himself together, he struck. A
moment later the fox's heart-strings snapped at the pull, and the boy
released the foot from the trap, and holding the animal in his hands,
examined the ermine collar. It was nearly an inch wide, of untanned
skin, and was tied at the throat. "No Injun ever tied that knot,"
muttered the boy, "and there's no use scaring 'Merican Joe any more than
necessary," he added, as with his sheath knife he cut the collar and
placed it carefully in his pocket, and carrying the fox, proceeded up
the shore.

In the fifth trap was another black fox. And again the boy stared at the
ermine skin collar that encircled the animal's neck. He removed this
collar and placed it with the first. 'Merican Joe was a half-mile out on
the lake, plodding along at the head of the dogs. The two foxes were
heavy, and Connie decided to carry them to the sled.

'Merican Joe stared, wide-eyed, at the catch. "Did dey talk?" he asked,
huskily. And when Connie had assured him that they had not, the Indian
continued to stare.

"Dat funny we git _two_ black fox. De black fox, he ain' so many. You
trap wan all winter, you done good. We got two, sam' day. I ain' never
hear 'bout dat before!"

"I knew this was a good lake for foxes," smiled the boy. 'Merican Joe
nodded, sombrely. "Som't'ing wrong. Dat lak' she too mooch good for fox.
Som' t'ing wrong."

The twelfth trap yielded another black fox, and another ermine collar,
and as the boy removed it from the animal's neck he gave way to an
expression of anger. "What in thunder is the meaning of this? Who is out
here in the hills tying ermine collars on black foxes--and why? The most
valuable skin in the North--and some fool catches them and ties a collar
on them, and turns them loose! And how does he catch them? They've never
been trapped before! And how does it come there are so many of them and
they are so easy to trap?" He gave it up, and returned to the sled, to
show the astounded 'Merican Joe the third black fox. But the Indian took
no joy in the catch, and all the time they were setting up the tent in
the shelter of a thicket at the foot of the high hill, he maintained a
brooding silence.

"While you skin the foxes, I guess I'll slip over and have another look
at that _cache_," said the boy, when they had eaten their luncheon.

"You sure git back, pret' queek?" asked the Indian, "I ain' want to be
here 'lone w'en de sun go down. I ain' want to hear dat yell."

"Oh, I'll