with his laughter.
"Rats!" screamed the Jay; "that's the subject under discussion. Our friend wanders from his theme trying to be personal."
"Oh, nobody's personal here," sighed Lynx. "I'm a 'Slink,' but that doesn't count."
"Yes, talking of Rats," recommenced Carcajou, "like Lynx, I admire our busy little Brother, Beaver, though I never ate one in my life-"
"Pisew did!" chirruped the bird-voice from over their heads.
"Though I never ate one," solemnly repeated Wolverine; "but if Umisk won't do for King, there is no use discussing Wuchusk's chances. He has all Trowel Tail's failings, without his great wisdom, and even can't build a decent house, though he lives in one. Half the time he hasn't anything to eat for his family; you'll see him skirmishing about Winter or Summer, eating Roots, or, like our friends Mink and Otter, chasing Fish. Anyway, I get tired of that horrible odour of musk always. His house smells as bad as a Trapper's Shack with piles of fur in it-I hate people who use musk, it shows bad taste; and to carry a little bag of it around with one all the time-it's detestable!"
"You should take a trip to the Barren Lands, my fastidious friend, as I did once," interposed Mooswa, "and get a whiff of the Musk Ox. Much Fodder! it turned my stomach."
"You took too much of it, old Blubbernose," yelled Jay, fiendishly; "Wolverine hasn't got a nose like the head of a Sturgeon Fish. Anyway, you're out of it, Mister Rat; if the Lieutenant says you're not fit for King, why you're not-I must say I'm glad of it."
"There are still the two cousins, Otter, and Mink," said Carcajou.
"Fish Thieves-both of them," declared Whisky-Jack. "So is Fisher, only he hasn't nerve to go in the water after Fish; he waits till Man catches and dries them, then robs the cache. That's why they call him Fisher-they should name him Fish-stealer."
"Look here, Jack," retorted Wolverine, "last Winter I heard François say that you stole even his soap."
"I thought it was butter," chuckled Jay-"it made me horribly sick. But their butter was so bad, I thought the soap was an extra good pat of it."
"I may say," continued Carcajou, "that these two cousins, Otter and Mink, like Muskrat, have too limited a knowledge for either to be Chief of the Boundaries. While they know all about streams and water powers, they'd be lost on land. Why, in deep snow, Nekik with his short, little legs makes a track as though somebody had pulled a log along-that wouldn't do."
"I don't want to be King!" declared Otter.
"Nor I!" added Mink.
"And we don't want you-so that settles it; all agreed!" cried Whisky-Jack, gleefully. "Nothing like having peace and harmony in the meeting. It always comes to the same thing: people's names are put up, they're blackguarded and abused, and in the end nobody's fit for the billet but Black Fox; and Carcajou, of course, is his Lieutenant."
"We have now considered everybody's claims," began Carcajou-
"You've modestly forgotten yourself," interrupted Whisky-Jack. "You'd make a fine, fat, portly Ruler."
"No, I withdraw in favour of Black Fox, and we won't even mention your name. Black Fox has been a good King; he has saved many of us from a Trap; besides, he wears the Royal Robe. Look at him! his Mother and all his Brothers and Sisters are red, except Stripes, the Baby, who is a Cross; does that not show that he has been selected for royal honours? Among ourselves each one is like his Brother-there is little difference. The Minks are alike, the Otter are alike, the Wolves are alike-all are alike; except, of course, that one may be a little larger or a little darker than the other. Look at the King's magnificent Robe-blacker than Fisher's coat; and the silver tip of the white guard-hairs make it more beautiful than any of our jackets."
"It's just lovely!" purred Pisew, with a fine sycophantic touch.
"I'm glad I haven't a coat like that," sang out Jay; "His Majesty will be assassinated some day for it. Do you fellows know what he's worth to the Trappers-do any of you know your market value? I thought not-let me tell you."
"For the sake of a mild Winter, don't-not just now," pleaded Carcajou. "Let us settle this business of the King first, then you can all spin yarns."
"Yes, we're wasting time," declared Umisk. "I've got work to do on my house, so let us select a Chief, by all means. There's Coyote, and Wapoos, and Sikak the Skunk, who have not yet been mentioned." But each of these, dreading Jack's sharp tongue, hastily asserted they were not in the campaign as candidates.
"Well, then," asked Carcajou, "are you all agreed to have Black Fox as Leader until the fulness of another year?"
"I'm satisfied!" said Bear, gruffly.
"It's an honour to have him," ventured Pisew the Lynx.
"He's a good enough King," declared Nekik the Otter.
"I'm agreed!" exclaimed Beaver; "I want to get home to my work."
"Long live the King!" barked Blue Wolf.
"Long live the King!" repeated Mink, and Fisher, and the rest of them in chorus.
"Now that's settled," announced Wolverine.
"Thank you, Comrades," said Black Fox; "you honour me. I will try to be just, and look after you carefully. May I have Wolverine as Lieutenant again?"
They all agreed to this.
THE VALUE OF THEIR FUR
"Now that's serious business enough for one day," declared the King; "Jack, you may tell us about the fur, and perhaps some of the others also have interesting tales to relate."
Whisky-Jack hopped down from his perch, and strutted proudly about in the circle.
"Mink," he began, snapping his beak to clear his throat, "you can chase a silly, addle-headed Fish into the mud and eat him, but you don't know the price of your own coat. Listen! The Black King's jacket is worth more than your fur and all the others put together. I heard the Factor at Wapiscaw tell his clerk about it last Winter when I dined with him."
"You mean when you dined with the Train Dogs," sneered Pisew.
"You'll dine with them some day, and their stomachs will be fuller than yours," retorted the Bird. "Mink, your pelt is worth a dollar and a half-'three skins,' as the Company Men say when they are trading with the Indians, for a skin means fifty cents. You wood-dwellers didn't know that, I suppose."
"What do they sell my coat for?" queried Beaver.
"Six dollars-twelve skins, for a prime, dark one. Kit-Beaver, that's one of your Babies, old Trowel Tail, sells for fifty cents-or is given away. You, Fisher, and you, Otter, are nip and tuck-eight or ten dollars, according to whether your fur is black or of a dirty coffee colour. But there's Pisew; he's got a hide as big as a blanket, and it sells for only two dollars. Do you know what they do with your skin, Slink? They line long cloaks for the White Wives with it; because it's soft and warm, – also cheap and nasty. He, he! old Feather-bed Fur.
"Now, Wapistan, the Marten, they call a little gentleman. It's wonderful how he has grown in their affections, though. Why, I remember, five years ago the Company was paying only three skins for prime Marten; and what do you suppose your hide sells for now, wee Brother?"
"Please don't," pleaded Marten, "it's a painful subject; I wish they couldn't sell
