Not more than fifteen minutes had passed, though it seemed to the boys much longer, when they saw the Indians returning, and when they joined them at the komatik Amishku held out the silver fox pelt to Toby.
"We got the silver fox skin for our friend, and we are glad," said Amishku, in high good humour. "The man who stole it will never steal again."
"You—don't mean—you—killed him?" asked Toby, suddenly sorry that he had permitted the Indians to come, and so horrified at the thought that the Indians might have done such a thing for him that he could scarcely speak.
"No," answered Amishku. "His dogs kill him. The dogs are there. The sledge is there. Not much of the man is there."
"The gray dog!" exclaimed Toby.
They drove their team nearer to the scene of the tragedy. A horrible thing met their view, and they quickly turned from it—blood-stained snow, pieces of torn clothing, and other evidences of the tragedy that had taken place.
The gray dog and his mates were still held in leash by their harness, and Toby decided that they should drive on to Aaron Slade's cabin to tell him what had happened and to ask his assistance. And when they reached Aaron's and he had listened to their story, he said:
"I'll drive my team over and take care of un, lads. 'Tis no job for lads like you."