"That's all right, Mother; we can't be too careful."
He stretched each hind-leg far out, throwing his head high to loosen the neck-muscles and expand his chest, shook the folds of his heavy, black cloak and yawned again. Then stooping low in the cave-mouth, with a powerful spring he alighted upon a log which crossed from one cut-bank to another of the stream. Umisk was whistling a quarter of a mile away down the left bank, but Black Fox started off up the right. As he trotted along he sang:--
"The trail that leads from nowhere to nowhere,
Is the track of the King of the Tribe of Beware."
Suddenly he stopped, crept under a big log, and then emerged, tail first, backing up cautiously and putting his feet down carefully in the tracks he had made. "They'll find me asleep in there," he chuckled; and hummed, softly:--
"Under the log the King is asleep;
Creep gently, Brother, creep;
Under the log is the old Fox nest;
Creep, Brother--mind his rest."
Suddenly jumping sideways over a great Spruce lying prone on the ground, he started off again, singing merrily:--
"The track that breaks
Is a new track made;
For eyes are sharp
Where the nose is dead."
Down the stream, below where Umisk was waiting, Black King crossed, saying to himself: "Now, François, when I go home the trail will be complete, with no little break at my front door--dear François, sweet François."
With Umisk was Carcajou waiting for the King.
"What's up?" asked Black Fox.