CHAPTER VIII

PRODUCTS OF THE FUR FARM

“That looks bad, Obed,” Max hastened to say, feeling a perceptible thrill at the very thought of being on hand to assist this enterprising boy defend his property, which he had made so valuable, through his own efforts in most part.  “I saw a smoke last evening, too, which must have been made by a camp-fire.  I wondered if there were deer hunters up here so early; or if some men might be after your foxes.  Of course that idea only came to me after you had told us about your enterprise, and how valuable the pelts were.”

“It’s mighty tough,” avowed Obed, between his set teeth, “to be so nigh success, and then face failure.  I’ve been tempted to signal for Jerry to come over and help me stand guard a spell.  Yuh see, I ought to be on my way to town with that pair o’ nearly-grown young blacks.  I know whar I c’n get more for ’em alive than for their pelts if I took the time to cure the same, which I don’t want to do.  Oh!  I’ve just got to sell ’em, and that’s all thar is about it.  I’ve dreamed about the day I’d get that check, and show—­er, that lawyer managin’ Mr. Coombs’ estate that all I told him was true.  Once I have the proof that thar’s big money in raisin’ silver blacks, he’s promised to do anything in reason I ask.”

Max made up his mind on the spot.

“Look here, Obed,” was the way he talked, for Max always believed that it was good policy to “hit the nail directly on the head;” especially when the subject was of considerable importance, “what’s to hinder you going off with that pair of live blacks, and disposing of them, while the four of us stay here and run your fur farm for you?  It would only take a few days, and we’ve got the time to spare.  Of course you’d have to trust us to the limit, to leave things in our charge; but we’d surely be pleased to help you out.  And depend on it, nobody would steal any of the other inmates of the pens while we were on deck.  We’ve got only one gun along, but that is a repeating Marlin, always to be depended on to do its work.”

The woods boy was visibly affected by hearing Max say this.  He reached for the other’s hand and squeezed it almost fiercely.

“Oh! it’s kind of you to say that, Max!” he exclaimed, as though the words sprang directly from his heart.  “And d’ye know I’m tempted to take you at your word.  For I must get those pups delivered as I promised.  Everything depends on that deal.  The man saw them three months ago, and we made a bargain.  I was to deliver the pups to him by the time first snow flew; and it’s due any day now, you know.”

A singular thing had happened, and Max, while deeply interested in what Obed was saying, could not help but notice that for once the woods boy had spoken without a sign of the rude dialect which up to then had marked his manner of speech.  This further aroused the curiosity of Max, who to himself was saying: