d a fresh trail leading from the main land, and beside the last
decoy a slight depression around which loose feathers and clots of blood
told in unmistakable terms that a single bird, and not improbably a
wounded one, had alighted amid the decoys, and trusting to the vigilance
of his supposed companions, had fallen an easy prey to his soft-footed
assailant.

"Here comes one-armed Peter on his track," said La Salle; and in a few
moments a tall, finely-built, middle-aged Micmac came noiselessly up,
bearing in his only remaining hand, not a gun, but an axe.

"Where's your gun, Peter?" said Ben, carelessly; "you don't expect to
kill a fox with an axe--do you?"

The Indian's brow contracted a little, and instantly relaxed, as he
answered, "That not fox track at all; that Indian dog, I guess. Martin
Mitchell have dog; lun alound like that. No good dog that. Sposum mine,
kill um."

"Yes, Peter, I've no doubt you'd like to kill that dog very well. See,
he finds his own living for himself. He killed a goose here last night,
I see. I s'pose your Indian dogs will eat geese raw, but mine never
would. He sat down here a moment after he had killed his bird, and left
the marks of a very bushy tail. Here's some of the hair, too. By
thunder! 'tis the hair of a black fox."

The Indian laughed silently, with no little admiration of the close
observation of the other visible in his countenance. "Yes, that black
fox. I see his track last night; trail him two tree mile dis morning. No
use try to fool you; fool other white man over back there; you know
trail well as Indian. No use carry gun, I think; fox in wet weather get
in hollow tlee, or under big loot. I cut down tlee and knock on head
with axe. But if fox on island, I lose him; no tlee there at all big
enough."

"Well, Peter, his trail is straight for the end of the point, and he
must be in the swamp at the other end of the island. We'll go with you
and surround the swamp while you enter it. If you fail to tree him,
we'll shoot him when he breaks cover, and we'll divide equally whether
one or two help to kill him." And La Salle, resting the butt of his
heavy gun on his boot, drew his load of loose shot, and substituted an
Eley's cartridge, containing two ounces of large "swan-drops."

A cloud settled upon the smiling face of the Indian, and he broke forth
vehemently, "I no want you to help me. I need _all_ that money; you got
plenty. I been sick, had sick boy, sick old woman,--b