The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp Part 18

As he drew nearer he moved more slowly and with characteristic cunning and caution. Every few steps he paused to listen and to look sharply under every tree and bush. He no longer tested the air as when Sparrer had last seen him, for now he was working down wind and must trust to eyes and ears rather than to his nose. But he was no less thorough in the way in which he covered the ground. Back and forth across Sparrer's field of vision he wove, investigating every likely hiding-place, approaching each with infinite care, tense, alert, the picture of eagerness, prepared to spring at the first move of his quarry.

As he approached Sparrer could read in every move and att.i.tude of the black hunter expectancy and confidence. That he knew to a reasonable certainty the approximate location from which that signal thump had sounded was clearly evident. That he also knew that the rabbit might have, and very likely had, moved since thumping was also clear and he was taking no chance of over-running his game. If he kept on as he was coming he would be within shooting distance within a few minutes. Inch by inch Sparrer raised the rifle and then, hardly daring to breathe, tense, as motionless as the trees among which he stood, he waited.

The fox was now within thirty yards, and still coming. It was plain that he was unsuspicious of danger and intent wholly on the hunt. At this point he turned obliquely to the left to investigate an old log. Sparrer was tempted to shoot, but a clump of alders was in the way and he well knew that even a small twig would be almost sure to deflect the bullet.

He would wait. Finding nothing at the log the fox turned and quartered to the right, which brought him into the open between the rabbit and the hunter and but a few yards from the former. The angle at which he was approaching was such as to offer the smallest mark possible and make the shot uncertain for such a novice as Sparrer. By a great effort the latter overcame the almost overwhelming temptation to shoot and waited, hoping that the animal would turn broadside.

Suddenly he whirled like a flash. The boy's first thought was that he had been discovered, but the next move of the fox explained his action.

Crouching so that he appeared to move on his belly he began to creep toward the rabbit, which still sat motionless. The fox had caught the scent of the latter at the instant he turned and he had but to follow his nose straight to his victim. Meanwhile he presented no better mark than before, as he was now moving straight away, and Sparrer held his fire. By this time he was so interested in the tragedy that was being enacted before him that he almost forgot his own immediate purpose.

Inch by inch the black hunter crept forward, hugging the snow. Then Sparrer saw him gather his muscular hindlegs under him. There was a swift leap and at the same instant the rabbit left her form in a long jump. Before she could make another the fox was upon her. There was a shrill scream, a crunching of teeth and it was over. For an instant the fox stood with one foot on the still white form, a black statue of triumph. Then he picked the rabbit up by the middle and the limp form hung transversely in his jaws, the long legs hanging on one side and the drooping head with ridiculously long ears on the other. It was clear that Reynard did not intend to enjoy his feast on the spot.

In executing this last move he had turned broadside. It was now or never for Sparrer. With infinite care he lined his sights just back of the shoulder and pulled the trigger. Simultaneously with the sharp crack of the rifle the fox made a convulsive spring and then crumpled in a black heap on the snow. Shaking so that he could hardly manipulate the lever Sparrer ejected the empty sh.e.l.l and threw another cartridge into place.

Then with the rifle at his shoulder, covering the pathetic black heap as best he could, he slowly advanced. Somewhere he had read or heard that it was an old fox trick to simulate death, and he was taking no chances.

But his precautions were needless. The bullet had severed the spinal column. The silver fox of Smugglers' Hollow had stalked his last rabbit and made his last kill. In the revulsion of feeling from the reaction following the long nervous strain Sparrer hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. As he stretched the black form out on the snow and ran his hands through the wonderful soft black fur and admired the great tail with its tip of snowy white he had for the moment almost a feeling of regret that he had been the means of destroying so beautiful a creature. Then the true significance of his achievement, luck he called it, swept over him and his eyes shone as he pictured his reception at the cabin.

In the midst of his triumphant thoughts a guttural voice broke in: "White boy heap good shot."

Sparrer whirled to find himself staring into a dark coppery countenance with beady eyes, low brow and high cheek bones. It was an Indian.

CHAPTER XV

SPARRER'S TEMPTATION

"White boy heap good shot," repeated the Indian with what was intended to be a friendly grin.

He was standing some twenty paces away, and where he had come from Sparrer hadn't the least idea. If he had sprung out of the snow at his feet the boy would have been no more startled and surprised. He was short, thick-set, and was dressed in a nondescript pair of trousers much the worse for wear, a faded mackinaw spotted with grease and dirt and was, of course, on snow-shoes. The swarthy evil face was crowned with a cap of unplucked muskrat fur. Save for a light axe carried in one hand and a knife in his belt he apparently was unarmed, a fact which Sparrer noted at once with a feeling of relief.

"Black fox no good. Kill rabbits and birds. Good to kill fox. What white boy do with him?" continued his unwelcome visitor.

"Take his skin," replied Sparrer for want of anything better to say.

"Skin no good. Red fox skin good. Black fox no good--bad fur. No can sell. White boy take rabbit and give Indian fox." This astounding proposal was accompanied with what was intended for an ingratiating smile, but which served only to make the face still more ugly.

"He's wised me fer a tenderfoot, an' thinks Oi'm easy," thought Sparrer.

Aloud he said, "What do youse want of it, if it's no good and youse can't sell it?"

Once more the dark face broke into a grin. "No sell. Make cap to wear."

He touched his head to make clearer his meaning. "Indian like black cap," he added guilelessly.

Sparrer laughed aloud at the childish simplicity of the idea. Then he shook his head. "Nothin' doing," he replied. "Oi want the fox meself."

A look of cunning swept across the dark visage. "Indian buy fox. Give two dollar," was the next bland proposal.

Again Sparrer grinned and shook his head. He was beginning to enjoy the situation. This was a method of barter he was accustomed to, the method of the lower East Side. He began to feel at home.

"Five dollar!" The Indian pulled off a mitten and held up the hand with the fingers spread.

Once more Sparrer shook his head. "Youse can't buy it," said he decidedly as if to end the parley. "An' youse can't put nothin' across on me," he added. "It's worth a lot of dough an' Oi'm wise to it. Youse better run along." He s.h.i.+fted his rifle to a handier position by way of a hint.

The Indian, who had gradually advanced, stopped. His face changed completely. There was no longer any attempt to hide the greed in the beady eyes. He was no fool, and he saw the uselessness of trying to dissemble further. He meant to have that skin by fair means or foul, by fair means if possible, for he was keen enough to realize that thus he would avoid possible unpleasant consequences in the future. This youngster knew more than he had supposed he did, but he might not be proof against the temptation of ready money. Pulling off his other mitten he held up both hands, closed his fingers, opened them again, closed them and then opened those of one hand.

"Twenty-five dollar!" he exclaimed.

That was a larger sum than Sparrer had ever possessed at one time in all his life and to have that in hand at once was a temptation. There was no denying the fact. The skin might be worth all that he had heard and then again it might not. He was too wise in the ways of the world to be ignorant of the fact that fabulous tales are built around comparatively modest facts. Undoubtedly the skin was valuable. The fact that the Indian was so eager to get it was proof of this. But as for its being worth any such sum as two thousand, or even one thousand, that seemed absurd. He glanced down at the black form at his feet and his imagination couldn't conceive of any one paying even a hundred dollars for such a little bit of fur. Why, even when stretched it would be but a fraction of the size of the great bearskin back at the cabin and that was worth only fifteen dollars, and for his part he would much rather have the latter. He looked up to find the black beady eyes of the Indian fixed upon him as if they read his very thoughts. The man had been quick to perceive his hesitation and now began to speak again.

"White boy staying at trappers' camp. Fox no belong to white boy. Him belong to trappers. Trappers sell and get money. White boy get nothing.

White boy sell to Indian. No tell trappers. Indian go away and no tell.

White boy have all the money--twenty-five dollar." Once more he held up his hands to indicate the amount.

Sparrer gulped. The plan was simplicity itself. Twenty-five dollars meant a great deal to him, and no one would ever know. A vision of the toil-worn face of his mother when he should place twenty-five dollars in her hands flashed before him. And wasn't the fox his? Hadn't it been free and wild, belonging to n.o.body, and hadn't he waited and watched and with steady hands and a true eye made a clean kill? He knew nothing of the ethics of a trapper's camp. What the Indian had said might be true, and he would get no share in the prize he had won. It wasn't fair. It was an aspect of the matter of which he had not thought. Indeed, in the excitement of the hunt he had had no opportunity to think of anything but getting the shot. What he should do with the fox if he got it had not entered his head. And after the kill the appearance of the Indian had put everything else out of his head.

In swift review there pa.s.sed through his mind all that he had heard about the silver fox of Smugglers' Hollow. He thought of the traps which Alec had set especially for the wily king and how he and Pat had openly planned for his capture. This was their trapping territory by right of preemption. He, Sparrer, was their guest, and but for Pat he would never have had this wonderful outing. It was even a borrowed rifle with which he had made the fatal shot. It was luck, mere luck, the luck of a novice, that had given him the opportunity. But was that any reason why he should not profit by it? If he had not killed it the animal would still be running at large and Pat and Alec might never have gotten it.

It was his, his, _his_ and no one else had any claim on it. Why should he not do as he pleased with it?

Meanwhile the Indian had been watching with an intense fixed stare that noted every change of expression in the boy's face. A less close observer than he would have realized that the boy was tempted. He was cunning enough to know that now was the time to play his trump card and catch the lad before he had fully regained possession of himself and spurned the temptation. With a single swift step forward he exclaimed, "Fifty dollar!"

There was a note of finality in his voice which Sparrer recognized. It was his last bid. He would go no higher. There would be no more bartering. If twenty-five dollars had seemed big the doubling of the amount meant little less than a fortune in the boy's eyes.

"Youse hasn't got fifty dollars," he said weakly. "Youse is bluffin'."

In truth he had every reason for thinking so from the Indian's appearance. One does not expect to find so large a sum on a man presenting so rough an appearance as this fellow, particularly in the woods. Imagine Sparrer's surprise therefore when the Indian felt inside his s.h.i.+rt and brought out a worn buckskin bag which apparently had been suspended by a thong around his neck and from it drew forth a wad of greasy bills. Squatting on his heels he unfolded these and began to count them out before him on the snow. They were in small denominations and as he slowly spread them out, counting aloud as he did so, the effect was most impressive. He meant that it should be. He counted on the influence that the sight of so much currency would have.

It was a cunning move. Had he shown the money in a pile, or had the bills been in large denominations the effect would not have been nearly so impressive. As it was the snow around him was literally carpeted with bills. In spite of himself Sparrer gave vent to a little gasp. The Indian heard. Stuffing the two bills which remained after he had counted out fifty back in the little bag he rose to his feet and with a dramatic sweep of one hand above the green carpet exclaimed:

"All white boy's for fox! White boy count--fifty dollar! White boy buy much things. Have good time." He smiled meaningly. "Indian take fox and leave much money. White boy hide um--so." He thrust a hand into his s.h.i.+rt. "n.o.body know. Indian go way--far." He swept a hand toward the mountains. Then he pointed at the bills at his feet. "Much money. Very much money. White boy count."

Sparrer looked down in a fascinated stare and unconsciously he did count. He had but to say the word and all those bills would be his, his to hide away in his bosom and gloat over in secret until he should reach home. And then? A vision of the things they would buy pa.s.sed before him--things his boyish heart had coveted; things which his mother and brothers and sisters needed; things which would for a time make life brighter and better. And it would not be stealing. The fox was his. He had shot it and he had a right to do what he pleased with it "It would not be stealing," he repeated to himself almost fiercely.

But would it be honorable? Could he go back to his companions and tell them freely and openly what he had done? No. He must keep his deed a secret, locked in his heart, to be boasted of only among his companions of the street gang. Once he would have had no qualms whatever. His conscience would not have been troubled in the least. But that was when he was Sparrer Muldoon, street gamin and champion sc.r.a.pper of the gang; with no higher ethics than the right of might. Now he was Edward Muldoon Boy Scout, sworn "to keep physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight;" to obey the Scout law of which the first commandment is to be trustworthy and the second to be loyal.

Would he be either mentally awake or morally strong if he yielded to this temptation? Could he regard himself in the future us trustworthy or as loyal to his friends? Two selves were battling in one boy.

"It ain't nothin' wrong," insisted Sparrer Muldoon.

"A Scout's honor is to be trusted," whispered Edward Muldoon.

"You bet it is!" Unconsciously the boy spoke aloud. The battle was won.

His face cleared. In that moment he understood many things. He knew now exactly what he would do. He would take the fox to the cabin and turn it over to Pat and Alec. He knew that that was what he had intended to do all along before the Indian had appeared. He knew, too, who this low-browed, ugly-faced redskin was. He was one of the thieves who had been stealing fur and who had butchered the deer the day before. It came over him all in a flash that it was he who had set those traps at the beaver houses, that he himself had been seen there and followed.

Doubtless the Indian had been in hiding close by all the time and the killing of the fox had brought him forth because he could not let so rich a prize slip through his fingers. Yes, everything was clear to Sparrer now. In his first surprise, his own problem following hard on the heels of it, he had no chance to think or even to wonder how the man had happened to appear there at that moment. Now he understood and his face flushed with anger.

The money was no longer a temptation. He scowled down at it and he wondered if it had been come by honestly. He could not know that the man was an outlaw and had been forced to leave a lumber camp between suns with no chance to spend his acc.u.mulated wages. So he regarded the money with growing suspicion and his anger grew at the thought of how near he had come to selling his honor, perhaps for tainted money at that.

"Here, youse, take yer money an' git!" he growled. He motioned with the barrel of his rifle by way of emphasis. "An' youse better take up dem traps," he added significantly.