"Is there anything the matter with this Bait, King--any White Death-powder?" he asked. "If not, stick it in your mouth--it will brace you up, and take your mind off the leg."
"There is no White Powder in it--I can guarantee that," snickered Jay. "I flew in the door yesterday when François and The Boy were out, stole the bottle off its roost, and dropped it through their water-hole in the river ice; just to save your life, Pisew, you know--you're such a silly Glutton you would eat anything."
"Jack," said the King, looking up gratefully, "your tongue is the worst part of you--your heart is all right."
"Even his tongue is all right now since he got over the fat Pork," sneered Pisew.
"Bird of Torture!" ejaculated Black King, "but that hurts, Umisk;" for Beaver had girdled the skin of the leg even as he had the bark of the tree.
"Think of the Meat in your mouth, King," advised Umisk. "Hold up this skin with your claw, Jack," he commanded. "There! pull it a little higher. I'll cut the bone here, you see; then we'll cover it with the skin-flap."
"Full-crop! but you have a great head, Umisk," cried Jack, admiringly.
"Wh-e-e! Wh-e-e-e-e!" squealed the Fox, crunching his sharp, white teeth to hold back the cries of pain.
"Quick, Pisew, hand out the Poplar-bread--it's off!" commanded Beaver. "Now, Jack, the thread. Hold one end in your beak, while I wrap it. There--let go! put a hole through the skin here!" Black King's tongue was lolling out with the pain, but with Jack's strong, sharp beak, Beaver's teeth-scalpel and deft fingers, the whole operation was completed in half an hour.
"What's that?" queried Black Fox suddenly, cocking his ears; "I heard the cough of François's Firestick--listen!"