.
"De bait she all ready. We ain' want no meat bait. Decarcajocom' 'long, she see de leetle log house. She sniff 'roun' an' she say: 'Dis is wancache. I bust him up an' steal all de t'ings.' An' so he go to bust up decachean' de firs' t'ing she know she got de leg in de trap. Dat mak' him mad an' he jump 'roun' an' by-m-by anodder leggits in odder trap, an' by golly, den he ain' kin git away no mor'!"
"Why don't you fasten the chains to the big log, instead of to those light clogs?" asked the boy.
"Dat ain' no good way to do," replied the Indian. "If she fasten on de big solid log, decarcajogit chance to mak' de big pull. He git w'at you call de brace, an' he pull an' pull, an' by-m-by, he pull hees foot out. But w'en you mak' de trap on de clog he ain' kin git no good pull. Every tam he pull, de clog com' 'long a leetle, an' all he do is drag de stick."
The remaining trap was set at another deadfall, and the two trappers returned home to await results. But while they waited, they were not idle. The dog food was running low, so armed with ice chisels and axes they went out on to the snow-covered lake and busied themselves in setting their whitefish nets through the ice.
Connie Morganand his trapping partner, 'Merican Joe, bolted a hurried breakfast. For both were eager to know the result of their attempt to trap thecarcajothat had worked such havoc with their line of marten and mink traps.
"Suppose we do catch this one?" asked Connie as he fastened his rackets. "Won't there be an other one along in a day or two, so we'll have to do it all over again?"
"No," explained the Indian. "Carcajono like noddercarcajo. In de winter tam decarcajogot he's own place to hunt. If nodder wan comes 'long dey mak' de big fight, an' wan gits lick an' he got to go off an' fin' nodder place to hunt. Injun hatecarcajo. Marten hate um. Mink, an fox hate um. Deer hate um. All de peoples hate um—de big peoples, an' de leetle peoples.Carcajoso mean evencarcajohatecarcajo!"
A yell of triumph escaped Connie as, closely followed by 'Merican Joe, he pushed aside the thick screen of spruce branches and came suddenly upon the crib-likecachethat the Indian had constructed to entice the malicious night prowler. For right in the midst of the wreckage of thecache, surrounded by the broken snowshoes, the tin cans, the old coat, and the sticks that had formed the crib, was thecarcajohimself, a foreleg in one trap and his thick shaggy tail in another! When he caught sight of the trappers the animal immediately showed fight. And never had Connie seen such an exhibition of insensate ferocity as thecarcajo, every hair erect, teeth bared, and emitting squall-like growls of rage, tugged at the rattling trap chains in a vain effort to attack. Beside this animal the rage of even the disturbed barren ground grizzly seemed a mild thing. But, of course, the grizzly had been too dopey and dazed from his long sleep, to really put forth his best efforts.
"Shoot um in de ear," advised 'Merican Joe, "an' it ain' no hole in de hide an' it kill um queek." And, holding the muzzle of the little twenty-two close, Connie dispatched the animalwith one well-placed shot. The next instant, 'Merican Joe was laughing as Connie held his nose, for like the skunk, thecarcajohas the power to emit a yellowish fluid with an exceedingly disagreeable odour—and this particular member of the family used his power lavishly.
"He too mooch smart to git in de trap in de snow," said the Indian, pointing to the deadcarcajo. "He climb up on de log an' den he jump 'cross de leetle space an' put de foot in de trap on top of de pile. Den w'en he git mad an tear up decachean' try to git loose, he sit down in wan more trap, an it ketch him on he's tail."
While 'Merican Joe drew the shaggy brownish-black skin from the thick body, Connie recovered the traps, removed the clogs, andcachedthem where they could be picked up later. Neither of the two traps that had been set at the backs of the marten traphouses had been disturbed, and as Connie gathered these and placed them with the others, he learned of the extreme wariness and caution of thecarcajo. For the snow told the story of how the prowler had circled the traphouses several times, and then lumbered on, leaving them untouched.
"It's a wonder you don't cut some steaks out of him," grinned the boy as he looked at the fat carcass.
The Indian shook his head. "No. Decarcajo, an' de mink, an' de marten, an' de fisher, an' de otter ain' no good to eat. W'en you fin' de Injun w'at eat 'em—look out! Dat one bad Injun, you bet!"
The work of "freshing up" the trap line in the wake of thecarcajotook almost as long as the laying of a new line. For the marauder had done his work thoroughly and well. Hardly a trap was left unmolested. In some places the snow showed where he had eaten a marten, but in most instances the traps were simply destroyed apparently from sheer wantonness. Three or four martens and one lynx were recovered where they had been taken from the traps, carried off the line for some distance, and buried in the snow.
By evening of the third day the task was finished and the two trappers returned to their cabin.
The following day was spent in getting ready a trail outfit for the caribou hunt. Both of the toboggans and dog teams were to be taken to haul home the meat, and provisions for a week'strip were loaded. Only a few caribou tracks had been seen on the trap line and 'Merican Joe believed that more would be found to the south-eastward.
The first night on the trail they camped at the edge of a widebrule, some twenty miles from the cabin. No caribou had been sighted during the day, although tracks were much more numerous than they had been in the vicinity of the cabin. 'Merican Joe had not brought his heavy rifle, preferring instead the twenty-two, with which he had succeeded in bringing down four ptarmigan. And as they sat snug and cozy in the little tent and devoured their supper of stew and tea and pilot bread, Connie bantered the Indian.
"You must think you're going to sneak up as close to the caribou as I did to thecarcajo, to get one with that gun."
'Merican Joe grinned. "You wait. You see I git mor' caribou wit' de knife den you git wit' de big gun," he answered. "Me an' Leloo, we ain' need no gun, do we, Leloo?" The great wolf-dog had been secured in the tent to prevent his slipping off during the night, and at the mention of his name he pricked up his ears and searched the facesof the two, as if trying to figure out what all the talk was about. Far away in the timber a wolf howled, and Leloo's eyes at once assumed an expression of intense longing and he listened motionless until the sound died away, then with a glance at thebabichethong that secured him, settled slowly to the robe and lay with his long pointed muzzle upon his outstretched forepaws, and his dull yellow eyes blinking lazily.
Early the following morning they skirted the south shore of Lake Ste. Therese, crossed the river, and headed for a range of hills that could be seen to the south-eastward. The day was warm, ten to fifteen degrees above zero, and the gusty south-east wind was freighted with frequent snow squalls. Toward noon, as they were crossing a frozen muskeg, Connie, who was in the lead, stopped to examine some fresh caribou tracks that led toward the timber of the opposite side in a course nearly parallel with their own. 'Merican Joe halted his team and came forward. Leloo nosed the tracks and, with no more show of interest than a slight twitching of the ears, raised his head and eyed first 'Merican Joe, then Connie. The trail was very fresh and the scent strong so that the otherdogs sniffed the air and whined and whimpered in nervous eagerness. The trail was no surprise to Leloo. So keen was his sense of scent that for a quarter of a mile he had known that they were nearing it. Had he been alone, or running at the head of the hunt-pack, he would even now have been wolfing down huge mouthfuls of the warm, blood-dripping meat. But this case was different. At this moment he was a dog, and not a wolf. His work was the work of the harness. Leloo's yellow eyes scrutinized the faces of his two masters as they talked, for he had been quick to recognize Connie as his new master, although he never quite renounced allegiance to the Indian. He obeyed alike the command of either, and both were too wise in the way of dogs to try him out with conflicting commands just to see "which he would mind."
Leloo knew that his masters would do one of two things. Either they would follow the caribou and kill them, or they would ignore the trail and hold their own course. He hoped they would decide to follow the caribou. For two or three days he had been living on fish, and Leloo did not like fish and only ate them when there was nothingelse to eat. He watched 'Merican Joe return to his dogs, and fairly leaped into the collar as Connie swung him on to the trail. Two bull caribou had gone that way scarcely an hour before. There would be a kill, and plenty of meat.
A quarter of a mile before reaching the timber, Connie, who was in the lead, swerved sharply from the trail and headed toward a point that would carry them to the bush well down wind from the place the caribou had entered. Leloo cheerfully followed for he understood this move, and approved it. Arriving in the scrub, Connie and 'Merican Joe quickly unharnessed the dogs and tied all except the wolf-dog to trees. The boy removed the rifle from the toboggan and threw a shell into the chamber.
"Hadn't we better put a line on Leloo?" he asked as they started in the direction of the trail.
'Merican Joe laughed; "No, Leloo he know 'bout hunt—you watch. You want to see de gran' dog work you jes' shoot wan caribou. Leloo he git' de odder wan, you bet!"
"You don't mean he'll get him unless he's wounded!"
"Sure, he git him—you see! If you shoot wanan' wound him, Leloo git de good wan first, an' den he go git de wounded wan."
They cut the trail at the edge of the muskeg and immediately circled down wind. Leloo trotted quietly beside them, and now and then Connie noted twitching of the delicate nostrils. Suddenly the animal halted, sniffing the air. The ruff bristled slightly, and turning at a right angle to the course, the dog headed directly into the wind.
"He ketch um," said 'Merican Joe. "Close by. Dat ain' no trail scent—dat body scent!"
The spruce gave place to willows, and creeping to the edge of a frozen marshy stream, they saw the two caribou feeding upon the opposite side.
Connie set for two hundred yards and fired. The larger bull reared high in front, pitched sidewise, and after several lurching leaps, fell to the snow. The other headed diagonally across the open at a trot. Beside him Connie heard a low growl, there was a flash of silver, and Leloo shot into the open like an arrow. For several seconds the bull trotted on, unconscious of the great grey shape that was nearly upon him. When he did discover it and broke into a run it was too late.As if hurled from a gun the flying wolf-dog rose from the snow and launched himself at the exposed flank of the fleeing caribou, which was whirled half way around at the impact. Leloo sprang clear as the stricken animal plunged and wobbled on his fast weakening legs. The caribou staggered on a few steps and lay down. And the wolf-dog, after watching him for a moment to make sure he was really done for, trotted over and sniffed at the bull Connie had shot.
While 'Merican Joe, with a quick twist of his sheath knife, cut the stricken animal's throat, Connie examined the wound that had brought him down. Leloo had returned to his kill, and as the boy glanced up the great wolf-dog opened his mouth in a prodigious yawn that exposed his gleaming fangs, and instantly the boy remembered the words of Waseche Bill, "Keep your eye on him ... if he ever turns wolf when he'd ort to be dog ... good-night." "It would be 'good-night,' all right," he muttered, as he turned again to look at the wound—a long slash that had cut through the thick hide, the underlying muscles, and the inner abdominal wall and literally disembowelled the animal as cleanly as though it hadbeen done with a powerful stroke of a sharp knife.
"W'at you t'ink 'bout Leloo, now?" grinned the Indian, as he rose from his knee and wiped his bloody knife upon his larrigan.
"I think he's some killer!" exclaimed the boy. "No wonder you don't carry a rifle."
"Don't need no gun w'en we got Leloo," answered 'Merican Joe, proudly. "De gun too mooch heavy. Injun ain' so good shot lak de w'ite man. Waste too mooch shell—dat cost too mooch."
The butchering and cutting up of the two caribou took less than an hour, during which time 'Merican Joe found that no matter how much of achechakoConnie was in regard to the fur-bearers, he had had plenty of experience in the handling of meat. When the job was finished, the meat was covered with the hides, and taking only the livers and hearts with them, the two started for the toboggans. The low-banked, marshy river upon which they found themselves made a short turn to the northward a short distance farther on, and they decided to circle around far enough to see what lay beyond the wooded point. Rounding the bend, they came upon what wasevidently a sluggish lake, or broadening of the river, its white surface extending for a distance of two or three miles toward the north. Far beyond the upper end of the lake they could make out another ridge of hills, similar to the one to the southward toward which they were heading. They were about to turn back when Connie pointed to Leloo who was sniffing the air with evident interest. "He smells something!" exclaimed the boy, "maybe there are some more caribou in the willows a little farther on."
The Indian watched the dog narrowly: "Noe he ain' git de body scent—dat de trail scent. Mus' be de strong scent. He smell um down wind. We go tak' a look—mebbe-so we git som' mor' meat."
Keeping close to shore they struck northward upon the surface of the lake and ten minutes later, 'Merican Joe uttered an exclamation and pointed ahead. Hastening forward they came upon a broad trail. As far as they could see the surface of the snow was broken and trampled by the hoofs of hundreds and hundreds of caribou. The animals had crossed the lake on a long slant, travelling leisurely and heading in a north-westerly directionfor the hills that could be seen in the distance. The two bulls they had killed were evidently stragglers of the main herd, for the trail showed that the animals had passed that same day—probably early in the morning.
"We go back an git de dogs and de outfit, an' follow um up. We git plenty meat now. Dat good place we camp right here tonight an' in de mornin' we follow 'long de trail." The short afternoon was well advanced and after selecting a camping site, the Indian hung the livers and hearts upon a limb, and the two struck out rapidly for the toboggans.
After hastily swallowing a cold lunch, they harnessed the dogs and worked the outfit through the timber until they struck the river at the point where they had slipped upon the two caribou. As they stepped from the willows Connie pointed toward the opposite shore. "There's something moving over there!" he exclaimed. "Look—right between the meat piles! A wolf I guess."
'Merican Joe peered through the gathering dusk. "No, datloup cervier. De wolf ain' hunt dead meat." Leloo had caught a whiff of the animal and the hairs of his great ruff stood outlike the quills of an enraged porcupine. Stooping, the Indian slipped him from the harness and the next instant a silver streak was flashing across the snow. Theloup cervierdid not stand upon the order of his going but struck out for the timber in great twenty-foot bounds. He disappeared in the willows with the wolf-dog gaining at every jump, and a moment later a young spruce shivered throughout its length, as the great cat struck its trunk a good ten feet above the snow. Connie started at a run, but 'Merican Joe called him back.
"We tak' de outfit long an' load de meat first. We got plenty tam. Leloo hold um in de tree an' den we go git um." Picking up Leloo's harness the Indian led the way across the river where it was but the work of a few minutes to load the meat on to the toboggans.
When the loads were firmly lashed on, the toboggans were tipped over to prevent the dogs from running away, and taking the light rifle the two went to the tree beneath which Leloo sat looking up into the glaring yellow eyes of the lynx. One shot placed squarely in the corner of an eye brought the big cat down with a thud, andthey returned to the outfit and harnessed Leloo. When they were ready to start, 'Merican Joe swung the two caribou heads to the top of his load.
"What are you packing those heads for?" asked Connie.
"Mus' got to hang um up," answered the Indian.
"Well, hang them up back there in the woods. There's a couple of handy limb stubs on that tree we got the lynx out of."
The Indian shook his head. "No, dat ain' no good. De bear head mus' got to git hang up right where she fall, but de deer an' de moose and de caribou head mus' got to hang up right long de water where de canoes go by."
"Why's that?"
The other shrugged. "I ain' know 'bout dat. Mebbe-so w'enSah-ha-lee Tyeecom' to count de deer, he com' in de canoe. I ain' care I know so mooch 'bout why. W'en de Injuns hang up de head in de right place, den de deer, an' de bear, an' all de big peoples ain' git all kill off—an' w'en de w'ite mans com' in de country an' don't hang up de heads, de big peoples is all gon' queek. So dat's nuff, an' don't mak' no differ' 'bout why."
As darkness settled"As darkness settled over the North Country, a little fire twinkled in the bush, and the odour of sizzling bacon and frying liver permeated the cozy camp."Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover
At the bend of the river 'Merican Joe hung up the heads upon a couple of solid snags, and a short time later they were pitching their little tent upon the camp site selected beside the caribou trail. As darkness settled over the north county, a little fire twinkled in the bush, and the odour of sizzling bacon and frying liver permeated the cozy camp.
Itwas noon the following day when they overtook the caribou herd, half way between the northern extremity of the lake and the range of hills. A halt was called upon the margin of a small lake along the shores of which the stragglers could be seen feeding slowly along.
"Dat bes' we ain' kill only 'bout six—seven today. Dat mak' us work pretty good to git um cut up before de night com' long an' freeze um. Tomorrow we kill eight—nine mor' an' dat be nuff."
The dogs were unhitched and tied to trees, and Connie started to loosen the rifle from its place on top of one of the packs. But the Indian stayed him: "No, dat ain' no good we mak' de shoot. We scare de herd an' dey travel fast. We let Leloo kill um, an' dat don't chase um off. Dey t'ink Leloo wan big wolf, an' dey all de tam git kill by de wolf, an' dey don't care."
So armed only with their belt axes and knives, they struck out for the herd accompanied by Leloo who fairly slavered in anticipation of the coming slaughter. And a slaughter it was, as one by one the stricken brutes went down before the deadly onslaught. What impressed Connie more even than the unerring accuracy of the death stroke was the ominous silence with which the great wolf-dog worked. No whimper—no growl, nor whine, nor bark—simply a noiseless slipping upon the selected animal, and then the short silent rush and a caribou staggered weakly to its knees never to rise again. One or two bawled out as the flashing fangs struck home, but the sound caused no excitement among the others which went on feeding as if nothing had happened. This was due to the cunning of Leloo—partly no doubt a native cunning inherited from his father, the great white wolf from the frozen land beyond the frozen sea—partly, too, this cunning was the result of the careful training of 'Merican Joe, who had taught the wolf-dog to strike only those animals that were separated from their fellows. For had the killer rushed blindly in, slashing right and left the herd would have bunched for defence,and later have travelled far into the hills, or struck out for the open tundra.
When six animals were down, Leloo was called off, and Connie and the Indian set about skinning and cutting up the carcasses.
"I see where we're going to make about two more trips for this meat," said Connie. "We've got more than we can pack now, and with what we kill tomorrow, it will take at least three trips."
'Merican Joe nodded. "Yes, we build decache, an' we pack all we kin haul, an' com' back w'en we git time. Anyhow, dat ain' so far lak we gon' on dem odder hills. We strike mos' straight wes' from here we com' on de cabin."
The killing and cutting up was finished by noon next day, and when darkness fell the two gorged an enormous meal of bannocks and liver, and retired to their sleeping bags for a well-earned rest. For the two toboggans stood loaded with meat covered tightly with green hides that had already frozen into place, and formed an effective protection against the pilfering of the dogs, three or four of which were amazingly clever sneak-thieves—while at least two were out-and-out robbers from whose depredations even the liver sizzling in thefrying pan was not safe. The same precaution of covering was taken with the meat on the platform of the polecache, for while its height from the ground protected it from the prowlers, the frozen hides also protected it from the inroads of the "whiskey jacks," as the voracious and pestiferous Canada jays are called in the Northland. For they are the boldest robbers of all, not even hesitating to fly into a tent and grab some morsel from the plate of the camper while he is eating his meal. These birds scorn the cold, remaining in the far North all winter, and woe betide the unprotected piece of meat they happen to light upon, for though it be frozen to the hardness of iron, the sharp bills of these industrious marauders will pick it to the bone.
The pace was slow next day owing to the heavy loads, each toboggan carrying more than one hundred pounds to the dog. But the trail to the cabin was not a long one and the trappers were anxious to carry with them as much meat as possible, to avoid making another trip until well into fox trapping time. It was late in the afternoon when Connie who was travelling ahead breaking trail, paused at the edge of a clump ofspruce and examined some tracks in the snow. The tracks were made by a pair of snowshoes, and the man who wore them had been heading north-east. 'Merican Joe glanced casually at the tracks. "Som' Injun trappin'," he opined.
"White man," corrected Connie, "and I don't believe he was a trapper."
The Indian glanced again at the trail. "Mebbe-so p'lice," he hazarded.
"Not by a long shot! If there was any patrol in here there'd be sled tracks—or at least he'd be carrying a pack, and this fellow was travelling light. Besides you wouldn't catch any men in the Mounted fooling with snowshoes like that!" The boy pointed to the pattern of a track. "Those are bought rackets from the outside. I saw some like 'em in the window of a store last winter down in Minneapolis. They look nice and pretty, but they're strung too light. Guess we'll just back track him for a while. His back trail don't dip much south, and we won't swing far out of the way."
'Merican Joe expressed indifference. "W'at you care 'bout de man? We ain' los' nuttin'. An' we ain' got to run way from de p'lice."
Connie grinned. "No, and believe me, I'm glad we haven't got to! They're a hard bunch to run away from. Anyway, this fellow is no policeman, and I've just got a hunch I'd like to know something about him. I can't tell why—just a hunch, I guess. But somehow I don't like the looks of that trail. It don't seem tofit. The tracks are pretty fresh. We ought to strike the remains of his noon camp before long."
The Indian nodded. "All right, we follow um. You know all 'bout de man trail. Som' tam you know all 'bout de fur trail, too—you be de gran' trapper."
The back trail held its course for a few miles and then swung from the westward so that it coincided with their own direction. At the point where it bent from the westward, they came upon the man's noon-time camp.
"Here's where he set his pack while he built his fire," pointed the boy. "He didn't have much of a pack, just a sleeping bag and a couple of day's grub rolled up in it. Here's where he set his rifle down—it was a high power—little shorter and thinner butt than mine—a thirty-thirty, I guess. He ain't achechakothough, for all he's got boughtsnowshoes. He tramped out his fire when he went, and he didn't throw away his tea-grounds. Whoever he is, he's got a camp not farther than two days from here, or he'd never be travelling that light in this country."
A few miles farther on Connie again halted and pointed to another trail that converged with the one they were following. They had been travelling upon the ice of a small river and this new trail dipped into the river bed from the north-eastward.
"It's the same fellow!" cried the boy. "This trail was made yesterday. He camped somewhere ahead of us last night and went back where he came from today. Left his own back trail here—thought it was easier to follow on up the river, I guess. Or, maybe he wanted to dodge some bad going. Where he came from isn't so far away, either," continued the boy, "he was travelling light yesterday, too."
They had proceeded but a short distance when 'Merican Joe called a halt. He came forward, and looked intently at Leloo who was the leader of Connie's team. Connie saw the great wolf-dog was sniffing the air uneasily.
"What is it?" he asked of 'Merican Joe.
"Injuns. Big camp. Me—I kin smell de smoke."
Connie sniffed the air, but could smell nothing. "How far?" he asked.
"She straight ahead on de wind—mebbe-so two, t'ree mile."
The banks of the small river they were following became lower as they advanced and finally disappeared altogether as the stream wound its way through a frozen swamp. In the swamp they encountered innumerable trails of snowshoes that crossed each other at every conceivable angle.
"Squaw tracks," grunted 'Merican Joe. "De squaw got to ten' de rabbit snare. Dat mak' um work pretty good. Injun don't buy so mooch grub lak de wi'te mans, an' every day de squaw got to ketch 'bout ten rabbit. If dey got mooch—w'at you calltenas-man?"
"Children—kids," supplied Connie.
"If dey got mooch kids dey mus' got to ketch 'bout twenty rabbit every day."
"Why don't they go after caribou?"
"Yes, dey hunt de caribou w'en de caribou com' roun'. But dey can't go mebbe-so hondre mile to hunt de caribou. Dey live on de rabbit, anptarmigan, an' fish in de winter tam, an' w'en de bad rabbit year com' 'long den de Injun he's belly git empty an' de ribs stick out an' he too mooch die from de big hongre."
They were nearing the village. Sounds of a dog fight reached their ears, the savage growls of the combatants, and the yapping and barking of the pack that crowded about them. Then the hoarse call of an Indian, and a yelping of dogs as the man evidently worked on them industriously with a club.
They emerged suddenly from the thick growth of the swamp on to the ice of the broader stream which connects Lake Ste. Therese with McVicker Bay of Great Bear Lake. The village was located upon the opposite bank which rose some twelve or fifteen feet above the river ice. Through the gathering darkness Connie made out some five or six log cabins, and many makeshift dwellings of poles, skins and snow blocks.
Their appearance upon the river was the occasion for a pandemonium of noise as the Indian dogs swept out upon the ice to greet them with barks, yaps, growls, whines, and howls. Never had the boy seen such a motley collection of dogs.Big dogs and little dogs, long tailed, short tailed, and bob tailed—white dogs and black dogs, and dogs of every colour and all colours between. In only two particulars was there any uniformity—they all made some sort of a noise, and they were all skin-poor.
Heads appeared at the doors of various dwellings, and a little knot of Indians gathered at the top of the bank, where they waited, staring stolidly until two heavily loaded toboggans came to a halt at the foot of the steep bank.
Greetings were exchanged and several invitations were extended to the travellers to spend the night—one Indian in particular, who spoke a few words of English and appeared to be rather better dressed than the others, was very insistent, pointing with evident pride toward the largest of the log houses. But they declined with thanks, and indicated that they would camp a short distance below the village where a more gently sloping bank gave promise of ascent for the heavily loaded toboggans. As they proceeded along the foot of the bank, an Indian lurched from one of the skin dwellings, and leered foolishly at them from the top of the bank. Sounds issued from the shackas of voices raised in quarrel, and Connie and 'Merican Joe exchanged glances as they passed on to their camping place.
An hour later as they were finishing their supper, an Indian stepped abruptly out of the darkness, and stood blinking at them just within the circle of light from the little fire. He was the Indian they had seen lurch from the dwelling.
"Hello," said Connie, "what do you want?" The Indian continued to stare, and Connie tried jargon. "Iktah mika tika?" But still the man did not answer so the boy turned him over to 'Merican Joe who tried out several dialects and gave it up. The Indian disappeared as abruptly as he had come, and a few moments later stepped again into the firelight. This time he carried a large beaver skin which he extended for inspection. Connie passed it over to 'Merican Joe.
"Is it a good skin?" he asked.
"Good skin," assented 'Merican Joe, "Wan' ver' big beaver ..."
"How much?" asked Connie, making signs to indicate a trade.
The Indian grunted a single word. "Hooch!"
"Oh—ho, so that's it!" cried the boy. "I knewit when I saw him the first time. And I knew that trail we've been following this afternoon didn't look right. I had a hunch!"
He handed the Indian his skin and shook his head. "No gothooch." It took the man several minutes to realize that there was no liquor forthcoming, and when he did, he turned and left the fire with every evidence of anger. Not long after he had gone, another Indian appeared with the same demand. In vain Connie tried to question him, but apparently he knew no more English or jargon than the first.
"We've got to figure out some scheme to gum that dirty pup's game!" cried the boy. "I just wish I was back in the Mounted for about a week! I'd sure make that bird live hard! But in the Mounted or out of it, I'm going to make him quit his whiskey peddling, or some one is going to get hurt!"
'Merican Joe looked puzzled. "W'at you care 'bout dat? W'at dat mak' you mad som' wan sell Injun dehooch?"
"What doIcare! I care because it's a dirty, low-lived piece of work! These Injuns need every bit of fur they can trap to buy grub and clotheswith. When they gethooch, they pay a big price—and they pay it in grub and clothes that their women and children need!"
'Merican Joe shrugged philosophically, and at that moment another Indian stepped into the firelight. It was the man who had insisted upon their staying with him, and who Connie remembered had spoken a few words of English.
"You looking forhooch, too?" asked the boy.
The Indian shook his head vigorously. "No.Hoochbad. Mak' Injun bad. No good!"
Connie shoved the teapot into the coals and motioned the man to be seated, and there beside the little fire, over many cups of strong tea, the boy and 'Merican Joe, by dint of much questioning and much sign talk to help out the little English and the few words of jargon the man knew, succeeded finally in learning the meaning of the white man's trail in the snow. They learned that the Indians were Dog Ribs who had drifted from the Blackwater country and settled in their present location last fall because two of their number had wintered there the previous year and had found the trapping good, and the supply of fish and rabbits inexhaustible. They had done well withtheir traps, but they had killed very few caribou during the winter, and the current of the river had taken many of their nets and swept them away under the ice. The rabbits were not as plentiful as they had been earlier in the fall, and there was much hunger in the camp.
They traded as usual, and had gotten "debt" at Fort Norman last summer before they moved their camp. Later in the summer two men had come along in a canoe and told them that they would come back before the mid-winter trading. They said they would sell goods much cheaper than the Hudson's Bay Company, or the Northern Trading Company, and that they would also have somehooch—which cannot be obtained from the big companies.
Yesterday one of these men came into the camp. He had a few bottles ofhoochwhich he traded for some very good fox skins, and promised to return in six days with the other man and two sled loads of goods. He told them that they did not have to pay their debt to the companies at Fort Norman because everything at the fort had burned down—all the stores and all the houses and the men had gone away down the river andthat they would not return. The Indians had been making ready to go to the fort to trade, but when they heard that the fort was burned they decided to wait for the free traders. Also many of the young men wanted to trade with the free traders because they could get thehooch.
The Indian said he was very sorry that the fort had burned, because he did not like the free traders, and he wanted to pay his debt to the company, but if there was nobody there it would be no use to make the long trip for nothing.
When he finished Connie sat for some time thinking. Then, producing a worn notebook and the stub of a pencil from his pocket he wrote upon a leaf and tore it from the book. When he spoke it was to 'Merican Joe. "How long will it take you to make Fort Norman travelling light?" he asked.
"'Bout fi', six, day."
"That will be ten or twelve days there and back," figured the boy, as he handed him the note.
"All right. You start in the morning, and you go with him," he added, turning to the Indian.
"That white man lied! There has been no fire at the fort. He wants to get your skins, and sohe lied. You go and see for yourself. The rest of them here won't believe me if I tell them he lied—especially as the young men want thehooch. I have written McTavish to send someone, back with you who has the authority to arrest these free traders. I'm going to stay to get the evidence. In the meantime you send your hunters on our back trail and they will find many caribou. Divide the meat we have on the sleds among the people—the women and the children. It will last till the men return with the meat. I am going to follow the free traders to their camp."
It took time and patience to explain all this to the Indian but once he got the idea into his head he was anxious to put the plan into effect. He slipped away and returned with two other Indians, and the whole matter had to be gone over again. At the conclusion, one of them agreed to accompany Connie, and the other to distribute the meat, and to lead the caribou hunt, so after unloading the sleds and making up the light trail outfits, they all retired to get a few hours' sleep for the strenuous work ahead. How well they succeeded and how the free traders—but, as Mr. Kipling has said, that is another story.
Thelate winter dawn had not yet broken when the little camp on the outskirts of the Indian village was struck and two dog teams drawing lightly loaded toboggans slipped silently into the timber. When out of sight and sound of the village the two outfits parted.
Connie Morgan, accompanied by an Indian named Ton-Kan, swung his great lead-dog, Leloo, to the eastward, crossed the river, and struck out on the trail of the free trader; while 'Merican Joe with Pierre Bonnet Rouge, the Indian who had told them of the free trader's plans, headed north-west in the direction of Fort Norman.
It was nearly noon six days later that they shoved open the door of the trading post and greeted McTavish, the big bewhiskered Scotchman who was the Hudson's Bay Company's factor.
"What are ye doin' back here—you? An'where is the lad that was with ye? An' you, Pierre Bonnet Rouge, where is the rest of your band? An' don't ye ken ye're two weeks ahead of time for the tradin'?"
"Oui, M's'u," answered the Indian. "But man say——"
He was interrupted by 'Merican Joe who had been fumbling through his pockets and now produced the note Connie had hastily scribbled upon a leaf of his notebook.
McTavish carried the scrap of paper to the heavily frosted window and read it through slowly. Then he read it again, as he combed at his beard with his fingers. Finally, he laid the paper upon the counter and glanced toward a man who sat with his chair tilted back against the bales of goods beyond the roaring stove.
"Here's something for ye, Dan," he rumbled. "Ye was growlin' about fightin' them icebourdillons, here's a job t'will take ye well off the river."
"What's that?" asked Dan McKeever—InspectorDan McKeever,now, of N Division, Royal Northwest Mounted Police. "It better be somethin' important if it takes me off the river, 'cause I'm due back at Fort Fitzgerald in a month."
"It's important, all right," answered McTavish, "an lucky it is ye're here. That's one good thing the rough ice done, anyhow. For, if it hadn't wore out your dogs you'd be'n gone this three days. D'ye mind I told ye I'd heard they was a free trader over in the Coppermine country? Well, there's two of 'em, an' they're workin' south. They're right now somewheres south of the big lake. They've run onto the Dog Ribs over near Ste. Therese, an' they're tradin' emhooch!"
"Who says so?" asked the Inspector, eying the two Indians doubtfully.
"These two. Pierre Bonnet Rouge I have known for a good many years. He's a good Indian. An' this other—he come in a while back with his pardner from over on the Yukon side. His pardner is a white man, an' about as likely a lookin' lad as I've seen. He's over there now on the trail of the free traders an' aimin' to stand between them 'an the Indians till someone comes with authority to arrest them."
"Who is this party, an' what's he doin' over in that country himself?"
"He's just a lad. An' him an' his pardner, here, are trappin'. Name's Morgan, an——"
Big Dan McKeever's two feet hit the floor with a bang, and he strode rapidly forward. "Morgan, did you say?Connie Morgan?"
'Merican Joe nodded vehemently. "Yes, him Connie Mo'gan! Him wanskookum tillicum."
The big inspector's fist smote the counter and he grinned happily. "I'll say he'sskookum tillicum!" he cried. "But what in the name of Pat Feeney is he doin' over here? I heard he'd gone outside."
"D'ye know him?" asked McTavish, in surprise.
"Know him!Know him, did you say? I do know him, an' love him! An' I'd rather see him than the Angel Gabriel, this minute!"
"Me, too," laughed McTavish, "I ain't ready for the angels, yet!"
"Angels, or no angels, there's a kid that's aman! An' his daddy, Sam Morgan, before him was a man! Didn't the kid serve a year with me over in B Division? Sure, Mac, I've told you about the time he arrested Inspector Cartwright for a whiskey runner, an'——"
McTavish interrupted. "Yes, yes, I mind! An' didn't he fetch in Notorious Bishop, whilstall the rest of you was tearin' out the bone out in the hills a-huntin' him?"
"That's the kid that done it! An' there's a whole lot more he done, too. You don't need to worry none about yer Injuns as long as that kid's on the job."
"But, ye're goin' to hurry over there, ain't you? I hate to think of the lad there alone. There's two of them traders, an' if they're peddlin'hooch, they ain't goin' to care much what they do to keep from gittin' caught."
Dan McKeever grinned. "You don't need to worry about him. That kid will out-guess any free trader, or any other crook that ever was born. He's handled 'em red hot—one at a time, an' in bunches. The more they is of 'em, the better he likes 'em! Didn't he round up Bill Cosgrieve an' his Cameron Creek gang? An' didn't he bring in four of the orneriest cusses that ever lived when they busted the Hart Rivercache? An' he done it alone! Everyone's got brains, Mac, an' most of us learns to use 'em—in a way. But, that kid—he starts in figurin' where fellers like us leaves off!"
"But this case is different, Dan," objected thefactor. "He was in the Mounted then. But what can he do now? He ain't got the authority!"
McKeever regarded the Scotchman with an almost pitying glance. "Mac, you don't know that kid. But don't you go losin' no sleep over how much authority he ain't got. 'Cause, when the time comes to use it, he'll have the authority, all right—if he has to appoint himself Commissioner! An' when it comes right down to cases, man to man, there's times when a six-gun has got more authority to it than all the commissions in the world."
"But they're two to one against him——"
"Yes, an' the kid could shoot patterns in the both of 'em while they was fumblin' to draw, if he had to. But the chances is there won't be a shot fired one way or another. He'll jest naturally out-guess 'em an' ease 'em along, painless an' onsuspectin' until he turns 'em over to me, with the evidence all done up in a package, you might say, ready to hand to the judge."
McTavish smote his thigh with his open palm. "By the great horn spoon, I'll go along an' see it done!" he cried. "We'll take my dogs an' by the time we get back yours will be in shape again.My trader can run the post, an' I'll bring in them Dog Ribs with me to do their tradin'."
The Indian, Ton-Kan, who accompanied Connie proved to be a good man on the trail. In fact, the boy wondered, as he followed with the dog team, if the Indian did not show just a little too much eagerness. Connie knew something of Indians, and he knew that very few of them possessed the zeal to exert themselves for the good of the tribe. Their attitude in regard to the troubles of others was the attitude of 'Merican Joe when he had shrugged and asked, "W'at you care?" Pierre Bonnet Rouge, Connie knew to be an exception, and this man might be too, but as he understood no word of either English or jargon, and Connie knew nothing of the Dog Rib dialect, the boy decided to take no chances, but to keep close watch on the Indian's movements when the time for action came.
In the afternoon of the second day Connie exchanged places with the Indian, he himself taking the lead and letting Ton-Kan follow with the dogs. The boy figured that if the trader had expected to be back at the village in six days, his camp could not be more than two days away,travelling light. That would allow him one day to pack his outfit for the trail, and three days to reach the Indian village travelling heavy. Therefore, he slowed the pace and proceeded cautiously.
Connie's experience as an officer of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police had taught him something of the law, and of the value of securing evidence. He knew that if he himself could succeed in buying liquor from the free traders he would have evidence against them under the Northwest Territories Act upon two counts: having liquor in possession in prohibited territory, and selling liquor in prohibited territory. But what he wanted most was to get them under the Indian Act for supplying liquor to Indians, and it was for this purpose he had brought Ton-Kan along. The boy had formulated no plan beyond the first step, which was to have the Indian slip into the traders' camp and purchase some liquor in payment for which he would give a beautiful fox skin, which skin had been carefully and cunningly marked the night before by himself and Pierre Bonnet Rouge. With the liquor as evidence in his possession his course would be determined entirely by circumstances.
The early darkness was just beginning to fall when, topping a ridge, Connie caught the faint glimmer of a light at the edge of a spruce thicket beyond a strip of open tundra. Drawing back behind the ridge Connie motioned to the Indian to swing the dogs into a thick clump of stunted trees where they were soon unharnessed and tied. Loosening the pack Connie produced the fox skin while the Indian lighted a fire. A few moments later the boy held out the skin, pointed toward the camp of the free traders, and uttered the single word "hooch."
Notwithstanding the Indian's evident eagerness to reach the trader's camp, he hesitated and made signs indicating that he desired to eat supper first—and Connie's suspicion of him immediately strengthened. The boy shook his head, and reluctantly Ton-Kan obeyed, but not without a longing look toward the grub pack.
When he had disappeared over the ridge Connie hastily bolted some bannocks and a cold leg of rabbit. Then he fed the dogs, looked to his service revolver which he carried carefully concealed beneath his mackinaw, slipped Leloo's leash, and moved silently out on to the trail of theIndian. Skirting the tundra, he kept in the scrub, and as he worked his way cautiously toward the light he noted with satisfaction that his own trail would excite no suspicion among the network of snowshoe tracks that the free traders had made in visiting their rabbit snares. In the fast gathering darkness the boy concealed himself in a bunch of willows which commanded a view of the door and window of the tiny cabin that lay half-buried in the snow. It was an old cabin evidently, rechinked by the free traders. The light shone dully through the little square window pane of greased paper. The Indian had already been admitted and Connie could see dim shadows move across the pane. The great wolf-dog crept close and, throwing his arm about the animal's neck, the boy cuddled close against the warm shaggy coat. A few minutes later the door opened and Ton-Kan reappeared. Immediately it slammed shut, and Connie could dimly make out that the Indian was fastening on his snowshoes. Presently he stood erect and, as the boy had expected, instead of striking out for camp across the open tundra, he gave a hurried glance about him and plunged into the timber.
Instantly the boy was on his feet. "I thought so, Leloo," he grinned. "I thought he was awfully anxious to get thathooch. And when he wanted to wait and eat supper first, I knew that he figured on pulling out and wanted a full belly to travel on."
"He won't travel very far nor very fast," muttered the boy, as he circled the little clearing. "Because it's a cinch he didn't get anything to eat out of those birds—they'd take the fox skin for thehooch, and they're not giving away grub." Leloo walked beside him, ears erect, and every now and then as they glanced into the boy's face, the smouldering yellow eyes seemed to flash understanding.
Darkness had settled in earnest, and it was no easy task to pick up the trail in the scrub among the crisscrossed trails of the free traders, especially as the boy did not dare to strike a light. He had carefully studied the Indian's tracks as he had mushed along behind the dogs until he knew every detail of their impression, but in the darkness all trails looked alike. Time and again he stooped and with his face close to the snow, examined the tracks. Time and again he picked up the trail only to lose it a moment later. ThenLeloo took a hand in the game. Connie's attention was drawn to the dog by a low whine, and stopping he found the great animal sniffing the fresh trail. "Good old dog!" whispered the boy, patting the great head. Understanding what was wanted the wolf-dog bounded off on the trail, but Connie called him back. "If I only dared!" he exclaimed under his breath. "You'd run him down in five minutes—but when you did—what then?" The boy shuddered at the recollection of the stricken caribou and the swift silent rush with which the great silvered brute had launched himself upon them. "I'm afraid you wouldn't savvy the difference," he grinned, "and I don't want old Ton-Kan cut plumb in two. If you'd only throw him down and hold him, or tree him like you did theloup cervier, we'd have him in a hurry—and some time I'm going to train you to do it." A sudden thought struck the boy as he met the glance of the glowing yellow eyes. "If I had something to tie you with, I'd start the training right now," he exclaimed. A hasty search of his pockets produced a length of the heavy line that he and 'Merican Joe used for fishing through the ice.
It was but the work of a moment to secure the line about the neck of the wolf-dog and lead him to the spot where he had nosed out the Indian's trail. With a low whine of understanding the great beast struck straight into the timber, the confusion of tracks that had thrown Connie completely off in the darkness, offering no obstacle whatever to the keen-scented dog. As Connie had anticipated, Ton-Kan did not travel far before stopping to sample the contents of the bottle. A half-hour after the boy took the trail he pulled the straining Leloo to a stand and peered through the scrub toward a spot at the edge of a thick windfall where the Indian squatted beside a tiny fire. Holding Leloo close in, Connie silently worked his way to within twenty feet of where the Indian sat, bottle in hand, beside his little fire. The man drank from the bottle, replaced the cork, rose to his feet, and with a grunt of satisfaction, rubbed his stomach with his mittened hand. Then he carefully placed the bottle in the snow, and moved toward a small dead spruce to procure firewood. It was but the work of a moment for Connie to secure the bottle, and at the sound Ton-Kan whirled to find himself confronted by thesmiling boy. With an exclamation of rage the Indian sprang to recover his bottle, and the next instant drew back in terror at sight of Leloo who had stepped in front of the boy, the hair of his huge ruff a-quiver, the delicately pointed nose wrinkled to expose the gleaming white fangs, and the yellow eyes glowing like live coals.
"Thought you'd kind of slip one over on me, did you?" smiled the boy as he made signs for the Indian to follow, and headed for the sled. "You did drink part of the evidence, but we've got enough left to hold those birds for a while—and I'm going to get more."
The boy led the way back to the sled with Ton-Kan following dejectedly, and while the Indian ate his supper, Connie did some rapid thinking. The meal over he took the Indian's blankets from the sled and, together with a two days' supply of grub, made them into a pack, which he handed to Ton-Kan and motioned for him to hit the back trail. At first the Indian feigned not to understand, then he protested that he was tired, but the boy was unmoved. When Ton-Kan flatly refused to leave camp Connie drew his watch from his pocket, held up three fingers, meaningly,and called Leloo to his side. One glance at the great white wolf-dog with his bristling ruff settled the argument, and with a grunt of fear, the Indian snatched up his pack and struck out on the back trail with an alacrity that belied any thought of weariness. Alone in the camp the boy grinned into the embers of the little fire. "The next question," he muttered to himself, "is where do I go from here? Getting rid of Ton-Kan gets the odds down to two to one against me, but what will I do? I haven't got any right to arrest 'em. I can't stay here, because they'll be hitting the back trail for the Indian camp in the morning, and the first thing they'll do will be to run on to my trail. Then they'll figure the Mounted is on to them and they'll beat it, and make a clean get-away. That would keep thehoochaway from this bunch of Indians, but they'd trade it to the next bunch they came to. I ain't going to let 'em get away! I started out to get 'em and I will get 'em, somehow. Guess the best way would be to go straight to the shack and figure out what to do when I get there." Suiting the action to the word, the boy carefully cached the bottle of liquor and packed his outfit. Then he harnessed his dogs. When itcame the turn of the leader, he whistled for Leloo, but the great wolf-dog was not to be found. With a sudden fear in his heart, the boy glanced toward the back trail. Had the great brute understood that Connie and the Indian were at outs and had he struck out on the trail to settle the matter in his own way? Swiftly the boy fastened on his snowshoes, and overturning the sled to hold the other dogs, he headed back along the trail. He had gone but a few steps, however, before he halted and pushing the cap from his ears, listened. From a high ridge to the northward, in the opposite direction from that taken by the Indian, came the long howl of a great grey caribou-wolf, and a moment later came an answering call—the weird blood-chilling, terrible cry of the big white wolf-dog. And then Connie returned to his outfit, for he knew that that night Leloo would run with the hunt-pack.