"All right, François, I'm willing--anything you say," answered Rod.
"I got my ol' S'ack down dere," continued the Trapper, "an' we go for dat place. To-morrow we pick up de Trap. De Black Fox he's die, so I s'pose me we don't want stop here. I got give little Père Lacombe some presen' for de Mission, an' mus' keel de fur for dat, soor."
CARCAJOU'S REVENGE
In the morning François and Roderick started with their dog-train to pick up Traps from the Marten Road.
"S'pose it's better w'at I go to de Lan'ing firs'," François remarked reflectively, as they plodded along behind the dogs and carry-all; "we don' got plenty Trap now, an' I can' find dat poison bottle. Yesterday I look, but he's gone soor; I put him on de s'elf, but he's not dere now. P'r'aps dat Whisky-Jack steal him, for he take de spoon some time; but anyway can' trap proper wit'out de poison."
After they had left the Shack Whisky-Jack cleaned up the scraps that had been thrown out from breakfast, and having his crop full, started through the woods looking for a chance of gossip. He observed Carcajou scuttling awkwardly along through the deep snow; this was the first time Jack had seen him since he had been liberated from the Trap.
"Hello!" cried the Jay; "able to be about again?"
"Who's at the Man-shack?" queried the other in answer, entirely ignoring Jack's personal gibe.
"Nobody," piped the Bird; "left me in charge and went out on their Marten Road."
"And the Dogs, O One-in-charge?" asked Carcajou.