He had trouble in getting hold of the last of the cubs. Twice he winced with pain as the animal bit him, but at last he hauled it into view. It was a little larger than the others; it scratched and bit like a fury, and nearly broke away before they got it into the cage.
The boys gathered round and gloated over their prizes. With their glossy jet coats, bushy tails, prick-eared faces, and comical air of intense intelligence, the cubs were beautiful little creatures; but they were all in a desperate panic, and huddled together in the farthest corner of the cage.
"If we can only get them home in good condition they should be worth fifteen thousand," said Horace. "But I'm much afraid they won't live unless we can get the mother to travel with them. But now that we have the cubs it should be rather easy to catch her, and maybe the father, too."
They set the cage back into the hollow made by the ruined burrow, and laid spruce branches over it so that it was well hidden. Then they wrapped the jaws of the trap with strips of cloth so that they would not cut the fox's skin, and set it directly in front of the cage. Finally they scattered dead leaves over the trap. The cubs themselves would act as bait.
"A fox never deserts her young," Horace said. "She's sure to come back to-night, probably along with her mate, to carry off the cubs, and we've a good chance to catch one or both of them."
It seemed dangerous to go away and leave that precious cageful of little foxes at the mercy, perhaps, of the beaver trappers; perhaps prowling lynxes or wolves. However, the boys had to take the risk. As to the trappers, they had seen nothing of them for so long that they had little fear of them.
They went back to camp and tried to pass the time; but they could talk of nothing except black foxes. Fred conceived the idea of using their stock to start a breeding establishment of their own, and Macgregor was elaborating the plan, when suddenly he stopped with a frown.
"Is it so certain that the parents of those cubs are black?" he asked. "I've heard that black foxes are an accident, a sport, and that the mother or father is very often red."
"That's something that naturalists have never settled," replied Horace. "Some think that the black fox is a distinct strain, others that it's merely a 'sport,' as you say. However, when all the cubs in the litter are pure black, I think it's safe to assume that the parents are black also."
It was scarcely daylight the next morning before the boys were hurrying along the blazed trail again. Shaking with suppressed excitement, they approached the ravine of the foxes. When they came in sight of the den and the cage their anticipation was succeeded by bitter disappointment. The trap was undisturbed. Nothing had been caught. The cubs were still in the cage, as frightened as ever.