The Scotchman's face darkened. He threw a couple of big logs on the fire and then as the others made themselves comfortable he told his story briefly. For the last two weeks there had been little fur in the traps, especially on the forty mile line to the north. He had made the round of this line twice in this time with only one marten, a fox and a few rats to show for it, but he had found signs which led him to believe that some of the traps had been robbed. He was morally certain that some one had been systematically making the rounds of the traps, timing the visits so that there would be no danger of running into him and so cunningly following his trail that it was only by the closest study of the tracks that he had made sure that a stranger had been on the line. At one unsprung marten trap he had found a couple of drops of blood which indicated that there had been something in the trap. At another there had been the faint imprint of the body of an animal laid in the snow off at one side. In one trap he had found the foot of a muskrat, nothing unusual in itself, but it had been cut off with a knife and not twisted or gnawed off.
These things he had discovered on his trip two weeks ago, and on his return trip he had thrust tiny twigs into the snow of the trail in such a way that they would not be noticed. On his second round from which he had returned only the day before, he had found some of these crushed into the snow, sure evidence that they had been stepped on. He had kept a sharp watch for a strange trail joining his own, but had discovered none, doubtless due to the fact that the thief or thieves had come across the bare ice of one of the lakes near the farther end of the line and then it had been an easy matter to step into his trail where it skirted the edge of the lake. On this last trip he had found an empty rifle shell which apparently had been dropped unnoticed.
Pat's face had hardened as he listened to the recital. "Any signs of the bloody minded thaves in the Holler or on the short lines?" he asked.
Alec shook his head. "They've kept away from here. The catch on the short lines has been fair, and on the long line it ought to have been better."
Pat stood up and shook himself. "Arrah now, 'tis time I was back on me job," he growled. "Wance I lay the two hands av me on the thafe 'tis the last time he will be wantin' to look wid the eyes av envy on fur thot don't belong to him. A thafe who would shtale another man's fur would rob his own grandmother. This storm will cover up all tracks, but 'tis like there will be a chance for some real scouting after it is over. 'Tis thaves we'll be trappin' and not fur for a while. Did Big Jim say anything about a silver fox when he was here?"
"No," replied Alec, his face lighting. "Why?"
"He told Doctor Merriam that he saw one on his way out, and we've been wondering if it was over this way," Hal broke in eagerly.
"Likely he saw it on his way out of the Hollow," replied Alec. "There's one here. I've seen him twice, but didn't get a shot. I've got traps set for him, but he's been too smart for me so far. He's a big feller, and his skin will grade No. 1 prime. If we can get him the thieves are welcome to all the rest of our furs."
"No, they're not!" retorted Pat. "They're going to fork over every pelt they've taken, to the smallest rat, or Pat Malone will know the reason why." He shook a big fist by way of emphasis. "Now, let's turn in and forget our troubles," he ended with a mildness that brought a general laugh.