The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp

by Thornton W. Burgess

  CHAPTER XV

  SPARRER'S TEMPTATION

  "White boy heap good shot," repeated the Indian with what was intendedto be a friendly grin.

  He was standing some twenty paces away, and where he had come fromSparrer hadn't the least idea. If he had sprung out of the snow at hisfeet the boy would have been no more startled and surprised. He wasshort, thick-set, and was dressed in a nondescript pair of trousers muchthe worse for wear, a faded mackinaw spotted with grease and dirt andwas, of course, on snow-shoes. The swarthy evil face was crowned with acap of unplucked muskrat fur. Save for a light axe carried in one handand a knife in his belt he apparently was unarmed, a fact which Sparrernoted at once with a feeling of relief.

  "Black fox no good. Kill rabbits and birds. Good to kill fox. What whiteboy do with him?" continued his unwelcome visitor.

  "Take his skin," replied Sparrer for want of anything better to say.

  "Skin no good. Red fox skin good. Black fox no good--bad fur. No cansell. White boy take rabbit and give Indian fox." This astoundingproposal was accompanied with what was intended for an ingratiatingsmile, but which served only to make the face still more ugly.

  "He's wised me fer a tenderfoot, an' thinks Oi'm easy," thought Sparrer.Aloud he said, "What do youse want of it, if it's no good and yousecan't sell it?"

  Once more the dark face broke into a grin. "No sell. Make cap to wear."He touched his head to make clearer his meaning. "Indian like blackcap," he added guilelessly.

  Sparrer laughed aloud at the childish simplicity of the idea. Then heshook his head. "Nothin' doing," he replied. "Oi want the fox meself."

  A look of cunning swept across the dark visage. "Indian buy fox. Givetwo dollar," was the next bland proposal.

  Again Sparrer grinned and shook his head. He was beginning to enjoy thesituation. This was a method of barter he was accustomed to, the methodof the lower East Side. He began to feel at home.

  "Five dollar!" The Indian pulled off a mitten and held up the hand withthe fingers spread.

  Once more Sparrer shook his head. "Youse can't buy it," said hedecidedly as if to end the parley. "An' youse can't put nothin' acrosson me," he added. "It's worth a lot of dough an' Oi'm wise to it. Yousebetter run along." He shifted his rifle to a handier position by way ofa hint.

  The Indian, who had gradually advanced, stopped. His face changedcompletely. There was no longer any attempt to hide the greed in thebeady eyes. He was no fool, and he saw the uselessness of trying todissemble further. He meant to have that skin by fair means or foul, byfair means if possible, for he was keen enough to realize that thus hewould avoid possible unpleasant consequences in the future. Thisyoungster knew more than he had supposed he did, but he might not beproof against the temptation of ready money. Pulling off his othermitten he held up both hands, closed his fingers, opened them again,closed them and then opened those of one hand.

  "Twenty-five dollar!" he exclaimed.

  That was a larger sum than Sparrer had ever possessed at one time in allhis life and to have that in hand at once was a temptation. There was nodenying the fact. The skin might be worth all that he had heard and thenagain it might not. He was too wise in the ways of the world to beignorant of the fact that fabulous tales are built around comparativelymodest facts. Undoubtedly the skin was valuable. The fact that theIndian was so eager to get it was proof of this. But as for its beingworth any such sum as two thousand, or even one thousand, that seemedabsurd. He glanced down at the black form at his feet and hisimagination couldn't conceive of any one paying even a hundred dollarsfor such a little bit of fur. Why, even when stretched it would be but afraction of the size of the great bearskin back at the cabin and thatwas worth only fifteen dollars, and for his part he would much ratherhave the latter. He looked up to find the black beady eyes of theIndian fixed upon him as if they read his very thoughts. The man hadbeen quick to perceive his hesitation and now began to speak again.

  "White boy staying at trappers' camp. Fox no belong to white boy. Himbelong to trappers. Trappers sell and get money. White boy get nothing.White boy sell to Indian. No tell trappers. Indian go away and no tell.White boy have all the money--twenty-five dollar." Once more he held uphis hands to indicate the amount.

  Sparrer gulped. The plan was simplicity itself. Twenty-five dollarsmeant a great deal to him, and no one would ever know. A vision of thetoil-worn face of his mother when he should place twenty-five dollars inher hands flashed before him. And wasn't the fox his? Hadn't it beenfree and wild, belonging to nobody, and hadn't he waited and watched andwith steady hands and a true eye made a clean kill? He knew nothing ofthe ethics of a trapper's camp. What the Indian had said might be true,and he would get no share in the prize he had won. It wasn't fair. Itwas an aspect of the matter of which he had not thought. Indeed, in theexcitement of the hunt he had had no opportunity to think of anythingbut getting the shot. What he should do with the fox if he got it hadnot entered his head. And after the kill the appearance of the Indianhad put everything else out of his head.

  In swift review there passed through his mind all that he had heardabout the silver fox of Smugglers' Hollow. He thought of the traps whichAlec had set especially for the wily king and how he and Pat had openlyplanned for his capture. This was their trapping territory by right ofpreemption. He, Sparrer, was their guest, and but for Pat he would neverhave had this wonderful outing. It was even a borrowed rifle with whichhe had made the fatal shot. It was luck, mere luck, the luck of anovice, that had given him the opportunity. But was that any reason whyhe should not profit by it? If he had not killed it the animal wouldstill be running at large and Pat and Alec might never have gotten it.It was his, his, _his_ and no one else had any claim on it. Why shouldhe not do as he pleased with it?

  Meanwhile the Indian had been watching with an intense fixed stare thatnoted every change of expression in the boy's face. A less closeobserver than he would have realized that the boy was tempted. He wascunning enough to know that now was the time to play his trump card andcatch the lad before he had fully regained possession of himself andspurned the temptation. With a single swift step forward he exclaimed,"Fifty dollar!"

  There was a note of finality in his voice which Sparrer recognized. Itwas his last bid. He would go no higher. There would be no morebartering. If twenty-five dollars had seemed big the doubling of theamount meant little less than a fortune in the boy's eyes.

  "Youse hasn't got fifty dollars," he said weakly. "Youse is bluffin'."

  In truth he had every reason for thinking so from the Indian'sappearance. One does not expect to find so large a sum on a manpresenting so rough an appearance as this fellow, particularly in thewoods. Imagine Sparrer's surprise therefore when the Indian felt insidehis shirt and brought out a worn buckskin bag which apparently had beensuspended by a thong around his neck and from it drew forth a wad ofgreasy bills. Squatting on his heels he unfolded these and began tocount them out before him on the snow. They were in small denominationsand as he slowly spread them out, counting aloud as he did so, theeffect was most impressive. He meant that it should be. He counted onthe influence that the sight of so much currency would have.

  It was a cunning move. Had he shown the money in a pile, or had thebills been in large denominations the effect would not have been nearlyso impressive. As it was the snow around him was literally carpeted withbills. In spite of himself Sparrer gave vent to a little gasp. TheIndian heard. Stuffing the two bills which remained after he had countedout fifty back in the little bag he rose to his feet and with a dramaticsweep of one hand above the green carpet exclaimed:

  "All white boy's for fox! White boy count--fifty dollar! White boy buymuch things. Have good time." He smiled meaningly. "Indian take fox andleave much money. White boy hide um--so." He thrust a hand into hisshirt. "Nobody know. Indian go way--far." He swept a hand toward themountains. Then he pointed at the bills at his feet. "Much money. Verymuch money. White boy count."

  Sparrer looked down in a fascinated stare a
nd unconsciously he didcount. He had but to say the word and all those bills would be his, histo hide away in his bosom and gloat over in secret until he should reachhome. And then? A vision of the things they would buy passed beforehim--things his boyish heart had coveted; things which his mother andbrothers and sisters needed; things which would for a time make lifebrighter and better. And it would not be stealing. The fox was his. Hehad shot it and he had a right to do what he pleased with it "It wouldnot be stealing," he repeated to himself almost fiercely.

  But would it be honorable? Could he go back to his companions and tellthem freely and openly what he had done? No. He must keep his deed asecret, locked in his heart, to be boasted of only among his companionsof the street gang. Once he would have had no qualms whatever. Hisconscience would not have been troubled in the least. But that was whenhe was Sparrer Muldoon, street gamin and champion scrapper of the gang;with no higher ethics than the right of might. Now he was Edward MuldoonBoy Scout, sworn "to keep physically strong, mentally awake, and morallystraight;" to obey the Scout law of which the first commandment is to betrustworthy and the second to be loyal.

  Would he be either mentally awake or morally strong if he yielded tothis temptation? Could he regard himself in the future us trustworthy oras loyal to his friends? Two selves were battling in one boy.

  "It ain't nothin' wrong," insisted Sparrer Muldoon.

  "A Scout's honor is to be trusted," whispered Edward Muldoon.

  "You bet it is!" Unconsciously the boy spoke aloud. The battle was won.His face cleared. In that moment he understood many things. He knew nowexactly what he would do. He would take the fox to the cabin and turnit over to Pat and Alec. He knew that that was what he had intended todo all along before the Indian had appeared. He knew, too, who thislow-browed, ugly-faced redskin was. He was one of the thieves who hadbeen stealing fur and who had butchered the deer the day before. It cameover him all in a flash that it was he who had set those traps at thebeaver houses, that he himself had been seen there and followed.Doubtless the Indian had been in hiding close by all the time and thekilling of the fox had brought him forth because he could not let sorich a prize slip through his fingers. Yes, everything was clear toSparrer now. In his first surprise, his own problem following hard onthe heels of it, he had no chance to think or even to wonder how the manhad happened to appear there at that moment. Now he understood and hisface flushed with anger.

  The money was no longer a temptation. He scowled down at it and hewondered if it had been come by honestly. He could not know that the manwas an outlaw and had been forced to leave a lumber camp between sunswith no chance to spend his accumulated wages. So he regarded the moneywith growing suspicion and his anger grew at the thought of how near hehad come to selling his honor, perhaps for tainted money at that.

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

  The Indian's expression changed as he squatted once more and picked upthe bills. He was too shrewd a sign reader not to know when it wasuseless to follow a trail further. The fox couldn't be bought, thereforeit must be obtained in some other way, by craft or violence. If he couldget near enough to the boy to disarm him the rest would be easy. Ifnot--well, there was another way. He would avoid it if possible, for theboy's friends were too near. They would be on his trail inside oftwenty-four hours. It would mean a long, hurried flight across theborder 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 forhim. It would mean a battle if ever they came up with him, a battle tothe death. But a thousand, perhaps two thousand dollars! One would daremuch for such a sum. He had friends across the border. Through them theskin could be disposed of while he remained in hiding. Once across theline with the booty he had no fear, that is if he could obtain itwithout committing the blood crime. He would strike north and thenmarket the pelt in the spring. It would be difficult to prove that itwas not of his own killing. There were no witnesses. It would be onlythe word of this boy against him even should he be traced. Given areasonable start he had little fear of this.

  He looked over at the black fox and the lust of greed glittered in hiseyes. 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 withwhom he had to deal and by the looks of him a novice in the woods. Hestuffed the money bag back in his shirt and rose, his axe in hand. Thenwithout warning he leaped forward, axe upraised, his face contorted withrage like that of a demon.

  "Stop!"

  There was something menacing and sinister in the sound of the word, butmore menacing and sinister was the muzzle of the little rifle into whichhe was staring. It brought him up short in the middle of a stride. Hehad seen the boy shoot and now the rifle was held as steadily as when ithad been pointed at the fox. There was something in the sound of theboy's voice that warned him that he would not hesitate to shoot again,and at that distance he could not miss. The Indian froze into a statue.

  "Turn around and git!" commanded Sparrer. He was not afraid. He knewthat the rifle gave him the whip hand. A boy of his age from higherwalks in life might have been intimidated. Not so Sparrer. Young inyears, he was old in experience. He had seen too many drunken brawls,too many "bad men" in his street life, and knew too much of human natureto feel fear with that gun at his shoulder. Instead a white hotconsuming rage welled up within him as when he had rushed to the defenseof some weakling against the attack of a cowardly bully. He saw red.

  "Youse git!" he repeated and there was a threat in the very way in whichhe said it.

  For a brief second the Indian hesitated. Then with an ugly snarl likethat of a trapped beast he slowly turned. Baffled rage distorted hisface until it was more like that of some savage animal than of a humanbeing. It was humiliating to be balked by a slip of a boy. It was worseto have a fortune almost within his reach and be forced to leave it.There was murder, black murder, in his heart as he slowly shuffledforward a few steps.

  Suddenly he turned like a flash and with a peculiar swing threw the axe.Sparrer knew nothing of the art of axe throwing at which many woodsmenare expert and are deadly in their quickness and precision. He waswholly unprepared for the move and it caught him off guard. He caught aglimpse of glinting steel and instinctively ducked as he had learned todo in fighting. At the same time he threw up his rifle. The axe struckthe barrel of the latter just enough to be slightly deflected from itscourse and the end of the handle instead of the keen blade struck theboy a crashing blow on the side of the head. Without a sound he droppedin his tracks.

  A slow grin overspread the face of his assailant as he strode over andlooked down at the white still face of his victim. After all it wasbetter so. He had not killed him and there was less to fear from thelong arm of the law. Contemptuously he touched the still form with thetoe of a shoe. Then gloatingly he picked up the fox, hesitated andpicked up the rabbit. Without another glance at the huddled form on thesnow he turned and vanished among the trees.