Chapter XVII: The-Lake-Of-The-Fox-That-Yells

Leaving 'Merican Joe to look after the line of marten and mink traps, Connie Morgan struck out from the little cabin and headed for the Indian village. Straight to the cabin of Pierre Bonnet Rouge he went and was welcomed by the Indian with the respect that only the real sourdough ever commands in the Indians of the North. For Pierre knew of his own knowledge of the boy's outwitting the _hooch_-runners, and he had listened in the evenings upon the trail to Fort Norman, while big Dan McKeever recounted to McTavish, as he never tired of doing, the adventures of Connie in the Mounted.

After supper, which the two ate in silence, while the squaw of Bonnet Rouge served them, they drew up their chairs to the stove. The boy asked questions as to the success of the trading, the news of the river country, and prospects for a good spring catch. Then the talk drifted to fox trapping, and Connie told the Indian that he and 'Merican Joe had set some traps on the lake a day's journey to the south-eastward. Pierre Bonnet listened attentively, but by not so much as the flicker of an eyelash did he betray the fact that he had ever heard of the lake. Finally, the boy asked him, point-blank, if he had ever been there. Connie knew something of Indians, and, had been quick to note that Pierre held him in regard. Had this not been so, he would never have risked the direct question, for it is only by devious and round-about methods that one obtains desired information from his red brother.

Pierre puffed his pipe in silence for an interminable time, then he nodded slowly: "Yes," he answered, "I be'n dere."

"What is the name of that lake?"

"Long tam ago _nem_ 'Hill Lak'. Now, Injun call um 'Lak'-of-de-Fox-Dat-Yell'."

"You have seen him, too--the fox that yells?" asked the boy, eagerly.

"Yes. I kill um two tam--an' he com' back."

"Came back!" cried the boy. "What do you mean?"

"He com' back--an' yell w'en de sun com' up. An' w'en de sun go down he yell on de side of de hill."

"But surely he couldn't yell after you'd killed him. You must have killed the wrong fox."

"No. Wan tam I trap um, an' wan tam I shoot um--an' he com' back an' yell."

"Where did you trap him? At the hole that goes under the rocks?"

"No. Wan tam I trap um on de shore of de lak'. An' wan tam I watch um com' out de hole an' shoot um."

"But the one you trapped--how do you know that it was the same one? There's lots of foxes over there."

"Yes, I trap odder wans, too. Kin tell de fox dat yell. He wear de collar."

"Wears a collar!" cried the boy. "What do you mean? Are you crazy?"

"No. He _tamahnawus_ fox. He wear de collar."

"What kind of a collar?"

"Ermine skin collar--always he got it on."

"Look here," exclaimed Connie, shortly. "Are you lying to me? Do you expect me to sit here and believe any such rot as that? Did you save the collars? I want to look at 'em."

"De collar, an de skin, dey on de _cache_ at de end of dat lak'."

"What do you leave the black fox skins out there for, they're worth a lot?"

The Indian shrugged. "I ain' want for mak' de _tamahnawus_ mad. I put de skin an' de collar under de blankets on de _cache_."

"Are they there now?"

The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know dat. Mebbe-so _tamahnawus_ fox com' an' git he's skin an' he's leetle w'ite collar an' wear um agin."

"But you've been to the _cache_ lately. There was grub on it that hadn't been there more than a month at the most."

"Yes. I got bad luck w'en I kill dem fox, so I build de _cache_ an' mak' de _tamahnawus_ de present. All de tam I tak' mor' grub, an' now I ain' got de bad luck."

For a long time Connie was silent as he went over in his mind step by step the happenings at the lake where 'Merican Joe had set the fox traps. Then he thought over what Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, but instead of clearing things up, the Indian's words had only served to deepen the mystery of the fox that yelled like a man. Suddenly the boy remembered the action of Pierre when McTavish had asked him if he knew anything about James Dean, the missing prospector. He glanced at the Indian who was puffing his pipe in silence, and decided to risk another direct question although he knew that in all probability Pierre Bonnet Rouge would relapse into a stubborn muteness; for in matters touching upon his superstitions, the Indian is a man of profound silence. "I won't be any worse off than I am, now," thought the boy, "if he don't say another word--so here goes." He addressed the Indian gravely.

"Pierre," he began, watching the man narrowly to note the effect of his words, "you know I am a friend of yours, and a friend of the Indians. I gave them meat, and I saved them from being robbed by the _hooch_-runners." The Indian nodded, and Connie felt encouraged to proceed. "Now, I believe there is something else beside a _tamahnawus_ down there at Hill Lake. And I'm going back there and find out what it is."

Pierre Bonnet Rouge shook his head emphatically. "No. I ain' goin' 'long. I w'at you call, learn lesson for fool wit' _tamahnawus_."

"That's all right. I won't ask you to go. I am not afraid of the _tamahnawus_. If 'Merican Joe won't go with me, I'll go alone. I want you to tell me, though, what became of James Dean? Is he mixed up in this?"

The Indian smoked without answering for so long a time that the boy feared that he would never speak, but after a while he removed the pipe from his mouth and regarded the boy sombrely. "You _skookum tillicum_," he began, gravely. "I ain' lak I see you mak' de _tamahnawus_ mad. De _tamahnawus_, she mor' _skookum_ as you. She git you. I tell you all I know 'bout dat _tamahnawus_. Den, if you goin' back to de lak--" he paused and shrugged meaningly, and turning to the squaw, who had finished washing the supper dishes, he motioned with his hand, and the woman threw a brilliant red shawl over her head and passed out the door.

Pierre Bonnet Rouge refilled his pipe, and hunching his chair closer to Connie, leaned toward him and spoke in a low tone. "She start long tam ago--six, seven year. We camp on de Blackwater. Wan tam in de winter, me, an' Ton-Kan, an' John Pickles, we go on de beeg caribou hunt. We swing up by de beeg lak' an' by-m-by we com' on de cabin. She w'ite man cabin, an' no wan hom', but de fresh track lead sout'. Ton-Kan, he t'ink de man got de _hooch_ to trade an' he want som' _hooch_, an' John Pickles too--so we fol' de track. By-m-by we com' to Hill Lak', an' de man she got de leetle camp by de hill. He ain' got no _hooch_. We got som' fox trap 'long, so we mak' de camp. Plent' fox track roun' de lak', an' we say tomor' we set de trap. Dat night com' de man to de camp. Say, 'nem James Dean.' Say, 'w'at you Injun goin' do?' I say, 'we goin' trap de fox. He ain' lak dat. By-m-by he say, 'you got look out. De _tamahnawus_ fox here. She talk lak de man.' I ain' b'lieve dat. I t'ink he say dat 'cos he wan' to trap de fox. But Ton-Kan an' John Pickles git scare. I say, 'de _tamahnawus_ ain' git you, he mebbe-so ain' git me, neider.' He say, 'me--I got de strong medicine. De _tamahnawus_ she know me. She do lak I say.' I ain' b'lieve dat, an' he say, 'You wait, I show you. I go back to my camp an' mak de medicine an' I tell de _tamahnawus_ to burn de snow out on de lak'.' He go back to he's camp an' Ton-Kan an' John Pickles is ver' mooch scare. De night she ver' black. Wan tam I t'ink I hear som' wan walk out on de lak', but I ain' sure an' Ton-Kan say dat _tamahnawus_. Den he point out on de lak' an' I kin see leetle fire lak' de eye of de fox in de dark. Den she mak de leetle spark, an' she move 'long ver slow. I laugh an' I say, 'Dat James Dean out dere, she mak de fire to scare Injun.' Den rat behine me som' wan laugh, an' stands James Dean, an' he say, 'No, James Dean is here. Dat de _tamahnawus_ out on de lak'. He burn de snow, lak I tell um.' I say, 'Mebbe-so, de piece of rope burn lak dat.' An' he say, 'No, dat ain' no rope. Dat _tamahnawus_ burn de snow. You t'ink you smart Injun--but I show you. If dat is rope she goin' out pret' queek, ain' it? She can't mak' de big fire?' I say, 'No, rope can't mak' no big fire.' 'A'right,' he say, 'I tell de _tamahnawus_ to mak' de beeg fire dat mak' de lak' all light.' Den he yell at de _tamahnawus_. He say, 'Mak' de beeg fire! Mak' de beeg fire!' But she ain' mak' no beeg fire, an' de leetle fire crawl slow out on de snow, an' I laugh on heem. He say, 'De _tamahnawus_ ain' hear dat. I got yell louder.' So he yell louder, 'Mak' de beeg fire! Mak' de beeg fire!' An den." Pierre Bonnet Rouge paused and shuddered. "An' den de beeg fire com'! So queek--so beeg you kin see de trees. An' den she all dark, so black you can't see nuttin'. An' James Dean laugh. An' Ton-Kan, she so scare she howl lak' de dog. An' John Pickles, she try to dig de hole in de snow an' crawl in. An' me--I'm so scare I can't talk.

"Nex' mornin' w'en she git light nuff to see we go 'way from dat lak' jes' so fas lak we kin, an' we ain' stop till we git to de Blackwater." Pierre Bonnet Rouge lapsed into silence, and at length Connie asked:

"But the _cache_? And the foxes that wore the collars?"

"Nex' year I hunt caribou agin, but I ain' go by Hill lak', you bet. Young Injun 'long _nem_ Clawhammer, an' we swing roun' by de beeg lak' an' com' by de cabin. Lots of tracks, but I ain' see James Dean tracks. By-m-by, we com' on de camp of 'bout ten Innuit. Dey mak' de track by de cabin, an' dey got all de stuff out. I ain' see James Dean. _S'pose_ James Dean dead. He los' de medicine, an' de _tamahnawus_ git um.

"So I keep way from Hill Lak'. T'ree, four year go by, an' de fox trappin' is bad. I ain' so mooch fraid of _tamahnawus_ no mor' an' I t'ink 'bout dem plent' fox tracks on Hill Lak' so me an' Clawhammer we go dere. We set 'bout twent' traps de firs' day. Never see so many fox track. We set um by de hill. We git t'rough early an' set up de tent on de shore of de lak'. She almos' sundown an' I look up de hill an' rat beside wan leetle rock-ledge, I see wan fine black fox. I grab de gun, an' tak' de res' on de sled, an' den I hear de yell! It soun' lak' wan man w'at is los'! But it com' from de fox! I shoot queek, an' de fox com' roll down de hill! Clawhammer he run an' git um, an' den we see it--de collar of ermine skin! Den I know dat de _tamahnawus_ fox James Dean say talk lak' de man, an' I ver' mooch scare. I ain' tell Clawhammer 'bout James Dean, an' he t'ink som' wan git los' mak' de yell. He ain' see it com' from de fox. I look on dat leetle fox, an' I see he ver' dead. But no blood. De fur jes' scratch' cross de back of de head--but, she ver' dead--I look good.

"Clawhammer he wan' to skin dat fox, but I don' know w'at to do. If de Injun kill de fox, he mus' got to skin um. Dat bad to waste de fox. _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ don' want de Injun to waste de peoples. I got to t'ink 'bout dat an' so I lay de fox behine de tent an' mak' de supper. After supper I t'ink long tam. _Tamahnawus_, she bad spirit. _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_, she good spirit. If I skin de fox, _tamahnawus_ git mad on me. If I ain' skin de fox, _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ git mad on me. I ain' know w'at to do. I t'ink som' mor'. By-m-by I t'ink dat bes to skin de fox. I ain' know where _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ liv'. If I mak' um mad I ain' kin giv' um no present. Better I mak' _tamahnawus_ mad cos he liv' rat here, an' if I mak' um mad I kin give um de present an' mebbe-so he ain' stay mad on me. So, I go behine de tent to git de fox. But, de fox, she gon'! An' de track show she gon' back up de hill, an' I ver' mooch scare--cos she was dead!

"In de morning Clawhammer say he look at de traps to de wes', an' swing on roun' de hill to fin' de track of de man w'at git los' an' yell. I ain' say nuttin', an' he start ver' early. I go look at de traps down de lak', an' w'en de sun com' up, I hear de yell agin! An' I ver' mooch scare, cos I'm fraid de _tamahnawus_ mad on me for kill de fox w'at yell lak de man. So I go back, an' I skin two fox w'at I ketch in de trap. Clawhammer ain' back, so I go an' build de _cache_. An' I put my blankets an' rifle on it, an' plenty grub, for de present to _tamahnawus_. Clawhammer com' 'long an' he say he ain' fin' no track. He begin to git scare 'bout dat yell, w'en he don' fin' de track. So he show me wan fox what he took from de trap. It is de black fox wit' de ermine collar! Clawhammer ver' mooch scare now. He wan' to run away. But I tell um we got to skin dat fox. If we don' skin um, we goin' to mak' _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ ver' mad. _Tamahnawus_ he ver' mad anyhow; so we mak' him de present, an' we skin de fox, an' put de skin an' de collar on de _cache_ too. Den mebbe-so _tamahnawus_ ain' so mad w'en he git de guns an' de blankets, an' de fox skin back. So we go 'way from dat lak' ver' fas'.

"Dat day I bre'k my leg. An' nex' day Clawhammer's tepee burn up. So we git bad luck. Den de bad luck go 'way, cos _tamahnawus_ fin' dat _cache_, an' he ain' so mad. But every tam de leetle moon com' I tak' som' mor' grub to de _cache_. An' so, I keep de luck good."

"And do you think it's still there on the _cache_--the fox skin and the collar?"

The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know 'bout dat. Mebbe-so de _tamahnawus_ fox com' an' git he's skin. 'Bout wan year ago Bear Lake Injun, _nem_ Peter Burntwood, trap wan fox way up on de beeg lak'. She black fox, an' she got de collar of ermine skin. Me--I'm over to Fort Norman w'en he bring in de skin an' de collar, an' trade de skin to McTavish."

"What did McTavish make of it?" asked Connie eagerly.

"He ain' b'lieve dat. He t'ink Peter Burntwood mak' dat collar to fool um. He say Peter Burntwood lak too mooch to tell de beeg lie."

"But didn't you tell McTavish about the fox you shot, and the one you trapped with the collar on?"

"No. I ain' say nuttin'. Dat hurt too mooch to bre'k de leg. I ain' want dat _tamahnawus_ mad on me no mor'."

Connie was silent for a long time as he racked his brain for some reasonable explanation of the Indian's strange story, pieced out by what he, himself, had actually seen and heard at the lake. But no explanation presented itself and finally he shook his head.

"W'at you t'ink 'bout dat?" asked Pierre Bonnet Rouge, who had been watching the boy narrowly.

"I don't know. There's something back of it all--but I can't seem to figure what it is. I'm going back to that lake, though, and I'm going to stay there till I do know."

The Indian shook his head forebodingly. "Dat better you keep way from dat lak'. She no good. James Dean he fool wit de _tamahnawus_. An' he hav' de strong medicine to mak' de _tamahnawus_ do lak' he tell um. But de _tamahnawus_ git James Dean. An' he git you--too."

Connie waited for two days after 'Merican Joe returned from the trap line before he even mentioned returning to The-Lake-of-the-Fox-That-Yells, as the Indians had renamed Hill Lake. Then, one evening he began to make up a pack for the trail.

"Were you goin'?" asked 'Merican Joe, eying the preparations with disapproval.

"It's about time we went down and looked at those fox traps, isn't it?" he asked casually. "And we ought to get some more out."

The Indian shook his head. "Me--I'm lak' dat better we let de _tamahnawus_ hav' dem fox trap. We go on som' nudder lak' an' set mor'."

"Look here!" ripped out the boy, angrily, "if you're afraid to go you can stay here and snare rabbits like a squaw! I ain't afraid of your _tamahnawus_, and I'll go alone! And I'll stay till I find out what all this business is about--and then I'll come back and laugh at you, and at Pierre Bonnet Rouge, too. You're a couple of old women!" 'Merican Joe made no answer, and after puttering a bit he went to bed.

When Connie awakened, before daylight the following morning, the fire was burning brightly in the stove, and 'Merican Joe, dressed for the trail, was setting the breakfast table. Connie drew on his clothing and noticing that the pack he had thrown together the night before was missing, stepped to the door. A pack of double the size was lashed to the sled, and the boy turned to 'Merican Joe with a grin: "Decide to take a chance?" he asked.

The Indian set a plate of beans on the table and looked into the boy's eyes. "Me--I'm t'ink you too mooch _skookum_. Wan tam on Spur Mountain, I say you good man, an' I say 'Merican Joe, she good man, too. But she ain' so good man lak you. She scare for _tamahnawus_ mor' as anyt'ing on de worl'. Rat now I'm so scare--me--dat de knees shivver, an' de hair com's from de head an' crawl up an' down de back an' de feet is col' lak de piece of ice, an' de belly is sick lak I ain' got nuttin' to eat in my life. But, I'm goin' 'long, an' I stan' rat beside you all de tam, an' w'en de _tamahnawus_ git Connie Mo'gan, by Goss! she got to git 'Merican Joe, too!"

The boy stepped to the Indian's side and snatched his hand into both his own. "'Merican Joe," he cried, in a voice that was not quite steady, "you're a brick! You're the best doggone Injun that ever lived!"

"Me--I'm de scarest Injun ever liv'. I bet I lak she was nex' week, an' I was t'ousan' miles 'way from here."

"You're braver than I am," laughed the boy; "it's nothing for me to go, because I'm not scared, but you're scared stiff--and you're going anyway."

"Humph," grinned the Indian, "I ain' know w'at you mean--you say, if you scare, you brave--an' if you ain' scare, you ain' so brave. By Goss! I lak dat better if I ain' so mooch brave, den--an' ain' so mooch scare neider."

Travelling heavy, darkness overtook them some six or eight miles from their destination, and they camped. The sun was an hour high next morning when they pushed out on to the snow-covered ice and headed for the high hill at the end of the lake. 'Merican Joe agreed to look at the traps on the way up while Connie held the dogs to a course parallel to the shore. As the Indian was about to strike out he pointed excitedly toward the point where he had made the first set. Connie looked, and there, jumping about on the snow, with his foot in the trap was a beautiful black fox! It is a sight that thrills your trapper to the marrow, for here is the most valuable skin that it is possible for him to take, and forgetting for the moment his fear of the lake, 'Merican Joe struck off across the snow. A few moments later he halted, stared at the fox, and turning walked slowly back to the sled.

"Mebbe-so dat fox is de fox dat yell lak' de man. She black fox, too. Me--I'm 'fraid to tak' dat fox out de trap. I'm 'fraid she talk to me! An' by Goss! She say jus' wan word to me, I git so scare I die!"

Connie laughed. "Here, you take the dogs and I'll look at the traps. I remember where they all are, and I'll take out the foxes. But you will have to reset the traps, later."

As Connie approached, the fox jerked and tugged at the chain in an effort to free himself from the trap, but he was fairly caught and the jaws held. Connie drew his belt ax, for 'Merican Joe had explained that the fox is too large and lively an animal to be held with the bow of the snowshoe like the marten, while the trapper feels for his heart. He must be stunned by a sharp blow on the nose with the helve of the ax, after which it is an easy matter to pull his heart. As he was about to strike, the boy straightened up and stared at a small white band that encircled the neck of the fox. It was a collar of ermine skin! And as he continued to stare, little prickly chills shot up and down his spine. For a moment he stood irresolute, and then, pulling 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 be back long before sundown," assured Connie. "That yell is just what I _do want_ to hear."

At the _cache_ he raised the rotting blanket and peered beneath it and there, as Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, was a black fox skin, and its ermine collar. The boy examined the collar. It was an exact counterpart of the three he had in his pocket. He replaced the blanket and walked slowly back to camp, pondering deeply the mystery of the collars, but the more he thought, the more mysterious it seemed.