"Don't go out again to-day--you're too tired," pleaded Rod.
"Mus' go," replied the other. "S'pose dat Fox in de Trap, dat Debil Carcajou, or de Lynk, or some odder Animal, eat him; dere's no Rabbit now, an' dey's all starve."
"I'll go with you, then," exclaimed The Boy.
When they came to the Trap, François stared in amazement. It had been sprung.
The Breed examined the snow carefully.
"Jus' what I t'ink me. He's been catc', an' dat Lynk eat him all up. Only one foot lef'; see!" and he held up the amputated black paw. "Here's de big trail of de Lynk, too."
Dejectedly they went back to the Shack.
"Now I know it's de bad medicine," asserted François. "De Debil come in dat Moose for lead me away, an' I lose de Silver Fox what wort' two, t'ree hun'red dollar."
"The Lynx has had rather an extravagant blowout," remarked The Boy. "One could go to England, dine there in great shape, and back again for the price of his dinner." François did not answer. He was certainly running in bad luck.
"I t'ink me we pull out from dis S'ack," he said; "give up de Marten Road, an' move down to my ol' place at Hay Riber. Before, I keel plenty fur dere; here I get me not'ing, only plenty bad medicine."