KEKEK, nor with the second.  At the third Le Beau had fumbled in the placing of his bait, and for that reason the little ball of fat was strong with the scent of his hands.  A fox would have turned away from it quickly.  Miki, however, drew it from the peg and dropped it in the snow between his forefeet.  Then he looked about him, and listened for a full minute.  After that he licked the ball of fat with his tongue.  The scent of Le Beau’s hands kept him from swallowing it as he had swallowed the caribou meat.  A little suspiciously he crushed it slowly between his jaws.  The fat was sweet.  He was about to gulp it down when he detected another and less pleasant taste, and what remained in his mouth he spat out upon the snow.  But the acrid bite of the poison remained upon his tongue and in his throat.  It crept deeper—­and he caught up a mouthful of snow and swallowed it to put out the burning sensation that was crawling nearer to his vitals.

Had he devoured the ball of fat as he had eaten the other baits he would have been dead within a quarter of an hour, and Le Beau would not have gone far to find his body.  As it was, he was beginning to turn sick at the end of the fifteen minutes.  A premonition of the evil that was upon him drew him off the trail and in the direction of the windfall.  He had gone only a short distance when suddenly his legs gave way under him, and he fell.  He began to shiver.  Every muscle in his body trembled.  His teeth clicked.  His eyes grew wide, and it was impossible for him to move.  And then, like a hand throttling him, there came a strange stiffness in the back of his neck, and his breath hissed chokingly out of his throat.  The stiffness passed like a wave of fire through his body.  Where his muscles had trembled and shivered a moment before they now became rigid and lifeless.  The throttling grip of the poison at the base of his brain drew his head back until his muzzle was pointed straight up to the sky.  Still he made no cry.  For a space every nerve in his body was at the point of death.

Then came the change.  As though a string had snapped, the horrible grip left the back of his neck; the stiffness shot out of his body in a flood of shivering cold, and in another moment he was twisting and tearing up the snow in mad convulsions.  The spasm lasted for perhaps a minute.  When it was over Miki was panting.  Streams of saliva dripped from his jaws into the snow.  But he was alive.  Death had missed him by a hair, and after a little he staggered to his feet and continued on his way to the windfall.

Thereafter Jacques Le Beau might place a million poison capsules in his way and he would not touch them.  Never again would he steal the meat from a bait-peg.