"Most considerate Traitor!" snapped Whisky-Jack. "You would rather Black King fell into François's hands--wouldn't you?" For the Jay knew what Pisew had said to Carcajou when the latter was in the Trap.
"All right, Mooswa," growled Rof, admiringly; "you are a noble fellow. Go and lead François away--don't get within burning distance of his Firestick, though; I and my Pack will take care that the Man-enemy doesn't follow your trail after the closing of the light of day."
"I killed a Man once," answered Bull Moose; "but I'll never do it again, nor must you, Comrade. That is a thing to be settled amongst themselves--the Man-kill is not for us."
"I talk not of killing!" snarled Blue Wolf, surlily; "when our cry goes up, François will take the back-trail, and keep it till he is safe within the walls of his own Shack--that's what I mean."
"It is well!" affirmed the King, approvingly; "act thus, Comrades. We are not like Man, who slays for the sake of slaying, and calls it sport."
"Most generous Black King!" exclaimed Pisew, with an evil smirk.
Mooswa and Blue Wolf started off together. Umisk was driving his ivory chisels through the hard, dry Birch-stake that held the Trap. It was a slow job--almost like cutting metal.
Suddenly a thought struck Black Fox. "How am I to get home with this clumsy iron on my leg?" he asked. "Mooswa has gone, and there is no one to carry me."
"I could help you with the Trap," answered Umisk.
"And leave a trail to the house like a Rabbit-run? The Breed would find it, and murder the whole family; I'm not going to risk my Mother's skin in that manner."