Frank, however, smiled at him, as he explained:
“It happened that they once discovered a wolf ranch in a secluded part of the State. A smart chap was actually breeding the animals for the sake of the skins and the bounty that the State allowed him. Of course, they put a stop to his business. But that reminds me I didn’t think to tell you about the fur farms we have up here.”
“That sounds interesting!” Jerry declared.
“Of course you mean where they raise all sorts of fur-bearing animals for the sake of their pelts?” Bluff suggested.
“Yes; and they say that good money is made at the business, too,” he was told. “One man I knew had a fox farm. He had managed to get hold of a few black foxes, and told me that if they bred true his everlasting fortune was made; because, as we know, the skin of a good black fox is worth all the way from five hundred to two thousand dollars.”
“How about skunks—I understand there are farms where they raise them by the thousand?” Bluff ventured, with an upturning of the nose.
“I’m told they pay good dividends,” Frank explained, “but can’t say from my own observation, because I’ve never dared to visit one. But you must remember that a polecat is only dangerous when frightened. They say that if you treat them gently they get to know you and are not to be feared any more than so many puppies.”
“Excuse me from trying to follow that occupation,” chuckled Jerry; “but I wonder if that really was a genuine wolf, or a snow owl hooting?”
“Let’s go outside and listen, because I want to know,” suggested Will, into whose eyes an eager glow had crept, as he remembered he had a camera trap baited with some fresh venison and that if there were hungry wolves around he stood a chance of obtaining a remarkable picture.
They clapped on caps and sweaters, and all went outside. The night was fairly dark, and still. Overhead a million stars shone and the soft breeze sighed itself to sleep among the pines.