As Connie stared in amazement at the black fox, there was a swift scratching of claws, and a shower of dry snow flew up, as Leloo like a great silver flash, launched himself up the slope. For a fraction of a second the boy's glance rested upon the flying grey shape and once more it sought the fox—but there was no fox there, only the low rock-ledge outcropping through the snow. Instantly the boy sprang after Leloo, disregarding the inarticulate protest of 'Merican Joe, who laboured heavily along in his wake, hesitating between two fears, the fear of being left alone, and the fear of visiting the spot at which had appeared the fox with the voice of a man.
As Connie reached the rock-ledge he stopped abruptly and stared in surprise at Leloo. The great wolf-dog's nose quivered, and his yellow eyes were fixed with a peculiar glare upon a small irregular hole beneath a projecting lip of rock—a hole just big enough to admit the body of the fox. Even as the boy looked, the long hairs of Leloo's great ruff stiffened, and stood quiveringly erect, a low growl rumbled deep in the dog's throat, and with a curious tense stiffness of movement, he began to back slowly from the hole. Never for an instant did the low throaty growl cease, nor did the fixed yellow eyes leave the black aperture. Not until he had backed a full twenty feet from the hole did the dog's tense muscles relax and then his huge brush of a tail drooped, the hair of his ruff flattened, and he turned and trotted down the back trail, pausing only once to cast a hang-dog glance up the slope.
Connie was conscious of a strange chill at the pit of his stomach. Why had Leloo, the very embodiment of savage courage, backed away from that hole with every muscle tense, and why had he hit the back trail displaying every evidence of abject terror? The boy had seen him run foxes to earth before, and he had never acted like that. He had always torn at the edges of the hole with fang and claw. A hundred times more terrifying than even the fox with the strange human cry, was the action of the wolf-dog. Without moving from his tracks, the boy examined the rock-ledge. It was probably twenty feet in length, and not more than four or five feet high, and he saw at a glance that the small irregular hole was the only aperture in the mass of solid rock. His eyes swept the surrounding hillside but with the exception of numerous fox tracks that led to and from the hole, the surface of the snow was unbroken.
The sunlight had disappeared from the crest of the hill. On the lower levels the fast deepening twilight was rendering objects indistinguishable, when Connie turned to 'Merican Joe, who presented a pitiable picture of terror. "Let's go," he said, shortly. "We'll have a moon tonight. We can travel till we get tired."
And 'Merican Joe without waiting for a second invitation struck off down the hill after Leloo, at a pace that Connie found hard to follow.
CHAPTER XVII
THE-LAKE-OF-THE-FOX-THAT-YELLS
Leaving 'Merican Joe to look after the line of marten and mink traps, Connie Morgan struck out from the little cabin and headed for the Indian village. Straight to the cabin of Pierre Bonnet Rouge he went and was welcomed by the Indian with the respect that only the real sourdough ever commands in the Indians of the North. For Pierre knew of his own knowledge of the boy's outwitting the hooch-runners, and he had listened in the evenings upon the trail to Fort Norman, while big Dan McKeever recounted to McTavish, as he never tired of doing, the adventures of Connie in the Mounted.