THE BLACK FOX SKIN
and I saw something moving on the trail below us. A second or two of moonlight gave me a glimpse of the approaching figure of a man, a humped figure that moved swiftly. If ever I saw craft and caution inform an advance, I saw it then.
The clouds swept over, and when next the glint of light came, the dark figure stood before the hut. A whistle, no answer, and its hand went to the latch. I heard Joe sigh as he covered the man with his rifle. Then came his voice in its quiet tones.
"Guess the game's off, Sylvester. Don't turn! Hands up!"
The man stood still as we came behind him. At a word he faced round. I saw the high cheekbones and gleaming eyes of an Indian, his savage face was contracted with animosity.
"Now, Mr. Quaritch," said November suggestively.
I flatter myself I made a neat job of tying up our prisoner.
"Thank you. What's in that bundle on his back?"
I opened it. Several skins dropped out. Joe
113
