“Yes, I’ve heard of him; his name is in my ledger—at least if you mean Pierre Labonté, who came down last fall with the brigade.”
“The same. Well, he was a great friend of mine. His little cabin lay about two miles from Fort Garry, and after work was over in the office I used to go down to sit and chat with him by the fire; and many a time I have sat up half the night listening to him as he recounted his adventures. The old man never tired of relating them, and of smoking twist tobacco. Among other things, he set my mind upon trapping, by giving me an account of an expedition he made, when quite a youth, to the Rocky Mountains; so I got him to go into the woods and teach me how to set traps and snares, and I flatter myself he found me an apt pupil.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the accountant; “I have no doubt you do flatter yourself. But here we are. The traps are just beyond that mound; so look out, and don’t stick your feet into them.”
“Hist!” exclaimed Harry, laying his hand suddenly on his companion’s arm. “Do you see that?” pointing towards the place where the traps were said to be.
“You have sharp eyes, younker. I do see it, now that you point it out. It’s a fox, and caught, too, as I’m a scrivener.”
“You’re in luck to-night,” exclaimed Harry eagerly. “It’s a silver fox. I see the white tip on its tail.”
“Nonsense,” cried the accountant, hastening forward; “but we’ll soon settle the point.”
Harry proved to be right. On reaching the spot they found a beautiful black fox, caught by the fore leg in a steel trap, and gazing at them with a look of terror.
The skin of the silver fox—so called from a slight sprinkling of pure white hairs covering its otherwise jet-black body—is the most valuable fur obtained by the fur-traders, and fetches an enormous price in the British market, so much as thirty pounds sterling being frequently obtained for a single skin. The foxes vary in colour from jet black, which is the most valuable, to a light silvery hue, and are hailed as great prizes by the Indians and trappers when they are so fortunate as to catch them. They are not numerous, however, and being exceedingly wary and suspicious, are difficult to catch. It may be supposed, therefore, that our friend the accountant ran to secure his prize with some eagerness.
“Now, then, my beauty, don’t shrink,” he said, as the poor fox backed at his approach as far as the chain, which fastened the trap to a log of wood, would permit, and then, standing at bay, showed a formidable row of teeth. That grin was its last; another moment, and the handle of the accountant’s axe stretched it lifeless on the snow.