"All the better if he brings it," answered Mooswa; "for then he'll follow me, and I'll lead him away so far that you'll have plenty of time to get our King home."

"n.o.ble Comrade!" smirked Lynx; "such self-sacrifice! But don't you know that the Hunter will never give up your trail until you are dead? The snow is deep, the crust won't hold against your beautiful, sharp hoofs, and the Killer will run you down before the Sun sets twice."

"Most considerate _Traitor_!" snapped Whisky-Jack. "You would rather Black King fell into Francois's hands--wouldn't you?" For the Jay knew what Pisew had said to Carcajou when the latter was in the Trap.

"All right, Mooswa," growled Rof, admiringly; "you are a n.o.ble fellow.

Go and lead Francois away--don't get within burning distance of his Firestick, though; I and my Pack will take care that the Man-enemy doesn't follow your trail after the closing of the light of day."

"I killed a Man once," answered Bull Moose; "but I'll never do it again, nor must you, Comrade. That is a thing to be settled amongst themselves--the Man-kill is not for us."

"I talk not of killing!" snarled Blue Wolf, surlily; "when our cry goes up, Francois will take the back-trail, and keep it till he is safe within the walls of his own Shack--that's what I mean."

"It is well!" affirmed the King, approvingly; "act thus, Comrades. We are not like Man, who slays for the sake of slaying, and calls it sport."

"Most generous Black King!" exclaimed Pisew, with an evil smirk.

Mooswa and Blue Wolf started off together. Umisk was driving his ivory chisels through the hard, dry Birch-stake that held the Trap. It was a slow job--almost like cutting metal.

Suddenly a thought struck Black Fox. "How am I to get home with this clumsy iron on my leg?" he asked. "Mooswa has gone, and there is no one to carry me."

"I could help you with the Trap," answered Umisk.

"And leave a trail to the house like a Rabbit-run? The Breed would find it, and murder the whole family; I'm not going to risk my Mother's skin in that manner."

"Thoughtful King!" lisped Pisew.

"True, true," confirmed Beaver. "Francois would surely find the trail.

There is no other way, unless--unless--"

"Unless what, faithful Little Friend?"

"Unless you take the way of our People."

"And that way--Friend?"

"Cut off the leg!"

"Horrible!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lynx.

"Horrible for you, Frog-heart," interposed Jack. "The King is different--he's got pluck."

"Your Majesty will never get the Trap off," continued Beaver, "until Muskwa the Strong comes out in the Spring. Even if you did carry it home, your leg would go bad before that time."

Black Fox pondered for a minute, weighing carefully the terrible alternative. On one hand was the risk of leading the Trapper to his carefully concealed home, and months of tortured idleness with the Trap on his leg; on the other the permanent crippling of himself by amputation.

"Can you cut the leg off, wise Umisk?" he asked.

"I did it once for my own Brother, who was caught," Beaver answered, simply.

"Take off mine, then!" commanded the King, decisively; "it is the only way."

"You'll bleed to death," said Lynx, solicitously.

"Oh, that would be lovely!" sneered Jack; "for then we'd all choose Pisew as his successor--'Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!' Excuse me, Comrades, that's an expression Francois uses sometimes when he drinks Fire-water; it means, a live Slink is better than a dead Hero."

When Black Fox gave the command to amputate his limb, Beaver ceased cutting the stake, scuttled over to a White Poplar, girdled the tree close to the ground, then, standing on his strong hind-legs, cut the bark again higher up. Next he peeled a strip, brought it over beside the Fox, and chiselled some of the white inner bark, chewing it to a pulp. "Hold this in your mouth, Pisew, and keep it warm," Beaver commanded, pa.s.sing it to Lynx. "We shall manage to stop the blood, I think."

"You will poison our King," said Jack, "if you put that stuff on the wound after Slink has held it in his mouth."

Beaver paid no attention, but stripped three little threads from the cloth-like tree-lining, and drew the fibre through his teeth to soften it. Then he spoke to the Bird: "Come down here, Jack, and hold these threads--your beak should be as good as a needle at this job. Now for it, Your Majesty!" Umisk continued, and one might have fancied he was a celebrated surgeon rolling up his sleeves before going at a difficult amputation.

"This is horribly bitter stuff," muttered Pisew--"it tastes like the Wolf-willow berry."

"Good for the wound--will dry up the bleeding!" affirmed the little Doctor curtly.

"Is there anything the matter with this Bait, King--any White Death-powder?" he asked. "If not, stick it in your mouth--it will brace you up, and take your mind off the leg."

"There is no White Powder in it--I can guarantee that," snickered Jay.

"I flew in the door yesterday when Francois and The Boy were out, stole the bottle off its roost, and dropped it through their water-hole in the river ice; just to save your life, Pisew, you know--you're such a silly Glutton you would eat anything."

"Jack," said the King, looking up gratefully, "your tongue is the worst part of you--your heart is all right."

"Even his tongue is all right now since he got over the fat Pork,"

sneered Pisew.

"Bird of Torture!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Black King, "but that hurts, Umisk;" for Beaver had girdled the skin of the leg even as he had the bark of the tree.

"Think of the Meat in your mouth, King," advised Umisk. "Hold up this skin with your claw, Jack," he commanded. "There! pull it a little higher. I'll cut the bone here, you see; then we'll cover it with the skin-flap."

"Full-crop! but you have a great head, Umisk," cried Jack, admiringly.

"Wh-e-e! Wh-e-e-e-e!" squealed the Fox, crunching his sharp, white teeth to hold back the cries of pain.

"Quick, Pisew, hand out the Poplar-bread--it's off!" commanded Beaver.

"Now, Jack, the thread. Hold one end in your beak, while I wrap it.

There--let go! put a hole through the skin here!" Black King's tongue was lolling out with the pain, but with Jack's strong, sharp beak, Beaver's teeth-scalpel and deft fingers, the whole operation was completed in half an hour.

"What's that?" queried Black Fox suddenly, c.o.c.king his ears; "I heard the cough of Francois's Firestick--listen!"

"I heard it too," a.s.serted Jack; "the Breed is after poor old Mooswa.

If he kills our Comrade, Blue Wolf and his Pack will make short work of him."

"Now we are ready to take Your Majesty home. I think I've made a fairish job of it," said Umisk, holding up the shortened limb with great professional pride. "Bring the foot, Jack,--it must be buried. Pisew, you can carry the King, now that he is not loaded down with iron. There will be only your big-footed track to see; for I'll circle wide, double a few times, cross Long Lake under the ice, and our enemy will never know where I've gone."

"Leave the foot here," advised Jay; "the Breed will find it, see blood on the snow, discover Pisew's track leading away, and think Lynx has eaten Black Fox out of the Trap; knowing our friend's cannibal instincts, he'll believe this. That will give our Chief a chance to get well; for Francois, thinking he's dead, will not try again to catch him."

"I don't want my reputation ruined this way," whined Pisew.

"Ruin your reputation!" sneered the Bird. "That is rich! It's like Skunk complaining of a bad odour when you're about."