THE BLACK FOX SKIN
spruces there. The track of the wire noose is plain, and there was some feathers. But look here, Evans, he did n't wear no pink necker."
Evans's annoyance passed off suddenly. "That's funny!" said he, "for he left more than a feather and the scrape of a wire." The game warden pulled out a pocketbook and showed us wedged between its pages another strand of the pink and grey wool. "I found it where he passed through those dead spruces. How's that?"
I looked at Joe. To my surprise he threw back his head, and gave one of his rare laughs.
"Well," cried Evans, "are you still sure that he did n't wear a pink necker?"
"Surer than ever," said Joe, and began to poke in the ashes.
Evans eyed him for a moment, transferred his glance to me, and winked. Before long he left us, his last words being that he would have his hands on "Pink Necker" by night. Joe sat in silence for some ten minutes after he had gone, then he rose and began to lead away southeast.
"Evans'll hear Val Black's the owner of the pink necker at Lavette Village. It's an otter's to
105
