CHAPTER XII.
The wildcat had evidently found the hanging carcass not a great while before. At the time the three boys approached he had been regaling himself as he clung to the upper part of the dangling buck.
Being only half satisfied he seemed angry at being disturbed in his meal. The boys happened to be "down the wind" from him, and this would explain how it was they came upon him apparently unawares. But when a wildcat is in a frightfully bad humor he does not run off very easily, and this one, according to what Uncle Jim had said, was unusually bold. He had proved this by approaching the cabin of the trapper on the preceding night.
Crouching there on the swaying carcass of the deer, and with his chops all bloody from his recent meal which they had disturbed, the bobcat presented a truly terrifying appearance.
His short ears were laid back close to his head, his yellow eyes glowed as though they were balls of phosphorescence, and the hair on his back seemed to stand up on end.
Max had his gun in readiness, too.
He was not going to take any more chances than were necessary. Steve seemed to be all ready to fire, and he knew the other to be a pretty good shot. But, then, who could wholly depend upon such an excitable fellow?
Then the cat sprang!
Max heard Toby utter a shout of warning that was swallowed up in a tremendous roar close to his ears. Max sprang aside, and he thought he saw Steve doing the same sort of stunt. Toby was already safe behind the friendly trunk of a tree.
To the relief of Max the leaping cat seemed to crumple up in the air. It turned completely over, as though by the impact of something that had struck it. And when it reached the ground it lay even beyond the hanging venison.
"Wow!" came from Steve.
He was scrambling to his feet, having dropped his gun. There was a look of mingled satisfaction, surprise, and pain upon his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Max, noticing how the other was rubbing his right shoulder where the butt of his shotgun had rested.
"Hurts like fun!" replied Steve, making a wry face.
"You mean it kicked, don't you, Steve?"
"Kick? Well, I'll be sore for a month of Sundays," replied the other, grunting as he touched a tender part. "Did you see me go over?"
"Sure I did, but I thought you were dodging the leap of the cat, the same as I did myself," returned Max.
"Dodging nothing!" said Steve. "I tell you that pesky gun clean kicked me off my pins. Never had it play me such a trick before."
Max stooped and picked up the shotgun. Then he laughed.
"It's all as simple as pie," he said.
"Do you mean I was that excited I pulled both triggers at once?" cried Steve.
"Well, both hammers are down, and," breaking the gun as he spoke, "you can see for yourself the shells are empty."
"Glory! No wonder I blew that old cat away, then!" cried Steve. "With all those two dozen buckshot chasing through him the poor critter must have been nearly torn to pieces. And there my fine door mat goes a-glimmering!"
Investigation proved that Steve's fears were realized. The terrific discharge at such close quarters had so riddled the skin of the wildcat that it was not worth attempting to save.
"What a shame!" said Steve, as he got up again after examining the dead beast. "He was a jim-dandy, too. If I'd only had a crack at him thirty yards away instead of ten feet, I'd have saved that lovely pelt."
"But it was a corking good shot, I tell you, Steve," declared Max, warmly.
"That's j-j-just what it was," added Toby, who had parted company with the friendly tree, now that the danger seemed a thing of the past.
"To hit a tiger cat sitting on a limb is considered a good enough showing," continued Max; "but to knock holes through him while he is in the air jumping deserves high credit. Think of that every time your shoulder hurts."
"Anyhow," remarked Steve, cheerfully, "I can bat right or left handed, and I can shoot a gun the same old way; so this little accident won't knock me out of the running. But I'd be happier if I hadn't just ruined that skin."
"Well, better lug him home, anyway, if you feel able to," advised Max. "Uncle Jim will be glad if he recognizes the crafty old thief of last winter in this cat you knocked down."
"Guess I will," Steve remarked, "though he'll be a load to tote. We'll wait and see how you come on with the venison."
"Oh, don't bother about that," said Max. "Toby and myself will look out for all we want to take with us."
"But those antlers—I promised to decorate my room with those, Max!"
"That's all right," declared Max. "Come for them before we leave here. You know the place, and by that time the foxes will have cleaned them nicely for you."
And so things were arranged.
An hour later and the three lads headed for camp again. Each one toted his share of the burden. But long before the cabin was reached Steve began to feel sorry that he had determined to display the wildcat to the others in order to prove his story, and also let Trapper Jim see whether the victim of his double shot was the same despised and hated bobcat that had given him so very much trouble in the preceding year.
Nevertheless Steve was a most determined boy. And having started in to accomplish anything he could hardly be influenced to give it up just because his back ached and his lame shoulder protested.
Max insisted on changing loads with him when they were halfway home.
"I can carry it better than you with your sore shoulder, Steve," he said, when the other started to protest; "besides, I've made this bundle of venison so it can be tied on your back. You'll find it a relief. Don't say another word, for you've just got to do it. All very good to show how plucky and game you are, old fellow, but if you should get knocked out by too much exertion, why, don't you see, it'll break up the whole shooting match for the rest of us?"
Max put it that way for a purpose. He knew Steve's generous nature, and that the other could be prevailed upon to do a thing for the sake of his chums, when he would not budge so far as any personal benefit was concerned.
"Oh, well, if that's so, perhaps I'd better throw the old thing away," Steve declared.
"No," said Max, "that would be foolish, after you've carried it two miles now. Besides, I feel sure Uncle Jim'd like to see the cat. If he knows his old tricky enemy has really and truly kicked the bucket, he'll rest easier this year. One thief like this can give a trapper heaps of trouble. He learns to look for his dinners in the traps."
"All right, then, Max; but it's awful good of you to change over," declared Steve. "Why, this load ain't a circumstance beside mine. I'm sorry for you, though, and if—"
"Let up on that sort of talk, please, Steve. If I find it too much I'll own up. Then Toby here can take his turn."
"S-s-sure thing," assented the party mentioned, smiling good-naturedly.
But, after all, Max carried the trophy of Steve's shots close to the camp. Then, thinking the other might like to be seen coming in with his own game, he made him change again, though Steve winced as he worked his lame shoulder.
The others had returned, and were all busily engaged with the trophies of the traps.
Trapper Jim, upon finding that Owen and Bandy-legs manifested a certain amount of interest in all he did, took great pleasure in showing them just how the skins must be removed from the animals and fastened securely to the stretching boards, so they would not shrivel up when drying.
He managed to impart considerable interesting information while working, and Owen, determined not to get all these facts twisted, was seen to be scribbling something down every little while.
When they saw what constituted Steve's load, and heard from Max and Toby the true story of how the savage animal was shot while making a leap toward the young Nimrod, admiring looks were cast on Steve.
"Gewhittaker, but ain't he a savage-looking old monster, though!" declared Bandy-legs, examining the dead cat; "a whole lot bigger'n that one we got in the Great Dismal Swamp, fellows, let me tell you right now. Look at the teeth and the needle-pointed claws, would you! I'm glad I didn't have to face this critter."
"And Bandy-legs," Steve could not help saying, "this sweet little cat didn't have its hind leg caught in a trap, either. It was free as air, and if my lucky shot hadn't gone just where it did, I guess I'd be in rags right now."
"Well," said the other, in no wise hurt by what Steve said, I never claimed to be a hunter like you, Steve and you know it. I guess shooting a trapped bear is about my limit. But I know you wouldn't run away from the biggest old pig-stealer that ever came down the pike."
"Thank you, Bandy-legs," said Steve, "and really and truly I don't believe I would, not if I had my trusty gun along."
The afternoon was wearing away, and all of them believed that they had been through quite enough excitement for one day. Besides, they had covered a good many miles since morning and felt rather like resting.
Trapper Jim was getting some of the bear meat in readiness for cooking. He knew it would be anything but tender, but long experience had taught him how to pound it with a little contrivance he had, thus opening the tissues and allowing the juices to escape. In this way a tough beefsteak can be made more palatable if one cares to go to the trouble. Sometimes he parboiled meat and then fried it.
As the sun went down Max stood outside the cabin, looking around at the picture. The air was fresh and invigorating and he drew in a big breath, as, turning to Owen who had just come out to join him, he remarked:
"Talk to me about the good times we've had before; I tell you nothing ever happened to this lucky bunch that was halfway equal to this!"
CHAPTER XIII.
There was no audacious bobcat around to worry them that night. Steve had indeed, as Owen said, "laid the jabberwock low," when he discharged both barrels of his shotgun at once.
They were all under obligations to Steve. Every time that lame shoulder of his gave him a more severe twinge than usual he could, figuratively speaking, of course, shake hands with himself.
It is a great thing to be a public benefactor. There was Bandy-legs, for instance, who, much to his own inconvenience, had shown Trapper Jim and the rest just how easy it would be for some animal to drop down the wide-throated chimney during the absence of the cabin's owner and play havoc within.
The panic excited by the squatter skunk had been another lesson. And in consequence Trapper Jim, aided and abetted by Bandy-legs, who was a pretty clever hand at making things, had arranged a contrivance that worked much after the manner of a grating over the top of the chimney.
This, while allowing the smoke to escape freely, put up the bars against the admission of any would-be intruder, even a squirrel.
It would do temporarily. Trapper Jim said that later on when he borrowed that big buckboard again and transported his lively guests to the town and the distant railroad, he had it in his mind to secure a sheet of that heavy close-woven wire netting, such as was used in stable windows and for many other purposes. It allowed a free circulation of air, and yet prevented the entrance of sneak thieves.
So on this night Bandy-legs could go to sleep in peace on the floor, he having given up the bunk to the next one on the list.
If he woke up in the night and raised his head to find the fire burning low, he need not imagine every grotesque shadow in the dimly lighted cabin to be a fierce animal that had crept in while they slept.
When day came again they laid out their programme as usual. Of course, Uncle Jim, having started his season's work, could not neglect his traps. Every day when the weather allowed he must trudge the rounds and see what Fortune had sent him.
Besides, a humane trapper wishes to end as quickly as possible the torture of any creature that has been caught by the leg in one of his steel contraptions.
"It's a cruel enough business at the best," Jim Ruggles told the boys as he sat and spoke of his past experiences, "and often I've been sorry I ever took it up. But there must be trappers as long as women will demand rich furs in the winter season. My only satisfaction is that I've been kinder toward the little animals of the woods than most brutal trappers would be."
"But, however did you come to take up such a queer profession in the beginning, Uncle Jim?" asked Owen that morning, as they got to talking about the many years the old man had spent in this way.
Owen had discovered, before now that that Jim Ruggles was really a man of education, having been a college graduate.
He smiled at the question, did the old trapper.
"Oh, there were a lot of things combined to send me to the woods," he said, musingly. "First of all was my intense love for all the Big Outdoors. Seemed like I could never get enough of it. The more I saw of the forest, the more I felt drawn to it. I guess I had the woods hunger from boyhood. Max, here, knows what it is."
"I think I do," remarked the one mentioned. "I feel the craving come over me at times and have hard work to resist."
"Well, take my advice, son, and fight it off," remarked Trapper Jim. "Anyhow keep it in subjection. The world needs you. There's plenty of work for such as you in the busy marts of men. Don't allow yourself to ever dream of spending your whole life lost in the wilderness like I've done. What can I look back to but a life that's been wasted, so far as being useful to my fellowmen is concerned? A little run to the woods now and then to renew your vigor and draw in new strength—let that be all."
"But you said there were other reasons why you came here, Uncle Jim," persisted Owen.
At that the old man actually laughed.
"I suppose while I am at it," he said, "I might as well make a clean sweep and confess all. Well, I was a foolish young man at the time, you see, and took it to heart because a certain young lady I thought heaps of wouldn't accept me. But, then, my health was nothing to boast of in those days, and doctors had said it would be a good thing if I could spend a year up here."
"And you did?" continued Owen.
"Been here ever since," replied the trapper.
"And you don't look weakly now, Uncle Jim."
"I should say not," laughed the other, as he stretched his muscular arms above his head. "The open air, free from all disease germs, such as abound in cities; the long tramps; the freedom from worries; and, above all, the plain food and regular hours built me up wonderfully. Perhaps, after all, I did the right thing, because I'd have been dead long ago if I remained among the city dwellers."
"And, how about the heartless girl—did you ever see her again, Uncle Jim?" asked Owen, with a boy's freedom of speech.
Again the trapper laughed and then sighed.
"I never saw her again, son," he replied. "Years later I heard she married but I couldn't tell you whether his name was Smith or Brown. Then came the news that Susie had died, leaving one child. Sometimes I'm seized with a sort of yearning to look that boy up, and perhaps do something for him, just because I cared for his mother. But I never have, because before I get started it begins to look foolish to me."
The old man had a tear in his eye. And both Owen and Max felt drawn to him more than ever.
"Thank you ever so much, Uncle Jim, for telling us all this," Owen said, in a soft tone that caused the trapper to look fondly at him as he went on:
"Well, I've spoken to you boys about things that Have been lying deep down in my old heart buried for many a year. But just forget it. And let's see what Luck has got in store for us to-day. I'm going to get out a couple of my special fox traps."
Something about the way he said this as well as the eager flash that shot athwart his rugged face caused Max to cry out:
"Fox traps! You've got some reason for saying that, Uncle Jim."
"Maybe I have, son," remarked the trapper, smiling more broadly at this evidence of astuteness on the part of the boy.
"Is it the silver fox?" demanded Max.
"Well, I thought I had just a glimpse of the little darling yesterday when out with the boys," observed Trapper Jim.
"But you didn't mention it before now—I didn't hear any of them say a word about it," Max went on.
"That's right. I thought I'd keep it quiet. But what's the use when such sharp eyes keep tabs on every move I make. Besides, you two might like to watch how I set a trap to catch a fox. Because they're about as smart as any animal that walks on four legs."
Soon afterward the boys started out with the trapper. Steve, feeling his lame shoulder, concluded to rest up for a day, while Bandy-legs confessed that he much preferred doing a number of things about the cabin, perhaps catching a few pickerel in the little pond not far away, as Trapper Jim kept a supply of live minnows on hand to be used as bait when fishing with "tip-ups" through the ice later on.
So Max, Owen, and Toby saw how the two traps were set for the black fox, whose pelt is the one known as silver fox, and by long odds the most prized of all furs, sometimes one fine skin fetching thousands of dollars.
They found another mink caught, besides a number of muskrats. And in the last trap was a beautiful silky otter. Trapper Jim seemed highly pleased when he looked at his various prizes for the day.
"Seems like you boys must have brought me good luck," he declared.
"I hope we have," laughed Owen.
"I never hit such a nice mess before so early in the season," continued the trapper, "and it wouldn't surprise me a great deal now if I caught that splendid silver first shot out of the box."
"S-s-say, wouldn't that j-j-just be g-g-great," said Toby.
"Well, the traps are set and it's been pretty nigh a morning's work, because there's so much to do about trapping a smart fox. But, boys, let's hope that to-morrow or some other day it'll all be paid back, and I'll be able to show you what a beautiful skin the black fox sports."
"But you've taken them before, you said, Uncle Jim," Owen observed.
"Sure, two or three times, and pretty good ones at that," replied the trapper, with a chuckle. "But you know, it's always the same old story in this business."
"What's that?" asked Max.
"The skins you've captured in the past never compare with those you see on the backs of live animals. The best is always to come, eh, Max?"
"J-j-just like it is in f-f-fishing," declared Toby. "The big one in the w-w-water b-b-beats the one you've l-l-landed. I used to think the w-w-water just m-m-magnified 'em."
"No, it's the hope we have. Possession dulls the interest. You boys know that the apples next door always taste better than those you have in your own orchard."
The three whom Trapper Jim addressed just looked at each other and laughed. Nobody answered him. There was really no need of words. Jim knew boys from the ground up, and loved them, too. He had once been a boy himself.
On the way back home he told them many interesting things connected with the shrewdness of mink and otter, and how smart the trapper had to be to outwit them.
"That's one of the pleasures of the business," he went on to say; "this continual matching of a man's wits against the instinct and cunning of these same clever little varmints. Why, a single old mink has kept me guessing pretty much all winter and changing my methods a dozen times."
"But I reckon you got him in the end, Uncle Jim," said Max.
"What makes you believe that, son?"
"Oh, because you never give up once you've set your mind on a thing," replied the boy, admiringly.
"Well, I don't knuckle down very often, that's a fact," chuckled the trapper; "though there have been occasions. That girl episode was one, you remember, Max."
"But you got the sly old mink, didn't you?" persisted Owen.
"Yes, I got him when I had just about exhausted every scheme I could think up," answered the trapper; "and let me tell you, boys, that day when I carried him to the cabin I felt as big as the President of the United States."
Another night of comfort followed. Trapper Jim said it began to feel real lonely, now that the bold bobcat no longer came prowling around trying to steal things.
But the boys enjoyed having a good rest undisturbed by any sudden clamor.
This time only Max and Steve accompanied the trapper. Owen found that he had wrenched his ankle, and had better take a day off, and Toby had arranged to try the pickerel with Bandy-legs, who had caught a few on the previous day.
Steve had heard about the traps set for the "silver," and he wanted to be along if there was anything doing.
When they arrived near the first trap it was untouched. But the second they found sprung and empty.
"Oh, he was caught and broke away. It's too bad!" cried Steve, pointing to traces of blood and some shining black hairs on the jaws of the Victor trap.
But Trapper Jim was saying angry words to himself.
"Caught the finest silver I ever set eyes on only to have him snatched by a sneak of a pelt thief!" and he pointed as he spoke to the imprint of a shoe in the soil.
CHAPTER XIV.
"Stolen!" burst out impulsive Steve, his face pale with rage.
Both boys felt keenly for their friend, Trapper Jim. He had looked forward so long to capturing his rare prize; he had taken such great pains to set his traps with that object in view; and now, after success had come, and the black beauty was caught, it must be terribly aggravating to discover that some one had happened on the spot, robbed the trap, and was far away with the precious pelt.
Trapper Jim did not often give way to his feelings. He quickly got a fresh grip on his emotions and could talk calmly again. But there was a gleam in those piercing eyes of his, undimmed by age, that made Owen glad he did not stand in the shoes of the pelt thief.
"When do you think he was here, Uncle Jim?" Max asked, as he examined the plain track of the thief's shoe.
"This morning, and not more than an hour ago," came the answer. "He was heading as straight as could be for our cabin, like he meant to drop in on me; but after this he turned back. The temptation was too much. Few men could let a chance pass by to pick up a silver fox when a common red wouldn't bother 'em the least bit."
"But, say, I hope you don't mean to let him get away with the skin altogether, Uncle Jim," flashed Steve, with an angry look still on his face.
"Well, that wouldn't be like me," returned the trapper, quietly; and Max realized that his was the determined, bulldog nature that never lets go, while with Steve it was a flash-in-the-pan, hasty action, without a careful laying out of plans.
"Then we'll pick up the trail and follow it?" asked the eager boy.
"As soon as we can have Ajax here, son."
"But why wait for the dog?" complained Steve. "It'll take all of an hour to get back here again."
"That and more," replied Trapper Jim.
"And that time will be wasted," Steve went on.
"Listen," remarked the trapper. "Long ago I learned that things like this are done best when you go about them soberly. Once I start on this trail of the pelt thief, and I mean to keep on it if it takes me a hundred miles! What does an hour count for in that case, Steve?"
"Mighty little, I guess," admitted the boy.
"There are other reasons for getting the dog," continued the trapper. "This rascal will expect pursuit. And so every little while he'll do things to cover up his trail. P'r'aps he'll wade along a stream, and come out by way of rocks that would leave no mark. Then, again, he'd run along a log and jump from stone to stone. All these things would delay me. What took ten minutes of his time would consume an hour of mine. It's much easier to set a problem than to solve one."
"Sure thing. I understand now why you want the dog," Steve confessed.
"Ajax has a good scent. His nose is very keen. Here's a rag the thief must have dropped. Once I let the dog smell of this, and he'll follow that trail hour after hour, so long as it don't get too cold."
"Shall I go and get Ajax! I would run all the way," Steve suggested.
"Well, with that lame shoulder of yours, son, you'd have a hard time of it holding a running dog in leash. So we'll have to get Max here to attend to that part of the business. Think you could return without any trouble, my boy?"
"Well," replied the other, with a laugh, "all I'll have to do will be to let Ajax have his head. He'll keep to our trail, all right."
"Just what I expected you to say," remarked the trapper. "And now be off with you. We'll be nosing around here. Leave your gun with me, as you'll need both hands to manage the dog."
"And what message will I carry to the other boys?" asked Max.
"Explain things in a few words, and tell Owen to take charge until we show up again. It may be to-night, and again it might not come about until to-morrow. But they've got a-plenty to eat, and that satisfies boys."
And so Max hastened off. Although not as impetuous by nature as Steve, he knew that every minute gained now would shorten the lead which the audacious pelt thief had upon them. And so Max sprinted more or less whenever he had the chance.
It was not over an hour when he once more made his appearance, with the excited Ajax towing him. And evidently Max had had no easy job of it, trying to hold the eager hound in, for he looked relieved and rubbed his muscles after Trapper Jim took the leash.
The boys were deeply interested in all that followed. They saw the trapper hold the soiled rag upon which the thief had perhaps wiped his hands for the hound to sniff at for a minute or two.
Then Trapper Jim led Ajax to the footprints and made him catch the same particular odor,
When the intelligent hound gave a bay and led the way along the trail of the thief, his nose close to the ground and his tail in perpetual motion, Trapper Jim looked pleased.
"He's got the scent, all right, lads," he observed, "and after this he'll never forget it. There are few hunting dogs that can be taught to follow a human being as well as they do animals; but Ajax is an exception."
"Now we're off!" exclaimed the restless Steve, exultantly.
"Yes, and the rascal will have to hump himself if he hopes to escape us. I haven't given up all hopes of reclaiming that silver fox pelt yet," and the trapper really seemed in a better humor than he had enjoyed since the first discovery of his great loss.
For quite some time they hurried on. Ajax was straining at his leash most of the while, and seemed capable of picking up the scent even when there was not the faintest trace of marks that Max could discover.
"It was a mighty good thing we thought of the dog," Steve admitted, and then, seeing the trapper looking humorously at him, he gave a short laugh, as lie hastily added: "I mean it was a wise head that concluded to send for Ajax, and not start off half-shot, like some foolish fellows would have done."
"Yes," added Max, "in several places I've lost the trail. And three times now the fellow's run along a fallen tree, jumping off where he saw hard ground or stones. That would have given us trouble and delayed us, but Ajax followed the scent without looking for a trail.
"Here's a creek," interrupted the trapper, "and chances are the thief will use it to try and hoodwink us."
They waded through, regardless of the icy cold, for the water was not up to their knees.
"Don't see any tracks on this side, Uncle Jim," sang out Steve.
"No, and I guessed we wouldn't," replied the other.
"But he crossed over, didn't he!" demanded the boy.
"Chances are he did," answered Trapper Jim, "but before stepping out he went either up or down the creek a ways. First of all we'll try up. If that fails us after we've gone some distance, we'll come back here and try the other way."
But it chanced that his first guess was the right one. They had gone along the bank of the creek less than eighty feet when Ajax uttered a sound and gave evidence of renewed excitement.
"The rascal found the water too cold and came out at the first chance," remarked Trapper Jim. "You see, there's a shelf of rock here. No sign left for our eyes, because the warm sun has dried up any wet marks he made. But Ajax has caught the same scent as there was on that rag."
"And we're off again. Hurrah!" cried Steve, delighted to know that the clever tactics of the pelt thief could not prevail against that keen sense of smell possessed by the hound.
After that the fugitive did not seem to think it worth while to make any more efforts to conceal his trail.
"That cold water was too much for him," suggested Steve.
"Or else he expects he's done enough, and that no one, not even Trapper Jim, could follow him," Max had said; "but I rather think he knew a dog would be put on his track. That water business is always the trick used to throw a hound off the scent."
"Quite right, son," remarked the trapper; "but I allow this fellow has got me guessing good and hard, and that's a fact."
"You mean because he's quit trying to hide his trail?" asked Steve.
"Well, partly that, but there's another thing," Trapper Jim went on to say.
"I think I'm on to it," observed Max.
"Well, I saw you look some surprised at the time, son," declared the trapper. "But Steve, here, saw nothing. Did you notice, Steve, which way we headed at the time we first picked up the trail at the sprung trap?"
"Why, yes, it was almost due south, wasn't it?" asked Steve.
"Right, son, and look at the sun now," the trapper remarked.
"Gee, that's queer!" muttered the surprised Steve.
"What is?" asked Max, smiling.
"The sun—why, it's swung around on the right. Say, don't tell me time's passed like that, and it's afternoon now. Why, we haven't felt hungry enough to tackle that bully lunch Max fetched along when he came back with the dog."
Both of the others laughed at this.
"That's one on you, Steve," said Max. "See, my watch says just ten-thirty. The sun didn't swing around at all, but the trail did."
"It's heading north now, is it?" demanded Steve.
"Straight as can be," replied Trapper Jim.
"But the cabin lies that way!" objected the puzzled boy.
"Just what it does," admitted Jim. "When the thief sat down to rest back there he must have been thinking it over. And he made up his mind to do something on the spot, for when he started again he cut out a new course direct."
"Whew, the nerve of him!" exclaimed Steve.
"What makes you say that, Steve?"
"Why, don't you see, he's got the fever bad. Thinks p'r'aps Uncle Jim here might have another silver fox pelt laid away, and while he's about it he reckons he'd better double up."
But Trapper Jim shook his head. He knew no pelt thief would ever display such boldness as Steve suggested. There must be another reason for the sudden change of plans on the part of the fugitive.
"Have we gained on him?" asked Max, presently.
"Considerable," replied the trapper.
"How d'ye know that?" demanded Steve,
"There are plenty of signs to tell me," came the answer. "Anyone used to following a trail would have seen them. And I reckon, now, Max hasn't been blind all this while."
"No," replied the one spoken of. "I saw water still oozing into a deep track when we passed that boggy ground, and right then and there I concluded we must be less than half an hour behind the thief."
"Good!" ejaculated the trapper; "anything else. Max?"
"Why, yes," returned the boy, calmly. "There was a little twig that righted itself even as I looked at it. His foot had bent it down. Now, I shouldn't think it could have stayed that way more'n half an hour at best."
"I saw it, too," added the trapper; "and it pleases me more than I can say to find that you keep your eyes about you, son. It ought to be a lesson to Steve here. Queer, how one person can see so much and another nothing."
"Well," ventured Steve, "I have noticed one thing, anyhow."
"Glad to hear it, son. Tell us what it is, now."
"The dog," remarked Steve.
"Yes, what of Ajax?" questioned Jim.
"He acts different now."
"And from that you conclude what?" queried the trapper.
"Why, we're closing in on our game," Steve went on. "I've hunted enough to know how dogs show that."
"Fine! We'll give you credit for that point, Steve, because it's a fact," laughed the trapper, in a half-hushed way.
"Aw! I ain't quite such a silly as I look," remarked Steve.
"I should think not," said Max, and Steve hardly knew whether to take the observation as a compliment or the reverse.
"And, now, lads, we'd better stop talking," said Trapper Jim. "I reckon we're close enough on our man for him to hear us if we're noisy. And, perhaps, if he learned we'd nigh overtaken him, he might start off on the run."
So for some time they kept on in abject silence. Not a word was spoken, and save for the panting of the eager hound and the labored breathing of the trackers, all was still.
The country had become quite rough, and Max knew they must be passing over the hills he had seen from the cabin, lying to the south. They had had to climb them when on the way from the distant town, and Max even hoped some day to circulate among them with his rifle. But he had hardly expected that when he did, it would be while on the track of a human being.
"He slipped here—you can see the marks his shoes made in the shale," said Trapper Jim, pointing to the ground in front, which sloped downward rapidly.
"Oh, my land!" ejaculated Steve, "look where the marks lead, right to the brink of that precipice or the bank of a deep ravine. Honest, now, I believe the feller must 'a' gone over there."
"Just what he did," added Trapper Jim, solemnly; "and it'd make an ugly fall for a body, too."
They crept to the edge and looked down. The bottom of the ravine was many yards below, and there were cruel rocks, partly hidden by dense vegetation, now brown from the touch of Jack Frost's fingers.
"Listen, that sounded like a groan!" exclaimed the awe-struck Steve.
"I think I can see something among the weeds," remarked Max; and hardly had he spoken than a hand was raised to wave toward them and a voice full of pain called out:
"Help! Oh, help!"
Led by Trapper Jim the boys made their way down the steep rocky bank of the ravine. The first object they saw was the pelt of the silver fox, for the thief had removed it during his various stops so as to lighten his load. Then they came upon the doubled-up figure of a comparatively young man, at sight of whom Trapper Jim frowned and seemed strangely moved.