t the thought of how near he
had come to selling his honor, perhaps for tainted money at that.

"Here, youse, take yer money an' git!" he growled. He motioned with the
barrel of his rifle by way of emphasis. "An' youse better take up dem
traps," he added significantly.

The Indian's expression changed as he squatted once more and picked up
the bills. He was too shrewd a sign reader not to know when it was
useless to follow a trail further. The fox couldn't be bought, therefore
it must be obtained in some other way, by craft or violence. If he could
get near enough to the boy to disarm him the rest would be easy. If
not--well, there was another way. He would avoid it if possible, for the
boy's friends were too near. They would be on his trail inside of
twenty-four hours. It would mean a long, hurried flight across the
border with two of the best woodsmen in the whole section behind him,
and every warden and lumber camp on both sides of the line watching for
him. It would mean a battle if ever they came up with him, a battle to
the death. But a thousand, perhaps two thousand dollars! One would dare
much for such a sum. He had friends across the border. Through them the
skin could be disposed of while he remained in hiding. Once across the
line with the booty he had no fear, that is if he could obtain it
without committing the blood crime. He would strike north and then
market the pelt in the spring. It would be difficult to prove that it
was not of his own killing. There were no witnesses. It would be only
the word of this boy against him even should he be traced. Given a
reasonable start he had little fear of this.

He looked over at the black fox and the lust of greed glittered in his
eyes. The animal was of unusual size, and the fur was extra prime.
Assuredly it would bring a great sum. After all, it was but a boy with
whom he had to deal and by the looks of him a novice in the woods. He
stuffed the money bag back in his shirt and rose, his axe in hand. Then
without warning he leaped forward, axe upraised, his face contorted with
rage like that of a demon.

"Stop!"

There was something menacing and sinister in the sound of the word, but
more menacing and sinister was the muzzle of the little rifle into which
he was staring. It brought him up short in the middle of a stride. He
had seen the boy shoot and now the rifle was held as steadily as when it
had been pointed at the fox. There was something in the sound of t