dropped some scraps of the raw venison into the cage.

As he stooped to peer more closely at the animals, he made a startling
discovery. During their absence on the hunt, the mother fox had been
gnawing vigorously at the willow cage, particularly at the rawhide
lashings that bound the framework together. She had loosened one
corner, and if she had been left alone for another hour, she might have
escaped with her cubs. It gave the boys a bad fright. Mac refastened
the lashings with strips of deer-hide, and strengthened the cage with
more willow withes. But the boys realized that in the future one of
them would have to stand guard over the cage at night.

The foxes refused to touch the raw meat.

"I didn't expect them to eat for the first day or two," said Horace.
"Don't worry. They'll eat in time, when they get really hungry."

"Let's get this buck cut up," said Mac. "It'll soon be moonrise, and
we must be moving."

In order to get more light for their work, they piled pitch pine on the
fire; then they hung the deer on a tree, and began the disagreeable
task of skinning and dressing the animal. When they had finished, they
had a good deerskin and nearly two hundred pounds of fresh meat.

They would gladly have slept now, but the sky was brightening in the
east with the rising moon, and there was no time for rest. No doubt
the trappers were on their trail, somewhere behind them. Hastily the
boys loaded the foxes and the venison into the canoe, and as soon as
the moon showed above the trees paddled down the lake. They soon found
that the moonlight was not bright enough to enable them to run rapids
safely, and they consequently had to make frequent carries. Between
the rapids they shot swiftly down the current, but the river was so
broken that they made no great progress that night.

Northern summer nights are short, and soon after two o'clock the sky
began to lighten. By three o'clock the boys could see well, and they
went on faster, shooting all except the worst stretches of rough water.
Shortly after six o'clock they came out from the Smoke River into the
Missanabie.

"Stop for breakfast?" asked Mac.

"Not here," said Horace. "We must be careful not to mark our trail,
especially at this point. They won't know for sure whether we turned
up the Missanabie or down, and they may make a mistake and lose a lot
of time. A canoe doesn't leave any track, and we mustn't land until we
have to."

Now the