MICMAC JOHN'S REVENGE "Evenin', Bob," said Micmac. "Evenin', John. An' where'd you be comin' from now?" "Been huntin' t' th' suth'ard. Thought I'd drop in an' see ye." "Glad t' see ye, John." After an awkward pause Bob asked: "What un do wi' th' stove, John?" "What stove?" "From th' river tilt. Ye took un, didn't ye?" "No, I didn't take no stove. I weren't in th' river tilt, an' don't know what yer talkin' about," lied the half-breed. "Some one took un an' we was layin' it t' you. Now I wonders who 'twere." "Well, I wouldn't take it. Ye ought t' known I wouldn't do a thing like that," insisted Micmac, with an air of injured innocence. "Maybe th' Mingen Injuns took it. There's been some around an' they says they'll take anything they find, an' fur too, if they find any in th' tilts. These are their huntin' grounds an' outsiders has no right on 'em. They gave me right t' hunt down t' th' suth'ard." "Who may th' Mingen Injuns be, now?" "Mountaineers as belong Mingen way up south, an' hunts between this an' th' Straits." "I were thinkin' 'twere th' Nascaupees took th' stove if you didn't take un." "Th' Nascaupees are back here a bit t' th' west'ard. I saw some of 'em one day when I was cruisin' that way an' I made tracks back fer I didn't want t' die so quick. They'll kill anybody they see in here, an' burn th' tilts if they happen over this way an' see 'em. Ye have t' be on th' watch fer 'em all th' time." "I'll be watchin' out fer un an' keep clear if I sees their footin'," said Bob as he went out to bring in his things. What Micmac said about the Nascaupees disturbed him not a little. Bob was brave, but every man, no matter how brave he may be, fears an unseen danger when he believes that danger is real and is apt to come upon him unexpectedly and at a time when no opportunity will be offered for defense. It was evident that these Indians were close at hand, and that he was in daily and imminent danger of being captured, which meant, he was sure, being killed. But he was here for a purpose--to catch all the fur he could--and he must not lose his courage now, before that purpose was accomplished. He must remain on his trail until the hunting season closed. He must be constantly upon his guard, he thought, and perhaps after all would not be discovered. No, he would not let himself be afraid. When he returned to the tilt Micmac John asked: "Gettin' much fur?" "Not so bad," he replied. "I has one silver, an' a fine un, too." The half-breed showed marked interest at once. "Let's see him. Got him here?" "No, I left un in th' third tilt. That's where I caught un." "Where's yer other fur?" "I took un all down t' th' river tilt There's a cross among un an' twenty-eight martens." "Um-m." Micmac John knew well enough the fur had been taken to some other tilt, for when he arrived here early in the afternoon his first care was to look for it, but not a skin had he found, and he was disappointed, for it was the purpose of his visit. Bob, absolutely honest and guileless himself, in spite of Dick's constant assertion that Micmac was a thief and worse, was easily deceived by the half-breed's bland manner. Unfortunately he had not learned that every one else was not as honest and straightforward as himself. Micmac's attempt upon his life he had ascribed to a sudden burst of anger, and it was forgiven and forgotten. The selfish enmity, the blackness of heart, the sinister nature that will never overlook and will go to any length to avenge a real or fancied wrong--the characteristics of a half-breed Indian--were wholly beyond his comprehension. He had never dissembled himself, and he did not know that the smiling face and smooth tongue are often screens of deception. "We'll be havin' supper now," suggested Bob, lifting the boiling kettle off the stove and throwing in some tea. "I'm fair starved." After they had eaten Micmac filled his pipe and lounged back, smoking in silence for some time, apparently deep in thought. Finally he asked, "When ye goin' back t' th' river, Bob?" "I'm not thinkin t' start back till Wednesday an' maybe Thursday, an' reach un Monday or Tuesday after. Bill won't be gettin' there till Tuesday, an' Dick an' Ed expects t' be there then t' spend Christmas an' hunt deer." "Hunt deer?" "They're needin' fresh meat, an' deer footin's good in th' meshes." "The's fine signs to th' nuth'ard from th' second lake in, 'bout twenty mile from here. You could get some there. If ye ain't goin' back till Wednesday why don't ye try 'em? Ye'd get as many as ye wanted," volunteered Micmac. "Where now be that?" "Why just 'cross th' first mesh up here, an' through th' bush straight over ye'll come to a lake. Cross that t' where a dead tree hangs out over th' ice. Cut in there an' ye'll see my footin'; foller it over t' th' next lake, then turn right t' th' nuth'ard. The's some meshes in there where th' deer's feedin'. I seen fifteen or twenty, but I didn't want 'em so I let 'em be." "An' could I make un now in a day?" "If ye walk sharp an' start early." "I thinks I'll be startin' in th' mornin' an' campin' over there Sunday, an' Monday I'll be there t' hunt. Can't un come 'long, John?" "No, I'd like t' go but I got t' see my traps. I'll have t' be leavin' ye now," said Micmac, rising. "Not t'-night?" "Yes, it's fine moonlight an' I can make it all right." "Ye better stay th' night wi' me, John. There'll be no difference in a day." "No. I planned t' be goin' right back I seen ye. Good evenin'." "Good evenin', John." Micmac John started directly south, but when well out of sight of the tilt suddenly swung around to the eastward and, with the long half-running stride of the Indian, made a straight line for the tilt where Bob had left his silver fox. The moon was full, and the frost that clung to the trees and bushes sparkled like flakes of silver. The aurora faintly searched the northern sky. A rabbit, white and spectre-like, scurried across the half-breed's path, but he did not notice it. Hour after hour his never tiring feet swung the wide snow-shoes in and out with a rhythmic chug-chug as he ran on. It was nearly morning when at length he slackened his pace, and with the caution of the lifelong hunter approached the tilt as he would have stalked an animal. He made quite certain that the shack was untenanted, then entered boldly. He struck a match and found a candle, which he lighted. There was the silver fox, where Bob had left it. It was dry enough to remove from the board and he loosened it and pulled it off. He examined it critically and gloated over it. "As black an' fine a one as I ever seen!" he exclaimed. "It'll bring a big price at Mingen. That boy'll never see it again, an' I'll clean out th' rest o' th' fur too, at th' river. Old Campbell'll be sorry when I get through with 'em, he let that feller hunt th' path. He's a fool, an' if he gives me th' slip he'll go back an' say th' Mingen Injuns took his fur. I fixed that wi' my story all right. I'll take th' lot t' Mingen an' get cash fer 'em, an' be back t' th' Bay with open water with 'nuff martens so's they won't suspect me." He started a fire and slept until shortly after daylight. Then had breakfast and started down the trail towards the river at the same rapid pace that he had held before. It was not quite dark when he glimpsed the tilt, and approached it with even more caution than he had observed above. "He don't know enough to lie," said he to himself, referring to Bob, "but it's best t' take care, fer one o' th' others might be here." When he was satisfied that the tilt was unoccupied he entered boldly and appropriated every skin of fur he found--not only all of Bob's, but also a few martens Bill had left there. No time was lost, for any accident might send Bill or one of the others here at an unexpected moment. The pelts were packed quickly but carefully into his hunting bag and within twenty minutes after his arrival he was retreating up the trail at a half run. Some time after dark he reached the first tilt above the river, where he spent the night. Short cuts and fast travelling brought him on Sunday night to the tilt at the end of the trail where he had left Bob. He made quite certain that the lad had really gone on his caribou hunt, and then went boldly in and made himself as comfortable as he could for the night without a stove, for Bob had taken the stove with him, to heat his tent. "If he comes back t'-night and finds me here," he said, "I'll just tell him I changed my mind an' came back t' go on th' deer hunt. I'll lie t' him about what I got in my bag an' he'll never suspicion; he don't know enough." Micmac John's work was not yet finished. He had arranged a full and complete revenge. Bob's hunt for caribou would carry him far away from the tilt and into a section where no searching party would be likely to go. The half-breed's plan was now to follow and shoot the lad from ambush. If by chance any one ever should find the body--which seemed a quite improbable happening--Bob's death would no doubt be laid at the door of the Nascaupee Indians. Micmac John deposited the bag of stolen pelts in a safe place in the tilt, intending to return for them after his bloody mission was accomplished, and several hours before daylight on Monday morning started out in the ghostly moonlight to trail Bob to his death.