“So am I,” said the fox. “Let’s go and look for something; I’ll go this way, and you go that.” “Oh, I only frighten the ptarmigan,” the bear said. “When I try to catch them they just fly up.” “Ptarmigan are easy enough to kill,” returned the fox, “It’s men that I am afraid of.” “I am not afraid of men,” the bear said, “But I can’t catch ptarmigan.” “Well,” the fox said, “I’ll get you some ptarmigan quickly enough; you just wait here.”

    So the bear waited, and soon the fox came back with some ptarmigan. The bear was very grateful and said, “Thank you, thank you, fox;” and when he had eaten them he said: “You were very good, you brought me some ptarmigan; now I’ll go and bring you a man. You wait for me here.”

    So the fox waited and waited, and after a long time the bear returned. But he brought no man with him; instead he was staggering as he walked, and the blood was dripping onto the ground, for the man had shot him in the side with an arrow and the shaft had broken off, leaving the head in the wound. The fox said, “Alas, my cousin! This is terrible. However, I’ll soon make you well.”

    Then she made a fire, heated some stones in it and said to the bear: “Lie down here and stretch your legs out. If I hurt you, don’t flinch; if you do you will kill yourself, for I shall not be able to extract the arrow.” The bear lay down and the fox pressed the red-hot stones into its flank, deeper and deeper the more the bear squirmed and groaned. Presently the groans ceased—the bear was dead. Then the fox danced round and round on her hind legs, gleefully exclaiming: “What a clever person I am, now I have plenty of food.” She never returned to her young but stayed all the summer in this place, living on the bear.

    Winter came round and she was short of food again, for the whole of the bear had been eaten up except the bones, which she gathered together into a heap. A wolf came along, and the fox went to meet him. “How are you, cousin” she said; and they shook hands. The wolf said “I’m hungry.” “Are you?” replied the fox. “I’ll show you how to get something to eat. You see that river down there?” There was a river nearby partly frozen over. Here and there were holes in the ice and pools of water on the surface. “Go down there,” the fox continued, “And catch some salmon. I’ll make you hooks. All you have to do is to sit beside a hole and lower your hook into the water. You must sit quite still all day until the sun is about to set; then pull up your hooks; there will be plenty of salmon on them. Believe me, I’ve done it often myself.”

    Well, the wolf sat down beside a hole in the ice and waited. Meanwhile the fox went off—she was going to look for food ashore, she said, but in reality she hid behind a mound and watched. All day the wolf sat there, patiently waiting. Now the sun was low in the west; with a quick jerk he pulled up his hooks—there was nothing on them. He was boiling over with rage. “That fox has been fooling me,” he said. “I’ll follow her and eat her.” He tried to stand up, but his tail was frozen to the ice. He tugged and tugged, and at last with a desperate wrench he broke loose, but he left his tail behind. He looked for the fox’s trail and followed her over the tundra, mad with pain and anger, and with blood pouring from the roots of his tail. The fox fled and hid in a hole in a bank.

    After a time the wolf approached. “Come out,” he said, “I’m going to eat you.” “What’s the matter,” said the fox, peering out with her head on one side and with one eye closed; “I never saw you before. What do you want?” “You fooled me today down on the ice and made me lose my tail. Now I’m going to eat you.” “I don’t know anything about it,” replied the fox, emerging from her hole; “You see that fox away over there; that must be the one. I heard some steps a little while ago outside my hole.” “Thank you,” said the wolf, “I’ll soon catch her;” and he set off again, the fox watching him. Soon he stumbled and fell, and a few moments afterwards lay dead, for he had drained all the blood from his body. The fox sprang up and danced around, exclaiming, “How clever I am!” That winter she lived on the carcase of the wolf, and when it was finished she piled the bones into a heap and went away.

    Summer came round and the fox again wandered about in search of food. One day she saw an enormous black bear, bigger than any she had ever seen. She was in a bad temper and called to the fox, “Do you know anything about my son?” “No,” said the fox, “I don’t know anything about him.” “He left home last summer,” said the bear, “To go and look for caribou, and he never came back. I have found his bones on the hill-side.” “I don’t know anything about it,” answered the fox; “I never saw him. Come and show me where the bones are.”

    So the two went along together and came to the place where the fox had killed the bear and piled the bones together. Here the mother began to weep. The fox was very sympathetic, but said at last, “Well, weeping won’t mend matters. I think I know who killed him. You wait here a little while.” So the fox went away and climbed a low ridge; looking down on the other side, she saw a great brown bear. Then she ran back quickly to the black bear and said, “There’s a big brown bear over there. I think he killed your son. Go and fight him. He is very big and strong, but I’ll help you.”

    So the black bear went to fight the brown bear. Both were very strong and the fight lasted a long time. The fox jumped around pretending to take part in it, but cunningly did nothing save get herself covered all over with blood. At last the black bear was victorious, and her adversary lay dead on the ground. Then she turned to the fox and said, “Thank you, my son. You have been very kind. You shall have all this meat as a reward. I am very tired myself and don’t want any of it; you can have it all.” She turned to go away but fell dead also. The fox danced triumphantly and ate them both.