dusted the tracks full of snow with the
brush-broom. For fifty or sixty feet he repeated this laborious
operation, pausing now and then to toss a piece of meat upon the snow.

Connie surveyed the job with admiration. "No wonder you said foxes are
hard to trap if you have to go to all that trouble to get 'em," smiled
the boy.

"It ain' hard to do. It is, w'at you call careful. You mak' de trouble
to be careful, you git de fox--you ain' mak' de trouble you ain' git no
fox. Odder peoples you kin git mebbe-so, if you ain' so careful, but de
fox, an' de wolf, you ain' git."

Leloo circled in from the ridge, and Connie called to him sharply. "Wish
we hadn't brought him along," he said. "I'm afraid he'll get to smelling
around the bait and get caught."

'Merican Joe shook his head. "No. Leloo, he ain' git caught. He too
smart. He know w'at de bait for. He ain' goin' for smell dat bait. If de
meat is 'live, an' run or fly, Leloo he grab him if he kin. If de meat
dead Leloo he ain' goin' fool wit' dat meat. You feed him dead meat--me
feed him dead meat--he eat it. But, if he fin' dead meat, he ain' eat
it. He too mooch smart. He smart lak de wolf, an' he smart lak de dog,
too."

CHAPTER XVI

THE VOICE FROM THE HILL

The shore of the lake was irregular, being a succession of rocky points
between which narrow bays extended back to the foot of the ridge which
grew higher and higher as the two progressed toward the upper end of the
lake, where it terminated in a high hill upon the sides of which bold
outcroppings of rock showed at intervals between thick patches of scrub
timber.

It was well toward the middle of the afternoon when the two reached the
head of the lake, a distance of some five or six miles from the starting
point. All the steel traps had been set, and 'Merican Joe had
constructed two deadfalls, which varied from those set for marten only
by being more cunningly devised, and more carefully prepared.

"The other shore ain't so rough," said Connie, when the second deadfall
was finished. "We can make better time going back."

'Merican Joe swept the flat, tundra-skirting eastern shore with a
glance. "We ain' fool wit' dat shore. She too mooch no good for de fox.
We go back to camp an' tomor' we hont de nudder lak!"

"Look, what's that?" exclaimed Connie pointing toward a rocky ledge that
jutted from the hillside a few rods back from the lake. "It looks like a
_cache_!"

'Merican Joe scrutinized the