"De collar, an de skin, dey on de cache at de end of dat lak'."
"What do you leave the black fox skins out there for, they're worth a lot?"
The Indian shrugged. "I ain' want for mak' de tamahnawus mad. I put de skin an' de collar under de blankets on de cache."
"Are they there now?"
The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know dat. Mebbe-so tamahnawus fox com' an' git he's skin an' he's leetle w'ite collar an' wear um agin."
"But you've been to the cache lately. There was grub on it that hadn't been there more than a month at the most."
"Yes. I got bad luck w'en I kill dem fox, so I build de cache an' mak' de tamahnawus de present. All de tam I tak' mor' grub, an' now I ain' got de bad luck."
For a long time Connie was silent as he went over in his mind step by step the happenings at the lake where 'Merican Joe had set the fox traps. Then he thought over what Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, but instead of clearing things up, the Indian's words had only served to deepen the mystery of the fox that yelled like a man. Suddenly the boy remembered the action of Pierre when McTavish had asked him if he knew anything about James Dean, the missing prospector. He glanced at the Indian who was puffing his pipe in silence, and decided to risk another direct question although he knew that in all probability Pierre Bonnet Rouge would relapse into a stubborn muteness; for in matters touching upon his superstitions, the Indian is a man of profound silence. "I won't be any worse off than I am, now," thought the boy, "if he don't say another word—so here goes." He addressed the Indian gravely.
"Pierre," he began, watching the man narrowly to note the effect of his words, "you know I am a friend of yours, and a friend of the Indians. I gave them meat, and I saved them from being robbed by the hooch-runners." The Indian nodded, and Connie felt encouraged to proceed. "Now, I believe there is something else beside a tamahnawus down there at Hill Lake. And I'm going back there and find out what it is."