k like young foxes, only they're far too
dark-colored."

Mac suddenly snatched the glass. But Fred, now that he knew where to
look, could see the moving black specks with his unaided eye. Just
behind them was a dark opening that might be the mouth of a den.

"They are foxes!" said Mac. "It's a family of fox cubs. You're right.
And--and--why, man, they're black--every one of them!"

He lowered the glass, almost dropping it in his excitement, and stared
at his companion.

"Fred, it's a den of black foxes!"

CHAPTER XII

"Black foxes!" cried Fred. "Mac, give me the glass!"

"Black, all right," Macgregor said. "Four of them, black as jet. See
the fur shine! I can't see the old ones. There, I believe I saw
something move just inside the burrow! Anyhow, all the cubs are going
in."

He handed the glass to Fred, who raised it to his eyes just in time to
see the black, bushy tail of the last cub disappear into the hole.

"Black foxes!" he said, in an awed whisper. "Four of them! Why, Mac,
they're worth a fortune, aren't they?"

"And probably two old ones," said the medical student. "A fortune?
Rather! Why, in London a good black fox pelt sometimes brings two or
three thousand dollars. The traders here pay only a few hundreds, but
if I had a couple of good skins I'd take them over to London myself."

"But we haven't got them. And we've no traps."

"One of us might watch here with the rifle for the old ones. I could
hit a fox from here, but the bullet would tear the skin awfully."

"Yes, and it's too late in the spring now for the fur to be any good,
I'm afraid," said Fred.

"Not first-class, that's a fact," Mac admitted sadly. "But what can we
do? We can't wait here all summer for the cubs to grow up."

"Let's go down and take a look at the den," Fred proposed.

"Better not. If the old foxes get suspicious they'll move the den and
we'll never find it again. I think we'd best go quietly away. This is
too big a thing for us to take chances on."

They took careful note of the spot before they left, and in order to
make assurance doubly sure, Mac blazed a tree every ten paces or so
until they struck the river again.

They had followed the river downward for about two miles when they saw
the smoke rising from their camping-ground. Hurrying up, they found
that Horace had come in already. He had brought out the supplies and
was frying bacon.

"What luck?" cried Fred, forgetting the f