While he proceeded to skin it the trapper explained the habits of the animal he had just caught. He said it was a skilled hunter, and that it was seemingly without fear, having been known to find and kill bear cubs larger and more powerful than itself. Bill pronounced it a great destroyer of game birds, rabbits, and small creatures in general.
“Looks almost like a cross between a fox and a mink, don’t it?” he inquired, shaking out the freshly skinned pelt.
The boys at once noted a certain resemblance to each of the creatures mentioned.
“Yes, and he’s got both dispositions, too,” he declared. “All the tricks of the fox, and all the fight of the mink. I’ve known one of these fellows to follow a line of traps all season and destroy hundreds of dollars’ worth of pelts, just out of pure cussedness.”
Then he told how the fisher would sometimes follow the trail of the trapper, until it had learned the round of his traps. Then it would make the circuit daily and destroy whatever it happened to find imprisoned in them.
“Well, we have two more chances for that Christmas present you were talking about, George,” said Bill, as they came near the third trap set for the silver fox.
“Yes, and I feel that you’ll get him,” replied George.
Twilight had fallen, and it was growing dark beneath the towering evergreens. Bill had thoughtfully brought a lantern, but as yet had not lighted it. Silently the three comrades trudged along in the gathering gloom. Each hoped with all his heart that somewhere ahead of them waited the prize which was to reward the veteran trapper for his long, hard work on the trap line.
The boys almost held their breath when he finally halted and then made his way, alone, to the last trap but one. Several moments went by while they waited anxiously for a shout that would proclaim the capture of the prize. None came, and their hearts sank.
“Nothing,” said Bill, at last, and he hung the sprung trap in the crotch of a sapling.