“No, they won’t,” replied Jim. “The bodies must be frozen stiff by now. Don’t you remember Unavik told us ravens wait for some animal to tear the hide and meat and scatter bits of it about before they can eat?”
“That’s so,” agreed Tom. “Hello, look there!”
Close to the deer a shadow seemed to slip across the snow. The boys glanced up, expecting to see some big hawk or a snowy owl sailing above the valley. But the sky was unbroken by any bird. Curiously Tom and Jim stared through the narrow slits of their snow spectacles at the slowly moving, indistinct shadow. Closer and closer the thing drew to the dead deer. It seemed to have no definite outline, to be merely a faint, bluish, shapeless haze against the snow—a ghostlike thing so unreal that the boys began to think the dazzling snow had affected their eyes. Then, with a sudden motion, the shadow sprang across the snow and a little ball of white appeared upon the dark surface of the deer’s body as if by magic.
“It’s a fox!” whispered Jim. “A white fox. I’m going to shoot him.”
“Aim for his head,” cautioned Tom in a whisper, “or you’ll spoil the skin.”
Resting his rifle on the frozen ridge before him, Jim glanced through the sights. But the fox’s head was turned and he hesitated, waiting until he had a fair shot, for he knew that his soft-nosed bullet, striking the beautiful snowy body, would tear it to bits and ruin the pelt. Second after second passed and still the fox kept his head turned away from the boys as he gnawed ravenously at the edges of the bullet wound in the deer’s side, while the two ravens croaked at him in protest and cautiously hopped nearer and nearer, in the hopes of stealing a stray morsel from under the fluffy white creature’s nose.
Tom chuckled softly. “There’s the raven asking brother fox where Amook keeps his magic,” he whispered. “I can almost imagine I can understand the black rascal’s words.”
But Jim did not reply. The fox had suddenly stiffened. His head was raised. His ears were pricked forward as if listening. The ravens flapped back to their perch on the antlers. Jim’s finger pressed against the trigger. If the fox raised his head an inch higher, he would send the bullet true between the ears. And then, just as the sights were lined fair upon the round white head, the fox leaped away. There was a sound of crunching snow from the hillside and Jim, glancing around, uttered a suppressed, startled exclamation. Within fifty feet of where the boys crouched, a huge white bear was moving towards the dead deer!
“Gosh!” whispered Tom. “What luck!”
“Let’s both shoot together,” whispered Jim, his voice trembling with excitement. “We can’t miss. Aim back of the fore shoulder and when I count three, fire.”