Northern Diamonds Part 20

"One of us might watch here with the rifle for the old ones. I could hit a fox from here, but the bullet would tear the skin awfully."

"Yes, and it's too late in the spring now for the fur to be any good, I'm afraid," said Fred.

"Not first-cla.s.s, that's a fact," Mac admitted sadly. "But what can we do? We can't wait here all summer for the cubs to grow up."

"Let's go down and take a look at the den," Fred proposed.

"Better not. If the old foxes get suspicious they'll move the den and we'll never find it again. I think we'd best go quietly away. This is too big a thing for us to take chances on."

They took careful note of the spot before they left, and in order to make a.s.surance doubly sure, Mac blazed a tree every ten paces or so until they struck the river again.

They had followed the river downward for about two miles when they saw the smoke rising from their camping-ground. Hurrying up, they found that Horace had come in already. He had brought out the supplies and was frying bacon.

"What luck?" cried Fred, forgetting the foxes for a moment in his anxiety to hear the result of Horace's trip.

"None," said Horace curtly. He looked tired, dirty, and discouraged.

"I went clear to the Whitefish--nothing doing. But what are you fellows grinning about? What did you find at the head of the river?

You haven't--it isn't possible that you've hit it!"

"No, not diamonds," said Mac. "But we 've found something valuable."

And he told of their discovery of the black foxes. "But the problem is how to get them," he finished. "The only way I can see is to shoot them at long range."

"Shoot them! Are you crazy?" exclaimed Horace, who was even more stirred by the news than they had expected. "Never! Catch 'em alive!

They're worth their weight in gold."

"Alive! I never thought of that!" exclaimed Fred.

"Why, their fur is no good now. Besides, suppose you did get a wretched thousand dollars or so for the pelts--what's that? Why, down in Prince Edward Island a pair of live black foxes for breeding was sold for $45,000."

"Gracious!" gasped Fred.

"Down there every one is wild about breeding fur. A big syndicate has a ranch that's guarded with watchmen and burglar alarms like a bank.

Their great trouble is to get the breeding stock, and they'll pay almost any price for live, uninjured black foxes. If we could manage to catch this pair of old ones and the four cubs without hurting them, they ought to bring--I'd be afraid to guess how much! Maybe a hundred thousand dollars! Kill them? Why, you'd kill a goose that laid golden eggs!"

"That's right! I've heard of those fox ranches, of course," said Mac, "but I didn't think of them at the moment. A hundred thousand dollars!

But how on earth can we catch them? We might dig the cubs out of their den, but we couldn't get the old ones that way. If we only had a few traps!"

"Why, there's that trap I found in the woods!" exclaimed Fred suddenly.

They had all forgotten it; they had dropped the trap into the dunnage, and had not seen or thought of it since. Now, however, they eagerly rummaged it out, and examined it critically.

It was badly rusted, but not broken. Mac knocked off the dirt and rust scales, rubbed it thoroughly with grease, and set it. When he touched the pan with a stick the jaws snapped. The springs were a little stiff, but after they had been worked several times and well greased, the trap seemed to be almost as good as new.

"We should have three or four of them," said Peter. "Having only one trap gives us a slim chance. But suppose we do get them, what then?"

"Why, we'll have to have some sort of cage ready in which to carry them; then we'll make all the speed we can back to Toronto," replied Horace.

"And give up the diamond hunt?" cried Mac, in disappointment.

"What else can we do, anyhow?" replied Horace. "The flour is almost gone and we're almost barefoot. And see here, boys," he went on, earnestly, "I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid my calculations were wrong on these diamond-beds. I thought it all out while I was coming home from Whitefish River. Somewhere up here in the North there must be a place where those diamonds came from--but I'm beginning to believe it isn't in this part of the country. You see, the geological formation is all different from the kind where diamond matrix is ever found. Those stones I picked up may have been traveling for a thousand years down one creek and another. They may have come down in the glacial drift. I was altogether too hasty, I see now, in a.s.suming that they originated in one of the rivers where I found them.

"They may have come from a river a hundred miles away. Or perhaps from deep underground. We should have made a study of the geological structure of this whole North Country, the direction of the glacial drift, and everything. Then we should have come in here prepared to travel a thousand miles and stay all summer, or for two summers, if necessary."

"Hanged if I'll give it up," said Mac stubbornly. "However," he added, "we must certainly try to catch these black diamonds, and we can keep on prospecting at the same time."

They uncached their outfit, pitched the tent again, and prepared supper; meanwhile they talked of the foxes until they reached a high pitch of enthusiasm. Even Mac admitted that the black foxes bade fair to be as profitable as a small diamond-bed would be. As for Fred, it was almost with relief that he let the diamond hunt take second place in his mind. The continual strain of labor and failure had robbed the search for the blue clay of much of its fascination.

Early the next morning they paddled up the river to the point where Mac's blazed trail came down to the sh.o.r.e, and set out to reconnoiter the den. After half an hour's tramping across the woods they reached the rocky ridge; through the field-gla.s.s they scrutinized the lair, which was about two hundred yards away.

Not a hair of a fox was in sight, but the burrow looked as if it could be opened with spade and pick. Horace thought they ought to do that first of all; in that way they could capture the cubs before there was any possible danger of the old foxes' moving the den.

On their way back to camp, Mac stopped at a marshy pool and cut a great armful of willow withes.

"It's lucky that I once used to watch an old willow worker making baskets and chairs," he said. "I'll see if I've forgotten the trick of it. We've got to make a cage, for we'll need one the instant we capture one of those cubs."

He made a strong framework of birch, with bars as thick as his wrist, which he notched together, and lashed with deer-hide. Then he had the framework of a box about three feet long, two feet wide, and two feet deep, through which he now began to weave the tough, pliable withes.

He did not altogether remember the trick of it, and he had to stop frequently to plan it out. He worked all that afternoon, and continued his labor by firelight. He did not finish the cage until the middle of the next forenoon. It was rough-looking, but light, and nearly as strong as an iron trunk, and had a door in the top.

All that remained for them to do now was to catch the game. They ate a hasty luncheon, and carrying the cage, the trap, the axe, the spade and pick, two blankets, and the guns, started back along Mac's blazed trail. So great was their eager hurry that they stumbled over roots and stones.

Clambering down the ravine, they cautiously approached the foxes' den.

The opening to the burrow was a triangular hole between two flat rocks.

From it came a faint odor of putrid flesh. The ground in front was strewn with muskrat tails, small bones, and the beaks and feet of partridges and ducks. From the rocks Fred picked off two or three black hairs.

The boys looked into the dark hole and listened intently. They could not hear a sound, but they knew that the cubs, at any rate, must be within. Mac cut a sapling, trimmed it down and sharpened one end of it; with that as a lever the boys loosened the rocks at the entrance of the burrow, and rolled them aside. The burrow ran backward and downward into the ground, but there seemed to be nothing in their way now except earth, gravel, and roots. Horace picked up the spade and began to dig; occasionally he had to stop to cut a tree root or pick out a rock. Meanwhile, Peter and Fred stood close behind him, ready to stuff the blankets into the hole in case the occupants should try to bolt.

They uncovered the burrow for about four feet; then they had to dislodge another rather large stone. There seemed to be a large, dark cavity down behind it. When they stopped to listen, they could hear a slight sound of movement in the darkness, and a faint squeaking.

"They're there," said Horace; "not a yard away. Now who's going to reach in and pull 'em out?"

Macgregor volunteered at once; he crept up to the hole and cautiously thrust in his arm. There was a sound of scrambling inside and a sharp squeal. Mac, with a strained expression on his face, groped about with his hand inside the hole.

When he withdrew his arm, there was blood on his hand, but he held by the neck a little jet-black animal with a bushy tail, as large as a kitten.

"Open the cage--quick!" he cried.

Fred held the door up, and Mac dropped the cub in. For a moment the animal rushed from side to side, and then crouched trembling in a corner.

"Nipped me on the thumb," said Mac, examining his hand. "They've got teeth like needles. But the old one doesn't seem to be there now, and I can easily get the rest."

He fished the second out without being bitten, and caged it safely.

But his hold on the third cub could not have been very secure, for the little creature managed by struggling frantically to squirm out of his hand. It turned over in the air, landed on its four feet, and darted swiftly away.

The boys shouted in dismay. Fred flung himself sprawling upon the cub; but it evaded him like lightning, and bolted into the undergrowth. It would have been useless to pursue it.

The boys were greatly chagrined.

"It was my fault," said Peter, in disgust. "But it can't be helped now, and there's another to come out."