THE BLACK FOX SKIN
"How was that?" said Joe with sudden interest.
"I came on Sylvester one evening when I was trailing the robber."
"Perhaps Sylvester himself was the robber."
Mrs. Rone shook her head.
"It was n't him, Joe. He could n't 'a' known I was comin' on him, and his tracks was quite different."
"Well, but to-night? You say the thief come here to-night? What did he do that for?' said Joe, pushing the tobacco firmly into his pipebowl.
"He had a good reason," replied Sally with bitterness. "Last Thursday when I was on my way back from putting my letter under your door, I come home around by a line of traps which I have on the far side of the mountain. It was n't anything like my usual time to visit them, not but what I've varied my hours lately to try and catch the villain. I had gone about halfway to Low's Corner—when I heard something rustling through the scrub ahead of me, it might have been a lynx or it might have been a dog, but when I come to the trap I saw the
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