Strange fancies for an animal flitted through his mind--something like a man's thoughts when he drifts close to death. Why had Wiesahkechack, who was God of Man and Animals, arranged it this way. During all his life Black King had killed only when hunger forced him to it; but here was François, a Man, killing, killing always---killing everything. And for what? Not to eat; for the Breed had flour in plenty, and meat that was already killed. It was not because of hunger; but simply to steal their coats, that he or some other Man or Woman might look fine in fur-clothes stolen from the Boundary Dwellers--at the sacrifice of their lives.
Again Black Fox heard a leaf sawing its whispering way down through the willow wands: he even did not turn his head. But it was wings this time; and a cheery, astonished voice sang out: "Hello, Your Majesty, what are you doing there with your hands in the snow--feeling for a Mole's nest?"
"Praise to Wiesahkechack!" cried the King; "is that you, Jay? I'm trapped at last," he continued, "and you must fly like the wind and get some of our Comrades to help me out."
"There's a poor chance," said the Bird, despondently; "as you know, none of us can spring that big Trap but Muskwa, and we'll never get him out now--he is dead to the world."
"What am I to do?" moaned the King--"we must try something."
"Oh, we shall get you out of here. I'll call Beaver to cut the stake that holds the chain, and you'll just have to carry the Trap home with you. Carcajou might be strong enough to press down the spring, but his hands are so puffed up from the squeeze they got, he can't do a thing with them. Don't fret; I will soon get them all here, and we'll see what can be done."
In a wonderfully short time Jack had summoned Beaver, Mooswa, Blue Wolf, and Lynx. Mooswa's great heart was touched at the sight of their Sovereign's misery. "My services are of little use here," he said. "I will go back on the trail, close to the Shack, and watch for François."
"Sparrow Hawks!" exclaimed Jay; "I quite forgot about that. Our Friend was getting ready to come out on his Marten Road when I left. Somebody will feel the foul breath of his Ironstick if we don't keep a sharp lookout."
"All the better if he brings it," answered Mooswa; "for then he'll follow me, and I'll lead him away so far that you'll have plenty of time to get our King home."
"Noble Comrade!" smirked Lynx; "such self-sacrifice! But don't you know that the Hunter will never give up your trail until you are dead? The snow is deep, the crust won't hold against your beautiful, sharp hoofs, and the Killer will run you down before the Sun sets twice."