François came back grunting his dissatisfaction.
Rod stood in speechless amazement while his companion examined the pile of soft mud débris critically by the aid of a candle.
"I t'ought me dat!" he remarked, with satisfied conviction, straightening his back and setting the candle down on the rude plank table. "It's dat Debil of de Woods, Carcajou. Wait you, Mister Wolverine; François s'ow you some treek."
"What was he after?" queried The Boy.
"After for raise Ole Nick," declared the Half-breed, dejectedly. "You know what we mus' do? We mus' ketc' dat debil firs', or we keel no fur here. He steal de bait, an' cac'e de Trap; s'pose we go out from de S'ack, dat Carcajou come down de c'imney, tear up de clo'es, spill de farina--de flour, t'row de pot in de ribber, an' do ever' fool t'ing what you can t'ink. Never mind, I ketc' him, an' I keel him;" and François fairly danced a Red River jig in his rage.
Whisky-Jack had perched on the end of a roof-plate log when the trouble materialized, so he heard this tirade against Wolverine. The Bird could hardly go to sleep for chuckling. What a sweet revenge he would have next day; how he would revile Wolverine. Surely the unfortunate Carcajou had scorched his feet, and mayhap his back, when he fell in the fire-place. "I wonder whose toes are sore to-night," the Jay thought. "I hope he got a good singeing--meddling beast! Nice Lieutenant to upset everything just when we were having such a lovely time. Oh, but I'll rub it into him to-morrow."
THE SETTING OUT OF THE TRAPS
"Royal Son," said the Red Widow next morning, "what is the Burrow of the Men-Kind like?"
"Ask Carcajou when he comes, Mother," replied Black Fox; and he related the incident of the night before.
"Art sure, Son, that the Kit-Man's Mother is not with him?"