Now, as they drew near the spot, the boys noticed that the old trapper unconsciously quickened his stride. He acknowledged that the fur of this fox would bring him in “quite a roll of money,” and the lads were most anxious for his success.
“Wouldn’t it be fine if you got him for a Christmas present?” laughed George, as they hustled along.
Bill smiled, but made no reply. Then he halted and, parting a fringe of bushes, stooped over and sprung an empty trap.
“Number one, and nothing,” he said, a bit disappointedly. “Well, I’ve four more set for that black rascal, and we can’t tell what we’ll find,” he added, hopefully.
“Black rascal? I thought you said it was a silver fox?” said Ed, somewhat puzzled.
“So it is,” responded Bill; “but it’s black just the same. You see, the fur is tipped with silver-gray at the end of each guard hair, though the pelt itself is rich, glossy black. Looks like a black fox that has been caught out in a heavy frost,” he explained.
Soon they came to the second trap, and their hearts beat hard with excitement when they heard some animal tumbling about in the bushes.
Bill ran eagerly forward, club in hand, and the boys saw him deliver the fatal blow. Then, in response to their inquiry, he reached down, and, when he straightened, held up a long, reddish-brown body, somewhat smaller and slimmer than that of a fox.
“What is it?” inquired the lads, though, of course, they knew it was not the hoped-for prize.
“Fisher,” replied Bill, a satisfied smile on his face, “and a nice one.”