“Bime-by water!” he said.
“He means that he wants it to rain,” said Rob, “so that the scent will all be washed off from the trap and from the ground around it.”
“Well,” said John, “if the water is about the way it averages, he won’t have to wait longer than to-night for his rain.” Which, indeed, was the case, for in the night, while they were all safely in the barabbara around the fire, the rain came as usual, sufficient to blot out all trace of their late work on the fox trails.
The following morning the boys at once began to wonder what luck had met their trapping operations. It did not appear to them likely that they would catch anything the first night; but Skookie, it seemed, was of a different opinion. After breakfast he led the way to the place where the trap lay, and without hesitation walked into the tall grass, stooped down, and at once held up to view a long, dark animal at sight of which the boys uttered a joint whoop of joy!
“We got him!” said John. “We certainly did get a fox, and the very first night, too.”
“Yes,” agreed Rob, “we did more than that: we got a silver-gray fox, and a mighty good one at that. Was there ever such luck, I do wonder!”
Skookie took it all as a matter of course, but the others were much excited over this discovery. They put the silky, handsome animal upon the ground and began to smooth out its fur. The fangs of the klipsie had struck it in the back of the neck and killed it instantly, so that the coat remained quite smooth and undisturbed by any struggles. It was long and silky — dark, with white-tipped tail, and gray extremities on all the hairs of the back.
“This skin ought to be worth anyhow one hundred dollars,” said Rob, critically. “At least that would be my guess at it. The natives don’t often get that much, but sometimes a trader will buy a skin for fifty dollars and sell it for five or six hundred. That all depends on the sort of market he finds.”
“Anyhow,” said Jesse, “it proves that Skookie can trap foxes all right.”
The young Aleut was not disturbed by this praise, and proceeded to further prove his ability as a trapper. Having again set his klipsie at a point a few yards farther down the trail, he took up the dead fox and led the way back to the barabbara, where he undertook to carry the carcass in for his skinning operations.
At this Rob demurred, for he had already seen proof of the custom of the native trappers, who nearly always skin out their game at the fireside of the barabbara, and who are very careless where they leave the carcasses.
“No, you don’t!” said Rob. “We’ve just cleaned out that house, and we don’t want it mussed up again so soon. Let’s go over to the beach and skin our fox.”
Skookie, always docile and willing to obey, once more led the way, carrying the fox under his arm. At last he seated himself on the ground, sharpened his knife-blade on a stone, and began to skin out the fox, much as an old trapper would. He made a cut from one hind leg to the other, cut off the tail bone, pulled the tail off clean by the use of two sticks clamped against the bone, and proceeded to remove the skin from the body without splitting it along the belly — “casing” it, as trappers call it. So carefully did he do his work that he did not make the slightest cut around the eyes or ears or nostrils, and even brought off the whiskers of the muzzle without disfiguring the skin in the least.
Next he found a spreader, or tapering board, under the eaves of the barabbara, and over this he stretched his fox-skin, inside out, setting it away in the back part of the barabbara, where it would slowly dry without being exposed to the fire.
“Well, he certainly is a trapper, all right,” said John, admiringly. “Now I believe we could do that sort of thing ourselves. I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t get a lot of foxes here, and maybe make some money out of the skins some day.”
Rob shook his head. “I don’t think so,” said he. “Even this skin, although it is not yet rusty from the sunlight, is not perfectly prime, as you can see by looking at the inside of the skin. A really prime skin is white and clear, and you can see that this one is just a little blue along the back. That isn’t a good sign to me.”
Rob’s guess as to the fur soon proved to be correct. For four more nights they watched their klipsie trap without success. On the fifth morning they found another dead fox in the trap, with the barbs through his back. This, however, was only a “cross” fox, and his fur proved so worn and rusty that Skookie scornfully refused to take off the hide. That ended their fox-trapping, for Rob refused to allow any more foxes to be killed. Skookie, apparently willing to go on with his work, or to stop as they preferred, smilingly took up his klipsie, after he had sprung the trap, detached the arm, and restored the separated parts to their original hiding-places.
“Plenty times my peoples come here,” he said, smiling.
“That means,” said Jesse, “that some time or other, if we have luck, we may be discovered here by his people, even if our own people never find us.”
“Yes,” Rob added, “but I only hope that may be before winter comes and leaves us unable to get out.”
XXI
AN ALEUT GOOSE-HUNT
Although utterly remote from the ordinary haunts of man, our young hunters found their new environment one free from monotony, after all. The sea was never twice the same, and even the weather was capricious enough to afford variety. As spring wore on the region seemed to teem with wild life, whether on the earth, in the water, or the air. The gulls, crows, ravens, and eagles were continually passing, with clouds of shags or cormorants, which nested on the rocks a mile or so down the bay, together with numbers of oyster-birds, whale-birds, and other strange fowl of the outlying coast.
Each night and morning also there passed up the lagoon a stream of honking and chattering wild-fowl, the largest of which and most valuable, though least attainable, were the great Canada geese, which frequented this part of the island in large numbers.
“If only we could get hold of some of those fellows,” said John, longingly, one morning, as they saw an especially fine flock pass slowly up toward the head of the lagoon. “I’ll warrant they’d be good to eat. See, some of them can hardly fly yet, they’re so young.”
“Yes,” said Jesse, “if we had only thought of it last week, they probably would not have been able to fly at all — flappers, they call those young birds. Then we might possibly have killed some of them in the grass at the head of the lagoon.”
“We could kill all we wanted now with the rifles,” commented Rob; “but, as I said awhile ago, I don’t think we ought to use rifle ammunition for killing birds. No one can tell how much we may need our cartridges later on. No, I don’t think we will get any geese unless we can catch them with our hands. I haven’t much faith in those throwing-cords