.dt Jules of the Great Heart, by Lawrence Mott—A\
Project Gutenberg eBook
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Jules of the Great Heart.
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New 6s. Novels
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THE LAKE
By George Moore
BARBARA REBELL
By Mrs. Belloc Lowndes
NIGEL THOMSON
By V. Taubman-Goldie
THE CONQUEST OF JERUSALEM
By Myriam Harry
BABY BULLET
By Lloyd Osbourne
THE MAN
By Bram Stoker
THE FOOL ERRANT
By Maurice Hewlett
SUSAN WOO’D AND SUSAN WON
By Emma Brooke
THE GAME
By Jack London
MISS DESMOND
By Marie Van Vorst
A VENDETTA IN VANITY FAIR
By Esther Miller
A LAME DOG’S DIARY
By S. Macnaughtan
THE FORTUNE-HUNTER
By Harald Molander
FATE’S INTRUDER
By Frank Savile and A. E. T. Watson
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LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
21 Bedford Street, W.C.
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[Illustration: Jules]
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Jules of the
Great Heart
“Free” Trapper and Outlaw
in the Hudson Bay Region
in the Early Days
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By
Lawrence Mott
With Frontispiece by F. E. Schoonover
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[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
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London:
William Heinemann
1905
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All rights reserved
Copyright—London: William Heinemann, 1905
Copyright—New York: The Century Co., 1905
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CONTENTS
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CHAPTER | |
I. | A Tragedy of the Snow | #1:ch01#
II. | An Unrecovered Trail | #13:ch02#
III. | Jules of the Great Heart | #25:ch03#
IV. | Jules of the Rescue | #36:ch04#
V. | Jules’s Stratagem | #54:ch05#
VI. | Noël | #63:ch06#
VII. | “Remember Jules!” | #73:ch07#
VIII. | “Somme T’ing for Heem” | #88:ch08#
IX. | Man against Man | #98:ch09#
X. | Into the North | #112:ch10#
XI. | The New Country | #118:ch11#
XII. | The Meeting | #133:ch12#
XIII. | Solitude | #149:ch13#
XIV. | Light of the Evening | #157:ch14#
XV. | “No Greater Friend....” | #160:ch15#
XVI. | The Messenger | #165:ch16#
XVII. | The Dream of Morning Star | #176:ch17#
XVIII. | Fulfilment of the Dream | #196:ch18#
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XIX. | The Awakening of the Great Heart | #212:ch19#
XX. | The Quest | #225:ch20#
XXI. | On the Heights | #235:ch21#
XXII. | Etienne Annaotaha | #260:ch22#
XXIII. | The Cross on the Mountain | #272:ch23#
XXIV. | “Je suis Content!” | #274:ch24#
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TO MY MOTHER
IN LOVING GRATITUDE
AND DEVOTION
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[Illustration: Decoration]
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I || A TRAGEDY OF THE SNOW
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Manou stopped on a snow hill, and looked
back over the way he had come; then, steadying
himself against the heavy northwest wind,
he took off his snow-shoes. The little steel-like
particles of crust, eddying about with the
force of the gale, stung and bit him, and his
six “huskies”[#] crept under the lee of the sledge
and huddled together.
.pm fn-start
Sledge dogs.
.pm fn-end
He chafed and pounded his aching feet,
untying the thongs that bound the moccasins,
his face drawn with pain; then he sat down
beside the dogs and shoved his feet among
their warm furry bodies. They growled and
snarled, as if resenting this attempt to take
some of their precious heat from them, but he
paid no attention. Continually his head turned
to the back trail, and he watched eagerly in
that direction. Nothing but snowy wastes met
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his eye, undulating on and on into the distance;
not a sound could his ears catch but the crisp
rustle-rustle of the frozen snow as it scurried
over the ice-bound surface. The cold was
metallic in its fierceness; drops of ice clustered
under the edges of his fur cap, where sweat
had congealed as fast as it appeared, and his
breath froze on his lips as it came into contact
with the bitter wind. He looked again at the
back trail. “Ah-h-h!” he muttered. A black
dot was coming over a distant ice ridge; it
seemed strangely distorted in the snow-haze,
now looming up to the full figure of a man,
now dwindling to a dark speck against the
whiteness of everything.
He drew on his over-moccasins and fastened
his snow-shoes. “Mush! Mush!”[#] he shouted
to the dogs, cracking the long whip with pistol-like
effect. Away they went, the bone runners
of the sledge creaking sharply over the uneven
surface as he strode beside it. He did not stop
to look back now, but urged his team to top
speed with whip and voice: “Musha! Ar-r-rr!
Musha!”[#] Obediently the leader swung into
an ice ravine. It was down hill, so the man
threw himself on the sledge. His weight added
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to its momentum, and the dogs seemed not to
touch the ground as they raced ahead, striving
to keep the traces taut. “Musha! Ar-r-ha!”
The leader turned sharply to the left, and the
man hung far out on the flying sledge to keep
it from upsetting. At a steep decline now, he
used the braking-stick, as the hind feet of the
nearest dogs were rattling on the curved runners,
though they were doing their best.
.pm fn-start
Indian word of command, “Go on.”
.pm fn-end
.pm fn-start
Word of command, “Go! Right! Go on!”
.pm fn-end
Back on the hill where Manou had rested
was another man, keenly examining the
scratches of the dogs’ nails on the crust. He
was tall and gaunt, but with sinuous strength
showing in every limb. At his feet were three
dogs and a light sledge. He stood up, and,
shading his eyes from the sun-glare, looked
ahead and saw Manou hurrying onward.
“Ah-h-h!” he growled, “seex dog, hein?
Sacré dam’! He t’ink he goin’ get mes skins
sauf to de compagnie, an’ dat me, Jules Verbaux,
let heem do heet sans bataille? We see!
Mush! Allez!” The dogs leaped to their
work, and he followed swiftly after, his snow-shoes
sliding in long, easy strides.
Jules Verbaux was a “free” trapper in the
Hudson Bay Company’s territory. He was a
thorn in the factor’s side, as he stole fur from
the traps of the Company’s Indians, and they
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could never catch him to send him over the
“long trail.” Manou, a half-breed Indian, had
heard of Jules’s cache,[#] where there was a lot
of fur, and he had taken his dogs and sneaked
off, hoping, for his own profit, to break the
cache and get into one of the Company’s
posts, where he would be safe to sell the
skins.
.pm fn-start
Hiding-place where the trappers keep their furs.
.pm fn-end
Jules came up on a drift and saw Manou
going, going. “Ah, diable,” he muttered; “he
goin’ win avec seex dog! Vat you t’ink me
do? Jules, Ah have vone leet’ plan; dat
miserab’ he not know exactement la place;
Ah goin’ fool heem! Musha! ai-i-i-ii!” His
voice trailed off in a nasal whine, and the dogs
whirled about to the right and raced on.
Manou was so far ahead that he thought it
safe to stop again; he put his dogs under the
shelter of an ice clump while he climbed up
on it. He could not find his pursuer on the
back trail, and he chuckled for a moment.
“Toi, Verbaux! Manou goin’ show to toi ’Ow
to mush.” Then he caught sight of Jules
working off to the right. “Qu’est ça?” he
muttered, and after fumbling about in his
pockets he brought out a soiled and crumpled
piece of paper. “Nor’ouest to ze hol’ trail,
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den directement nor’ to ligne two, den sud’est;
cache marrke, cross hon piece of wood. V’y
for he go dat chemin?” he asked himself, and
looked again.
Sure enough, Jules was now far off to the
right, and going on fast. “Zat dam’ femme!
She no tell to Manou correctement! Ah go
now cut heem hoff zis chemin.” He slid and
tumbled down the clump. “Mush! ai-i-i-i!”
and away he went in the direction calculated
to bring him across the other’s trail. As he
travelled he pulled out an old pistol and
examined the cartridges carefully. “Ah feex
dat Verbaux, den le facteur he mak’ me
vone big gif’—mabbe five dollaires—eef Ah
breeng hees head cut hoff to la poste!”
Meanwhile Jules passed over snow-barrens
with tireless speed. Regularly his snow-shoes
clicked as he lifted them, and unceasingly he
plied the lash. “Allez—allez! Ho-o-o-p!”
He shook his fist at the other when he saw
that Manou had fallen into the trap and was
trying to head him off. “Viens, scélérat! Ah
goin’ lead you in la territoire du diable!” He
shouted aloud. The sound of his voice was
whisked away even as his lips moved; he
shook his fist again. “You know, garçon, zat
Jules he have no gun; mais he have somme
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t’ing for you, Manou!” And he felt for the
knife that rested in his belt. “Now, Ah go
fas’ et leeve ze beeg trail. You come, Manou,
hein? You come!” And he darted on at
even greater speed.
An hour later Manou came to Verbaux’s
trail. “C’est bien ça. Ah go fas’ now; an’
to-night, v’en he stop, Ah get heem.” He
caressed the pistol. “Mush! mush!” he
screamed to the dogs, and twined the lash
about their heads. “Musha!”
Manou had forgotten his aching feet, forgotten
his direction, forgotten everything but
the lust of gain and his hatred of the man he
was now pursuing.
On and on he went, cursing the dogs, and
lashing them till the blood oozed through their
fur. Over ridges and across drifts, down gullies
and through ice ravines, following Jules’s
broad trail, like a bloodhound he flew, now
and again getting a glimpse of his man ahead.
Sometimes Jules slowed up and breathed his
dogs, and Manou’s eyes would snap when he
saw him so close at hand; again Jules would
put on an extra burst of speed, and Manou
would curse horribly as he appreciated that the
distance between them had increased.
The arctic day began to wane; the sun was
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pale and orange-coloured as it sank toward the
snow-bound horizon. Jules sped on through
the long twilight; finally he stopped. “Now,
Ah goin’ feenesh you, diable! Ah, Jules Verbaux,
goin’ do eet!”
He took off the dogs’ harness and lashed
the biggest of the team firmly about the body
with the broad back-thongs; this done, he
fastened the light sledge strongly on his back,
and then slung the wriggling, snarling animal
between the runners; he took off his snow-shoes
and hung them over his shoulder, and
then pounded the remaining two dogs into
a semblance of docility and picked one up
under each arm. “Viens donc, Manou! Ah
see you to-mor’, mabbe.” Shod only in his
light moccasins, he turned to the left and disappeared
like a shadow, leaving not the
slightest track on the hard crust.
Manou came to the end of Jules’s trail; it
was almost dark, but he got down on his hands
and knees, and, with his face close to the
snow, searched for the continuation of it.
Finally he stood up.
“Night—dam’!—she protec’ you, Jules Verbaux;
but to-mor’ Ah fin’ ze track, an’ den
Ah come!” And he cursed again.
His dogs were nearly finished; they stood
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with drooping heads and half-closed eyes
before the sledge, their hollow sides working
like bellows as they panted hoarsely. Manou
kicked and dragged them into a semicircle,
then he turned the sledge sidewise for a windbreak,
and pulling out a blanket, curled up
among the tired brutes. He was too frenzied
by disappointment to eat anything, nor did he
give the dogs any food. The sleep of utter
exhaustion soon stopped his mutterings, and
the huskies lay inert about him.
The stars twinkled and blinked in the dark-blue
heavens; the wind had died away; everything
was still. Manou slept, and the dogs
did not move. The stars suddenly seemed to
lose their lustre; a little breeze sprang up,
eddied about, and sank again. Another came—this
time a stronger one; it ruffled the bushy
tails of the huskies; it stirred the fur on the
blanket; then it, too, sank. The stars seemed
to recede into the farthest heavens, grow dim
there, and disappear. The breeze grew into
a steady wind, the snow particles rustled again
on the crust, and still neither the man nor the
dogs moved.
The wind strengthened into a strong blow,
and the particles began to huddle about the
sleeping forms, covering them with a thin
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white sheet. One of the huskies lifted its
head, sniffed a moment, and then whined—a
long-drawn whine. Manou slept on. The
blow increased to a gale, droning over the
sharp ice-edges on the hills; the drift came
fast and thick, threatening to cover man and
dogs completely. Another husky awoke, sprang
to its feet, and howled dismally; Manou stirred,
cursed the brute, and went to sleep again.
The gale grew into the awful Northern hurricane;
it shrieked through the ravines, and
hissed away among the sharp peaks; it grew
wilder and stronger, and, dragging the fur
blanket from the sleeping man, drew it to
itself and carried it over the snow hills out of
sight. The dogs were huddled in a solid mass,
yelping and howling. Manou felt the cold
and heard the raging of the wind. “Dieu! la
tempête du Nord!” he cried in terror, and
groped for the blanket; and, when he could
not find it, began to sob and to scream curses
at God and the storm.
He rose to his feet; the wind upset him;
he rose again, and again the gale threw him.
Then he started on his hands and knees to find
the blanket. He crawled up the slope of the
hill near by, thinking that it would have
lodged on the side, but it was not there. He
.bn 020.png
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crawled farther on to the top. Here the wind
was doubly strong; it seemed to shriek: “I
got the blanket out of the valley! I have you
here!” It buffeted and beat him along ahead
of it, turning him over and over, Manou fighting
and cursing all the way. He could not get
back to the dogs; he dug his fingers into the
crust until the blood ran and their ends were
split. In vain! Inch by inch, foot by foot,
yard by yard, the wind pushed and hurtled
him along. The frightful cold ate into his
heart, his liver, the nerve-centres of his spine;
he gave up fighting, and the wind rolled his
body to a little precipice. He fell over its
edge, down, down, until, with a soft thud, he
struck a deep drift, and sank in. The white
mass closed over his body like water, and filled
his nose and his ears, choking him into insensibility.
Overhead the storm raged on for hours,
until finally it sank as gradually as it had come,
the gale dying to a strong blow, the strong
blow into a steady wind, the steady wind into
a breeze, and the breeze into little drafts that
also died away. The sun rose from the snow-haze,
and marvelled not; it was used to these
things—used to going down at night, and, on
rising the next morning, to seeing the barrens
.bn 021.png
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changed, a hill here where it was flat yesterday,
a ravine there where yesterday stood a hill.
About noon a figure appeared in the distance;
it grew, and as it approached the tall,
gaunt form of Jules Verbaux was recognisable.
He came directly, unerringly to the spot
where he had broken his trail the night before,
and he laughed as he looked on the changes
that had been wrought.
“Ma foi, garçon! La tempête du Nord she
get you, hein?”
He prodded about in the drifts with his
sledge-stick, and struck something hard; he
dug in, and found Manou’s sledge. He prodded
farther, and found the bodies of the dogs
buried deep.
“Seex chiens, poor beas’! Mais Manou,
Ah vondaire v’ere ees he?”
He searched round, and dug in several
places, but with no success. “Ah, b’en, he ees
feenesh. Ah no have to faire dis!” and he
drew out the long knife that glittered in the
sunlight. He pried the bone runners from the
other’s sledge, and fastened them to his own,
on top of the load of fur it now carried, where
yesterday it had been empty.
“Mush! Allez! Mush!” and the dogs
scampered on.
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“Manou!”—and he shook his fist at the
four quarters of the horizon,—“you took my
wife, you vant steal my skins, and now le
diable he have you! Je suis content!”
And he followed on after the sledge with
the same old easy stride.
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.h2 id=ch02
II || AN UNRECOVERED TRAIL
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Jules Verbaux was taking the fur from his
traps, on what he called ligne quatre;[#] he was
very cheerful, as le bon Dieu had seen to it that
marten, sable, mink, and fox were plentifully
scattered along his line. He had no dogs with
him on this trip, but drew the toboggan-sled,
which was already well laden with skins, by a
thong over his shoulder.
.pm fn-start
Line 4.
.pm fn-end
“Dat fine!” he chuckled, and his eyes
danced, as he saw a fine gray fox in one of the
traps. It was a beautiful thing, this gray fox;
the long sleek fur had a sheen of silver as the
light trickled through the spruce branches and
flickered over it, and its brush was full and
thick. “Dat fine!” he said again. He went
on down the traps, rebaiting here, resetting
there, and often adding to the pile on the
sled.
.bn 024.png
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This line finished, he looked up at the sun.
“Mi-jou’![#] Ah have taime to go ligne two,”
he thought, and struck off due west through the
forest. Verbaux was a shrewd, careful man;
he knew well that the Company would give
much to get him in their power, and he knew,
too, that the Company’s Indians hated him
because he stole the fur from their traps;
therefore he advanced quietly through the
woods, threading his way with care among
windfalls and spruce tangles, his gray eyes
continually watching on every side, even behind
him.
.pm fn-start
Midday.
.pm fn-end
Suddenly he stopped and listened; dead trees
crackled from the intense frost and chunks
of snow dropped from the branches with a
gentle sw-i-i-sh through the air and a little
plup when they struck the crust; beyond these
natural sounds, he heard nothing. Jules still
listened, and his nostrils dilated and contracted
as he inhaled great breaths of air. “Smok’,
by gar! not ver’ far!” He threw off the
draw-thong, unbound his snow-shoes, and crept
off in moccasins through the tree trunks; and
was gone like a shadow in a moment.
Half a mile from where Jules first smelled
smoke were five men—all Indians—and they
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were squatting about a little fire, drinking
bitter, coal-black tea. “Ce Verbaux,” one of
them was saying, “voleur! He don’ tak’
skeens f’om mes trap’ las’ weeek! Ah tol’ le
facteur; he ees ver’ beeg angree. He say to
me lak’ dis: he say, ‘Tritou, you keel dis
Verbaux, een Ah geeve to you cinq, oui, dix
dollaires, an’ som’ fine blankeets!’ ‘Ah goin’
keel Verbaux, M’sieu’ le Facteur,’ Ah say to
heem. ‘Bon!’ he say den.”
“Toi, Tritou?” another trapper laughed.
“You keel Verbaux? Ha! ha! da’ ’s fonnee!
’Ow you goin’ do heet, hein? tell to me dat!”
Tritou drew himself up as far as his squatty
figure would allow. “Ah goin’ track heem,
an’ v’en he no expec’ Ah goin’ keel heem avec
gun—so!” And, to demonstrate what he
would do, he threw the rifle that lay beside
him to his shoulder, and snapped the hammer.
The others laughed, and the sound of the gruff
voices echoed dully among the trees.
“Bah, Tritou! You t’ink you goin’ snik
on dat Verbaux? C’est impossible! Ah try
t’ree, four, cinq taimes, mais he vatch h’all
taime, lak’ de beavaire.”
They were all silent, trying to think of some
way of killing Verbaux. “V’ere ees he maintenant?”
asked an Indian who had hitherto not
.bn 026.png
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spoken. Tritou answered: “Ah see hees track
near dose lignes two et t’ree las’ weeek; dat
vas v’en Manou he go for to fin’ Verbaux hees
cache. Manou he no yet comme back, no
yet!”
There was an ominous shaking of fur-covered
heads, and Tritou added in a whisper, “An’
Ah don’ t’ink Manou hee goin’ comme back.”
Silence fell on the men again as the possibility
of Manou’s end was made so apparent.
“Allons!” suggested a trapper nicknamed
Le Grand because of his great stature. “But
vee svear to feenesh dat Verbaux, hein?”
“Bon!” agreed the rest. Tritou looked up
from his work of adjusting his dog-collars.
“You mans, you so svear, but me, Tritou, keel
heem!” he said.
The men disentangled their huskies with
sundry kicks and curses, and the party left the
resting-place.
Jules came out on the little clearing, a smile
of satisfaction on his swarthy face; the Indians’
voices had just faded away, and the forest was
still. He carefully gathered the embers of the
dying fire, and blew gently on the little flame
that appeared; then he dropped bits of dry
wood on it, and tenderly nursed the feeble
blaze. From a pocket he drew a tin pannikin,
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filled it with snow, and set it on the fire; next
he produced a stubby, blackened pipe, and
lighted it with a flaming twig. He puffed and
puffed; then an ugly glitter came to the gray
eyes as he thought. “Sacré-é! Dey goin’
keel Jules, hein? Keel me, Jules Verbaux!”
he went on, thumping himself on the chest, as
though to emphasise the fact that he indeed
was the person intended.
At that moment the pannikin shook, and
almost upset, as the burning sticks settled to
red-hot embers under it. “C’est bon, ça!
Dat good signe,” he said as he noted that the
pannikin did not upset, but hung on one side,
the curling flames licking the surface of the
now boiling water. “Dey goin’ try, dey goin’
comme near, mais dey no goin’ have success!”
Jules was superstitious, as are all of his kind,
and he felt relieved at the sign of the pannikin.
Having put some tea in the water, he withdrew
the receptacle from the fire, seeming not to feel
its heat on his bare fingers. Then he cut some
chunks from a piece of caribou-meat, which he
got out of his fur tote-bag.[#] As he munched
the tough provender and sipped the strong tea,
his eyes were fixed on the smouldering fire in a
thoughtful stare; of a sudden he laughed, not
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loudly, but heartily nevertheless, as proved by
the shaking of his big shoulders. “Le bon
Dieu merci, Ah play vone treek sur Tritou, Le
Grand, an’ dose mans to-night!” The frugal
meal finished, he tucked away his pipe, slung
the bag over his shoulder, and departed by the
way he had come, still chuckling.
.pm fn-start
Bag for carrying food, usually made of caribou or bear-skin.
.pm fn-end
Moose-birds and Canada jays fluttered down
near the cooling ashes, and squawked angrily
because they could not find any food. An owl,
attracted by the smell of the fire, lit noisily,
because of his day-blindness, in a spruce overhead.
“Whoo-o-o-a-aa!” His harsh note
frightened the jays, and they flew off, scolding
and shrieking. The owl sat there a few
minutes, turning his head slowly from side to
side; then he spread his great wings and sailed
away.
About five miles from this place, Tritou, Le
Grand, and the others were going steadily on.
The crust was softer than it had been in the
morning, and it was necessary for one man to
break trail for the dogs and sledges; this the
group did by turns. They sang and told
stories as they plodded through the wet snow.
“Tell, Le Grand,” asked Tritou, “you know
Verbaux v’ere he leeve?” “Oh, he ees all
place,” the other answered; “somme taime
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
vone place, somme taime long vay h’off, là-bas!”
and he waved his hand to the southward.
In two hours’ time they came out on a big
barren. The crust was hard and swept snow-clear
by the wind. The five got on the
sledges, and shouts of “Mush! Mush!”
sounded loudly to the whistling of whips.
Away they flew in a mad race for the woods
just visible in the far distance.
Not long after they had gone Jules reached
the edge of the barren, and saw the sledges
scurrying across: clouds of snow-dust hid them
at times; at others they appeared sharp and
clear against the white. He quickly gathered
a pile of dead, dry limbs; on top of them he
threw armfuls of spruce boughs, which he
deftly cut from trees near by; then he looked
for the sledges again: they were at the forest
line now, and he laughed as he scraped a match
on his skin trousers and held it under the heap.
It flickered, died down, then caught and blazed
up merrily; in a few seconds a broad column
of smoke was ascending to the tree-tops and
being whirled away from them by the strong
wind. Jules watched the fire for a moment,
dropped a few marten-pelts near it, chuckled
again, and went off into the forest behind him,
shuffling his snow-shoes as he went.
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
“Arrête! Stop!” screamed Tritou. He was
behind the others; they were fast nearing the
timber, and paid no attention to his cries, thinking
that he wanted to steal up on them and
win; for the speed of their respective dog-teams
was a matter of personal pride to the trappers,
and the winner of such a race as this was to be
envied. Seeing that he could not stop the rest,
Tritou threw a shell into the barrel of his rifle
and fired. The success of this ruse was immediately
apparent; with shouts of “Bash!
Bash-a-a!” and vigorous applications of their
braking-sticks, the four others brought their
sledges to a standstill. Cartridges were expensive
at the post,—fifty marten skins per box,—and
even one was never fired uselessly. “Vat
ees mattaire?” growled Le Grand. Tritou
waited till all were gathered together, so as to
give greater import to his news. “Look
dere!” he said, pointing over the black trail
as he spoke. “Verbaux! au nom du diable!”
said the others, together and separately, as they
saw the wisps of smoke flying with the wind.
Well they knew that this was their private trapping
territory, and that no man, not even their
own brothers, would dare violate it, except one,
and that man was—Verbaux!
“Vite! Queeck! Queeck!” said Le Grand, as
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
he dumped the food-bags and blankets from his
sledge in a heap. “Ve goin’ catch heem! He
vone beeg fool to mak’ so smoke!”
The others grasped his idea, and hastily
piled their sledge-loads next to his on the
snow. “Allons!” said Tritou. The dogs
were whirled back on to the barren, and
whips were used furiously as they got under
way. “Musha! Musha-a-a-hei-i!” the men
yelled, and the dogs laid themselves flat to the
crust in their burst of speed. As the five
sledges approached the smoke they slowed up.
“You’ gun prêt?” muttered Le Grand to Tritou.
The latter looked at his rifle, and nodded.
They advanced carefully, checking the dogs
with hoarse commands. “V’y for h’afraid?”
said Tritou. “Five to vone, an’ heem no gun!”
They came to the fire, and saw the pelts.
“Hees track vite!” whispered Le Grand; he
felt sure of their man now. “Dees eet!”
answered Tritou, as with sharp eyes he
found the snow-shoe tracks leading down
into the forest. “Comme, den!” he called,
and started his dogs on a jog-trot, watching
the indentations in the snow as he proceeded.
“Dix dollaires et des fine blankeet,” he
thought to himself, and looked at his rifle again,
holding it in the hollow of his arm.
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
They travelled on thus in single file for half
an hour, Tritou always in the lead, spying out
the snow-shoe marks as he went. Suddenly
he stopped; the tracks had ended!
“Ah, diable sacré-é! Ees he birrrd, den?”
he asked the others.
They fastened the dogs together, and spread
out fanwise to look for the lost trail. Two
hours they hunted, but in vain.
“Maledictions dam’!” said Tritou again.
“He ees gone! Attend toi, Verbaux: ze h’end
of dis affaire she not comme encore; some taime
ve veel see dat!” and he cursed fiercely.
The five went to the sledges, and in silence
started back across the barren.
Meanwhile Jules tramped on into the woods;
when he thought that he had gone far enough
for his purpose, he took off his snow-shoes,
slung them on his back, and swung himself
up into a tree; for two hundred yards he
worked his way on the branches of the spruce grove;
the trees clustered thickly together in
the little valley, and he had no trouble in gaining
the hill on the far side.
Once there, he put on the snow-shoes again
and started for the barren at high speed; the
crust was hard on the hill, and it held him up
perfectly.
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
When he got to the open, he saw the flying
sledges making for his fire, which was some
distance above him. He laughed. “Ver’ beeg
fool, vous touts! Jules goin’ show you vone
lessone!” He gathered in his belt one hole,
tightened the woollen muffler about his throat,
made sure that the snow-shoe thongs were well
fast, and started across the barren. The sledges
were a mile away, in a diagonal direction, and
nearing the smoke. He smiled, “Ah go hout
on l’ouvert, pass you clos’, tout près! You h’all
too much beeg dam’ fool for to see,” and
hurried on across. When the Indians were
almost abreast of him, he lay flat on his stomach,
and the wind covered him instantly with the
drift particles; he lay there until the Indians
had passed, then he got up and went on. In
an hour he reached the other side, and soon
found the sledge tracks, and saw where they
had turned back on perceiving his smoke. His
eyes gleamed with delight as he saw the
blankets and food the Indians had left in their
hurry.
“Ah t’ink an’ ’ope dat you do lak’ dees;
maintenant Verbaux he goin’ show vat he do.”
Jules gathered the lot of stuff in one heap;
piled wood over and about it; then he lighted
a match, sheltered it from the little draft
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
that eddied among the trees, and touched the
mass. The match-flame grew and strengthened;
it took hold of twigs, and then reached
for the bigger branches; at last it spread over
all. The smell of burning wool and meat
mingled with the aroma of pine and hemlock
limbs. Jules took off his snow-shoes once more,
and glided away to the southward, leaving no
trace, not a sign on the glare-crust at the edge
of the timber.
When almost out of sight he stopped and
shouted back, as though there were some one
to hear him:
“You goin’ keel Verbaux, hein? Bien!
You go t’ree, four day hongree, to arriver la
poste!” He laughed loudly, and hurried away
into the forest.
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
III || JULES OF THE GREAT HEART
.sp 2
“Bon jou’, Verbaux!”
A hoarse voice spoke at the door of the little
bark hut. Jules opened his eyes, and looked
into the muzzle of a rifle in the hands of an
Indian trapper.
“Ah-ha, mon gar! Ah track you t’ree day
in la forêt, an’ you aire prisonnier to me, Le
Grand. Stan’ h’up, an’ comme à moi.”
Jules thought quickly, and realised that the
slightest deviation from orders would mean
instant death; he got up slowly and walked
over to his captor, who watched him like an
animal.
“C’est ça; hol’ hout you’ han’s!”
Jules did so, but held them low in front of
him; Le Grand, keeping the rifle cocked and
pointed in one hand, drew a thong with a noose
in it from his belt with the other hand, and
threw it over Jules’s wrists; then he stooped
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
forward to draw the noose tight. Quick as a
flash, Jules’s right knee flew up and struck the
other’s face with tremendous force. The rifle
dropped to the Indian’s feet, and he staggered;
Jules was on him in an instant, hitting him
a fearful blow with his fist. Le Grand groaned
and fell limply. Hurriedly Jules bound the
fallen man’s wrists and ankles; then a knife
gleamed in his hand.
“Maintenant, Le Grand, you go far ’way.”
He lifted the blade, but hesitated, and his arm
dropped without having accomplished its purpose.
“Non, pas encore. Ah vant talk vone
leet’ veet’ heem.”
He went outside and gathered some snow;
this he rubbed vigorously on the Indian’s face
and neck; when it had melted he got more and
repeated the operation. Finally Le Grand
moved and looked up.
“Ah, b’en, Verbaux,” he said; “Ah should
keel you v’en Ah had ze chance, onlee le
facteur he vant you ver’ bad. He say feefty
dollaires to man who breeng Verbaux to ze
post alive; so Ah track you many day, fin’ you
haslip, et maintenant you keel me, hein?”
Jules played with his knife a few minutes
before he answered; then he said: “You got
vone leet’ girrrl, n’est-ce pas, Le Grand?”
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
The Indian’s face twitched slightly, and Jules
went on: “Vat she do v’en her faddaire ees
dead?”
“Ah don’ know,” answered Le Grand.
“You got vone leet’ garçon, eh, Le Grand?
Vat he do eef his faddaire ees dead?”
“Ah don’ know,” answered the other again.
Then Jules spoke fiercely: “Ah tell to you
vat zey do, dose deux leet’ vones. V’en le
facteur he fin’ hout you no comme back, he sen’
dose enfants een la forêt, Le Grand; he vant
no des petits een ze post, v’en no vone dere for
to geeve zem to h’eat; an’ den ze wolfs, Le
Grand, zey aire hongree, maintenant, dese
taimes, Le Grand.”
“Da’ ’s true,” answered the Indian, his voice
quivering with emotion, though his face showed
no sign. Silence fell on the two men.
At last Jules said: “Le Grand, you know
vat Ah ’m goin’ to do à toi?”
“Keel, je suppose,” was the answer.
“Non, Le Grand; not zis taime. A geeve
you to your leet’ vones. Ah had a papoose
vonce; den dat Manou he stol’ ma femme, an’
de leet’ girrrl she die.” His voice broke, and
he knelt hurriedly and cut the lashings on the
ankles and wrists.
“Stan’ hup, Le Grand; voici ton fusil.” He
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
handed the Indian the rifle. “Maintenant go!
Partez! an’ rememb’ Jules Verbaux.”
He stood aside from the hut entrance as he
finished speaking. The Indian stared at him
as in a trance.
“Verbaux,” he said in a husky voice, “you
vone beeg, beeg hearrt. Ah go to mes petits;
mais before Ah go Ah tell you dis: Le facteur
he sen’ t’irt’ mans for to catch you. Au revoir.”
He dropped the rifle into the hollow of his arm,
and went off, with bowed head, into the forest.
Jules crossed his body devoutly, and muttered
an Ave Maria. “Le facteur sen’ t’irt’
mans? C’est impossible. Dere ten mans on
line seex, h’eight mans on Haut Bois, t’ree
mans au Rivière Noire; dat mak’ twenty-vone.
Den feeft’-t’ree en all h’at la poste! T’irt come
for me; by gar, on’ly two lef’ au poste!” he
finished, adding on his fingers as he tallied
up the Indians of the entire post. “Ah don’
t’ink Le Grand he tell to me vone lie. Bon!
Ah go an’ Ah mak’ vone leet’ conversation avec
M’sieu’ le Facteur,” he decided.
Then he hurried about the hut, removing all
signs of recent habitation; he stowed away the
blankets in his tote-bag, pulled the little bark
door from its wooden hinges, tore down a
corner of the roof and let in a quantity of snow,
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
and kicked the moss bed to pieces; then he
took his snow-shoes outside, adjusted them, and
went off at a brisk pace to the westward.
All that day he travelled, and all night,
guided by his unerring knowledge of the country
and of the stars. At daybreak he stopped
and built a small fire, carefully selecting the
driest wood he could find for it, so that no
tale-bearing smoke should rise above the trees.
He ate a frugal breakfast, and started on again.
The sun was in mid-heaven when he approached
the post; the snow was liberally tracked, and
other signs of habitation were plenty.
Jules advanced more warily now; he came to
the big clearing, and saw the post buildings
before him. He watched long and carefully.
The smoke from the long chimneys rose lazily
in the still air, and the company flag drooped
listlessly at its mast. A few children played
and romped in and out of the stockade gate,
which stood wide open. Outside the yard was
a group of Indian tepees, picturesque and silent.
At intervals he heard the sound of women’s
voices coming from the buildings, but the place
was deserted of men and dogs.
Jules watched some time longer; then he advanced
boldly across the open, entered the
yard, took off his snow-shoes, went up the
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
steps of the store, opened the door, and walked
in. An old Indian was arranging some blankets
on the counter with shaking hands; hearing
the door open, he looked up, then started
back in dismay. “Ju-ules Ver-baux!” he
whispered.
“Bon jou’, Maquette,” said Jules, quietly.
“Le facteur, où est-il?”
The old man nodded to a door in the rear.
“Là-bas.” He followed Jules with frightened
eyes as the latter rapped on the indicated door.
“Coom in, Maquette. Whut the divil ails
ye now, ye dodderin’ old—Verbaux!” The
factor ended with a snarl as Jules stepped in,
closing the door after him.
“Jules Verbaux, M’sieu’ le Facteur; Ah
hear you vant me; Ah come.” He moved
quietly between the factor, who was at his
desk, and a rifle that his keen eyes saw in a
corner.
“Ye plundherin’ thafe!” the factor said,
with an oath; “how’d ye know there wasn’t
a man on the posht? I’ll—I’ll take ye wid me
own hands, so I wull!” he shouted and leaped
from his chair.
A long knife appeared suddenly in Jules’s
hand, and an ugly glint came into the gray
eyes as he answered:
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
“No so fas’, M’sieu’ le Facteur; no so fas’.
Ah vant talk veet’ you vone leet’ first, s’il vous
plait.”
The factor saw the glint on the knife and
the glint in the eyes, and realised that both
were dangerous, so he sat down again, looking
round for some available weapon. “Go on,”
he growled; “I’ll get the life-blood out o’ ye
fer this, ye divil!”
“V’y you ’ave you’ Indians hont Jules lak’
a chien? V’y you no let Jules trap in peac’?
V’y for you geeve hordaire’ zat les Indians zey
burn mes leet’ huts? V’y for you vant ma
vie?” Jules asked these questions slowly, as
he faced the infuriated Irishman without a
tremor.
“I’ll show ye whut fer, ye half-breed whelp!”
And the factor started up again.
“Pas encore, M’sieu’ le Facteur! You bes’
rester tranquille an’ hear vat Jules Verbaux
’ave to say.” The insult—that he, Verbaux, a
pure French-Canadian, had Indian blood in
him—roused Jules to fierce though suppressed
rage; the swarthy face paled under the bronze,
and his breath came and went with little hissing
sounds.
“Ah demand zat you veel geeve hordaire’ to
your Indians to leave Jules halon’; la territoire
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
du Nord ees zat h’of le bon Dieu. He geeve
to us zat territoire to mak’ hont; he no geeve
eet to la compagnie for deir h’own.”
The factor swore a string of horrible oaths,
cursing the man before him.
“I’ll have the hearrrt from your dirty
carcass to pay fer this, see if I don’t!” he
finished.
“You no haccep’ vat Jules say, M’sieu’ le
Facteur?”
There was a note of warning in the low-spoken
words, but the factor was too wild with
fury to notice it.
“I’ll accept nawthing but your life,——ye!—your
life; an’ I’ll get it if I have to
hound ye outen the country to do it!” he
screamed.
“Ver’ good! How’ hup your han’s!” In a
second Jules had seized the rifle behind him
and was pointing it at the factor’s heart.
“Ye would n’t murther me in cowld blood,
would ye?” The cowardly bully was afraid,
as he held his hands over his head.
“Non, M’sieu’ le Facteur; mais Ah ’m goin’
show your Indians ’Ow Jules tak’ deir facteur,
’stead of deir facteur tak’ Jules! Stan’ hup
an’ marche!” Jules motioned to the door.
With the abject fear of death in his eyes,
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
the Irishman stumbled to the door and lowered
his hands to open it.
“How’ hup han’s! Call Maquette!” came
the sharp order.
The captive refused to speak, so Jules called
the Indian himself. Maquette came and
opened the door.
“Quick, Maquette! Hit him with an
axe; he can’t watch the both of us!” said the
factor.
Jules spoke again: “Maquette, your faddaire
an’ my faddaire dey mak’ la chasse
togedder lon’ before dees compagnie she
comme een our territoire; Maquette, Jules
no vant hurrt the son h’of hees faddaire’s
fr’en’. You go h’out, Maquette, n’est-ce
pas?”
The old man turned, and went out of the
store.
“Marche, M’sieu’ le Facteur; en avant!”
The incongruous pair went down the steps
and out into the yard; Jules deftly picked up
his snow-shoes, and the factor tried to turn off
at the gate.
“Ve go een forêt,” said Jules, persuasively.
The children stopped their play and stared;
then they scampered away with loud cries.
Across the clearing the two went; then
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
down a wood road till it ended, and on into
the woods. Beads of perspiration stood on
the factor’s neck and face, and his arms
drooped every now and then, when Jules
would say quietly, “Han’s hup, M’sieu’ le
Facteur!”
They went on thus for a long time, twisting
and turning through the timber, the factor
breathing in hoarse gasps, and barely dragging
one foot after the other in the wet snow.
Jules had been quietly preparing a noosed
thong, and now he stepped up behind his
prisoner and tossed it over the upheld arms,
drawing it tight with a jerk.
“Ve stop maint’nant,” he said.
The factor swayed and would have fallen
had not Jules caught him and backed him
against a tree. He then passed a thong under
the Irishman’s chin, and made that fast around
the trunk, holding him up. He had to stand
upright, because when he relaxed his legs the
thong choked him. Then Jules unwound the
wooden muffler from his own throat and neatly
cut a strip from it with the sharp knife. “H’open
mout’!” he ordered.
In reply the factor shut his jaws with a snap.
Jules smiled, and, forcing the point of his blade
between the clenched teeth, pried them open
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
and quickly slipped the heavy strip of wool
inside the mouth, drawing it tight and tying it
behind the tree also. Then he stood off and
surveyed his work. The rifle he stuck up just
out of the factor’s reach.
“Ah don’ steal vat not belong to Jules,” he
said; and continued, as he put on his snow-shoes
and rewound the muffler about his neck:
“Maint’nant, M’sieu’ le Facteur, you choe an’
choe—so,”—he moved his own jaws as he
spoke,—“an’ een vone heure, mabbe, you choe
troo dat leet’ cravate; den you can free your-se’f
an’ fin’ your vay to la poste. Meanv’ile
Ah go, M’sieu’ le Facteur. Adieu! Bonne
chance!”
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
IV || JULES TO THE RESCUE
.sp 2
Nothing had been seen or heard of Jules
Verbaux since the time when, single-handed,
he had captured the factor. Spurred on by the
factor’s offer of two hundred dollars for his
capture dead or alive, the Indians of the post
gave up trapping for a week and hunted far
and wide for him, and, contrary to the custom
of the posts, they were armed with rifles.
One by one, tired out and disheartened, the
trappers gave up the search. As they came
back, the factor interviewed each one, inquiring
eagerly even for tracks of the man he
wanted. The answers were all the same—nothing,
absolutely nothing. Then he cursed
them for a pack of lazy brutes, and swore that
they had not hunted. Nothing more could be
done in the matter, so it was dropped.
Whenever there were any Indians on the
post, solemn meetings to talk over Verbaux’s
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
strange disappearance took place about the
fires in the tepees outside of the stockade. The
participants in these meetings would squat in a
half-circle, and smoke, smoke, smoke, conversing
in low tones. On a certain evening,
Tritou, Le Grand, old Maquette, Le Hibou,
and a new-comer at the post named Le Bossu
because of the hump on his back, were sitting
in Le Grand’s tepee. Outside it was snowing
hard; the great white flakes dropped so fast
that at a distance of twenty feet a man was
invisible. The air had a heavy, damp feeling,
and Le Grand pulled the blanket which served
as a door closer over the tepee entrance.
“Ce Verbaux Ah hear so mooch tell, he
beeg homme?” asked Le Bossu, after a long
silence.
Le Grand nodded, and the Indians puffed
on.
“He know h’all zis territoire, an’ he go fas’
on de snow, hein?” asked Le Bossu again, and
they all nodded.
“He ees vone beeg t’ief; he keel Manou,
he steal, he ver’ bad!” said Tritou.
“Vone lie, ça!” contradicted Le Grand when
Tritou had finished speaking.
The latter looked up quickly. “Vat dat you
say, Le Grand?”
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
“Ah say you mak’ vone lie.”
“V’y for you say dat moi, Tritou, mak’ vone
lie?”
“Nev’ min’ vat for. Ah say you mak’ beeg
lie v’en you parler dat vay de Verbaux. Ah
say, an’ Ah know vat Ah say.”
Tritou made no comment upon Le Grand’s
emphatic speech, and so the conversation
lapsed.
Le Bossu stared hard at the fire; then he
shook himself, as though waking up.
“Ah goin’ catch dees Verbaux,” he said
quietly.
The others smiled. “’Ow?” they asked.
“C’est mon affaire,” answered the new man;
“but Ah’m goin’ breeng heem h’alive to la
poste.”
Le Grand looked keenly at the speaker;
then, as though satisfied with his scrutiny, he
chuckled. Nothing more was said, and one by
one the trappers got up, wrapped their blankets
round them, and passed out into the night and
the snow, muttering, “Bon soi’, Le Grand!”
Le Grand sat a long time alone; his eyes
shone like a caribou’s as the firelight danced
and mirrored itself in the black depths; then he
went to the flap and looked out. “Beeg
storm,” he said, half aloud, as he lay down on
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
the heap of boughs that served him as a bed
and drew the blankets over him.
At daylight next morning the post was astir.
There was shouting of men and a scurrying
about of women; the trappers came and went,
carrying food and blankets to their tepees.
The factor stood at the store entrance, checking
off each Indian’s load as he went out.
“Here, you humpback,” he called, as Le
Bossu passed with his supplies, “ye got wan
blanket too manny! Ye can’t cheat me, ye son
of a gun! Take it back to Maquette!”
In the yard trappers were getting their dogs
into harness, and the din was great, what with
the snarling and yelping of the brutes, the cries
of children who clung tenaciously to the squaws’
skirts, and the clang of the bell in the tower on
the factor’s house, which was calling the men
for the start. At last all was ready; twenty-five
men and eighteen dog-teams were assembled
in front of the store, the men, cap in hand,
waiting for the factor’s final orders.
The sun shone warmly now, and the melting
snow dripped comfortably from the store roof;
a little breeze played daintily with the flag at
the masthead, making it curl in graceful folds
and letting it fall again. The factor held up his
hand, and all was quiet.
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
“Now min’,” he said; “get ye a lot o’ fur
better ’n lasht trip, or Oi’ll cut yer grub next
toime. That’s all, except, av coorse, me two
hunderd fer Verbaux shtands as I made ut; if
anny o’ ye sees ’im, don’t dare come back widout
’im.” He turned and went into the store.
“Who-o-o-e-e-e-e!” shouted the crowd, and
with cries of “Au revoir!” “Adieu!” “Bonne
chance!” from those leaving and from those
that remained, the trappers urged on the dogs
and scurried across the clearing into the woods.
For some time their voices were borne faintly
to the home crowd, who still clustered about the
gate; then these died away, and every one
went off to his own duties.
“Ah t’ou’t las’ night, vone beeg storm to-day,”
said Le Grand to the crowd, as they
hurried along as fast as the heavy travelling
and hard pulling for the dogs would allow.
“Mais, by gar! de snow she ver’ deep aujourd’hui!”
he added. Snow-shoes were of no
service at all, and the Indians proceeded in
single file, taking turns every few minutes at
breaking trail.
“Ah t’ink heet goin’ snow encore,” suggested
Le Bossu.
It looked as though it might; the sun had
grown dim and misty, and the air was raw and
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
chill. Huge masses of wet snow dropped continually
from the trees—usually the sign of a
coming storm. The atmosphere was thick and
oppressive to the lungs, and the dogs were
greatly distressed by it.
As the actual fall of snow did not come, the
Indians hastened on, anxious to get as far as
possible on their way before they would have
to stop for the night.
The sky soon became dark, and twilight was
very short; the men selected a sheltered ravine
in which to spend the night, and the dogs were
unharnessed from the sledges. They quickly
dug holes for themselves, two or three in a hole,
and curled down in them, leaving their furry
backs showing over the surface. The trappers
drew the sledges together and banked snow
between them, forming an efficient wind-shield;
then a big pile of wood was gathered and
lighted. The glare of the flames reflected
warm on their faces, and the long shadows kept
up a merry dance as the men moved to and
fro; the tree trunks stood out clear and strong
in the ruddy light, and their branches seemed
woven into a network of dark green that
covered everything and shut out the dull, leaden
skies.
Tea was soon ready in a lot of pannikins
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
and kettles, and each man ate his supper with
relish, for an all-day tramp on “breaking” snow
was no easy work. The meal finished, they
pulled out blankets from the bags, rolled themselves
up, and in a little while everything was
still, except the fire, which kept up its cheery
crackling and popping. It had burned down
nearly two feet, and the snow-water began to
choke out its enthusiasm, when a big chunk,
undermined by the heat, caved in, quenching it
entirely with a loud hiss and splutter.
“Ugh-h! Ver’ col’!” said Tritou, with a
shiver, as he sat up about midnight and drew
his blankets closer round him. “Heet snow,
by diable! Dat too bad!” he added to himself,
when he saw the ghostly flakes dropping;
then he went to sleep again.
“H’up, you mans!” called Le Hibou to the
sleeping forms just as the first gray light crept
through the spruce branches. They moved
and grumbled.
“Sacré! she mak’ vone beeg lot snow las’
nuit!” said Le Bossu as he got up and yawned
prodigiously. There had, indeed, been a heavy
snowfall; the place where the fire had been
was filled up smooth and white, and a big
circular mound showed the location of the
sledges. The dogs had kept themselves open
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
to the air by throwing off the accumulating
snow as it fell, and the sides of their nests were
piled up like fox burrows.
“Dam’!” said Le Grand as a lump of snow
fell into his tea from a branch overhead, splashing
him with the steaming drink.
Breakfast over, they dug out the sledges,
sorted the teams, harnessed them, and started
off.
The snow was three feet deeper than the
day before, and the going was therefore much
worse; the advance of the party was a slow and
laborious one, the dogs sinking in to their bellies
and floundering helplessly about, so that the
men had to take hold of the traces and pull in
order to move ahead at all.
“Sacré-é misère!” said Le Hibou, as he
straightened up from the work and passed a
rough sleeve over his face, “dat harrrd travaille!”
“Ai-hai!” answered the rest.
The day grew warmer as they proceeded,
and it was hot work on the open barrens, where
the sun shone with arctic brilliancy on the
swearing, sweating crowd.
“Vone t’ing ees good,” said Le Bossu as they
all stopped for a breathing spell: “dere veel be
vone stronge crrus’ to-night. Ve go h’all dark
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
taime, and res’ to-mor’; vat you t’ink, vous
autres, hein?”
“Hmm, toi Bossu! Vat you t’ink? Ve
goin’ vorrk h’all day, h’all nuit? Nevaire!” said
Tritou.
“B’en, h’all sam’ to me! Ah goin’ sauf mes
dog’; go h’on ze crrus’ to-night, and res’ v’en ze
sonne she ees so warm. ’Ou go veet’ me?”
concluded Le Bossu.
“Ah go, Bossu,” answered Le Hibou.
“Moi aussi,” agreed another of the trappers,
Dumois by name.
“Bon! Ve show to youse ow to go fas’ la
nuit,” laughed Le Bossu.
They struggled on all day; as the sun sank
lower and lower, the melted surface of the snow
hardened, and it soon held the teams up, though
the men sank in even with snow-shoes. At
dark it set in very cold, and the frost particles
covered the men’s clothing with a shimmering
coat.
They stopped for the night again, and after
supper Le Hibou, Le Bossu, and Dumois went
on alone. Travelling was good now, and the
woods were more open, so the three made fast
time of it. The stars shone with extraordinary
brilliancy, and Dumois stopped the others on a
barren they were then crossing to look at them.
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
“Ah t’ink mor’ snow plent’ queeck,” he said;
“go to ze ouest; ve strike Rivière Noire by ze
short trail, hein?”
“You know de vay, Dumois?”
“Certainement. Ah go that chemin t’ree
year h’ago. Ah remembaire sans doute.” With
these assurances as to his powers of guiding,
Dumois swung his team due west, and struck
out at a smart pace, the two others following
closely.
Their shadowy figures rose and fell over the
undulations of the barren, to the click, click,
click of the snow-shoes and the sharp patter of
the dogs’ nails on the crust. A dim thing
scurried away in front of Dumois, and before
he could catch hold of the sledge his dogs were
off in howling pursuit, Dumois after them,
yelling curses and commands to stop.
“Black fox, mabbe,” said Le Hibou as he
and Le Bossu turned off slightly and followed
the sound of Dumois’s voice. They came up
to him, and he was using his whip freely.
“Tu loup!” he shouted at the big leader of the
team, “Ah show toi to ronne so h’aftaire dam’
fox!” and the lash whistled through the night
air; the brute snarled a little as he felt the
sting, but he knew that he had done wrong,
and his tail trailed dejectedly on the snow.
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
“Maint’nant, starrt!” said Dumois when the
team was straightened out. He looked up at
the stars as he spoke; they were less brilliant,
and sometimes they disappeared entirely when
snow-clouds drifted between them and the earth.
“C’est ça; ve go dees chemin,” he said,
when he had studied out his bearings.
“Mais, Dumois, you no go directe, comme
befor’?” interposed Le Bossu.
Dumois smiled at him derisively, and the
other said no more.
They travelled on hour after hour; no one
spoke, saving breath for the swift pace. Dumois
stopped and examined the heavens again;
the stars were not to be seen, and a chill wind
was blowing. He swung off a little to the left;
the others made no comments, because they
could not now, and the three went on and on,
now through dense forests as dark as pitch,
where they had to slow down and feel their
way, and again across gray-white barrens where
the wind tossed the drift into whirling clouds
and carried it along in its arms.
They came suddenly to a deep gorge.
Dumois stopped, and looked at it with growing
fear in his eyes.
“Dere no ravine near to Rivière Noire,” he
muttered to himself; then he turned to the
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
others, who stood waiting behind him. “Ah’m
los’,” he said quietly.
“Ve go back,” suggested Le Bossu.
In silence the three turned the dogs on the
back trail.
It had begun to snow, a little at first, then
faster and faster; the flakes whirled and
tumbled over one another in their long race to
the earth. It fell cold and clammy on the
men’s faces as they breasted their way against
the wind, and they wound their mufflers close
up to their eyes. A big hill loomed in front
of them, like some black monster; they had
fought their way for two hours against the
storm and were tired out.
“Vat dat?” said Dumois in a helpless way.
No one answered.
“Ve bes’ res’ here de nuit,” finally suggested
Le Hibou, in a dull voice.
They made camp as well as they could. No
wood was to be seen, and they did not dare
search for any, as the snow fell so thickly that
a man could easily be lost fifty feet from the
others. They ate a cold, cheerless meal, and
having fed the dogs from their supply, they
pulled their blankets about them and slept.
All night the white flakes came and spread
themselves thickly over everything; the wind
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
blew dismally; and the dogs huddled as close
together as they could.
In the morning Dumois climbed up on the
hill. As far as he could see through the infolding
shrouds of snow was a bleak, strange
country; no sign, no shadowy suspicion of
forest anywhere. He went down and told the
others.
“V’ere you t’ink ve go?” asked Le Hibou.
Dumois and Le Bossu thought, and drew
lines on the snow with their fingers; then Le
Bossu said, “Par là!” pointing to the right.
“Non, par ici—dees vay!” said Dumois,
pointing to the left.
Le Hibou looked at their lines on the snow
chart, and drew some of his own. “En
avant!” was his decision after he had finished
his calculations.
“Non, by gar! Ah no vant die los’!”
shouted Dumois. “Ah go mon chemin!”
He fastened his dogs to his sledge, and the
others imitated him mechanically; then the
three started off to the left. On and on they
went, over hills and down ravines, up clefts
in the snow gorges, and across wind-swept
barrens; and always the snow came and
covered their tracks as fast as they made them.
They did not even stop for food; the snow
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
grew deeper and heavier; it clogged their way,
piled itself on their snow-shoes, and heaped
in soggy masses in front of the sledges; the
dogs gave up one by one, exhausted.
“Impossible!” said Dumois, after trying
valiantly to drag the dogs and sledge too by
his own strength. “Ve res’ teel la neige she
stop, hein?” he suggested.
Le Hibou and Le Bossu agreed by not contradicting,
and the three made a rude shelter
with the sledges and some spare blankets.
Le Hibou searched for his food-bag. “Bon
Dieu!” he said, with white face, “Ah geeve
to Tritou, v’en ve starrt yes’day, ma food,
becaus’ hees sled ees mor’ leetle den mine, an’
Ah took hees blankets.”
The night before they had eaten of Dumois’s
provisions, as his bag had been more accessible
than that of either of the others, so this calamity
had not been discovered. Dumois looked in
his bag; there was little left. The entire party
had intended to reach Les Petites Colignes in
four days, and had taken just enough food per
man to do it, as there was at that place a big
cache of flour, tea, and six caribou carcasses.
Le Bossu’s bag was still untouched, but it
contained very little to feed three men and
eighteen dogs for no one knew how long.
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
They had plenty of blankets, and the mockery
of it was terrible. They divided the food
sparingly, and fed the dogs separately, a handful
of dried meat to each.
Another night passed, and morning brought
the same old story—snow, snow, snow, falling,
dropping, tumbling in ceaseless, noiseless
quantities. They stayed there all that day,
and the food supply dwindled, even though
they took but very little of it twice only in the
twenty-four hours. On the fourth day of their
captivity the food was all gone, and they drew
lots to see who should kill one of his dogs;
Dumois was drawn, and he cut the throat of
one of his team, tears streaming down his face
as he did so. “Blanchette, poor beas’! Ah’m
désolé!” he said hoarsely.
And still it snowed. The surface of the
barren was much higher than it had been.
The cold was intense, and in desperation Le
Hibou smashed his sledge, tore a blanket in
slips, and made a fire; they husbanded the
feeble flame with tender care; but it was out all
too soon, and they shivered again in their covers.
Afternoon came, and the snow relaxed somewhat.
The men, weak from lack of food and
almost numb, were about to smash up another
sledge, when suddenly, without a sound of any
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
kind, a figure stood before them. It was a
tall, gaunt figure with curious wide snow-shoes
on its feet. The face was muffled entirely,
only the gray eyes showing. As the three
stared in wonderment, half believing it a myth,
the figure spoke:
“You los’, n’est-ce pas? Comme weet me!”
“Who ees?” whispered Le Bossu.
“Ah don’ know!” answered Dumois, with
awe in his voice.
The stranger helped them gather the dogs
together and fasten their belongings on the
two sledges that were left. “Viens!” he said,
when all was ready, and started off on what
seemed to the lost men their back trail. This
strange being exerted a curious power over
them: he did not speak, but they felt security
in his presence. They staggered on, he helping
first one, then the other, digging out the
sledges when they sank in the drifts and coaxing
on the dogs by soft noises in his throat
which they seemed to know.
When night closed down hard and fast, he
stopped.
They were in the woods, and the stranger
helped them again by gathering a lot of fire-wood.
As it blazed up he spoke: “Stay here
teel day! Ah comme back een mornin’.”
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
Then he let his food-bag fall from his
shoulder, and went off into the black depths
of the forest, stirring up clouds of snow-dust
that scintillated and shone in the firelight as he
went.
The three stared at one another.
“Dat le bon Dieu!” whispered Le Bossu,
crossing himself.
They took off their caps and repeated the
Ave Maria, intoning it softly; then they looked
into the bag the stranger had left. It contained
food,—plenty of food,—and they fell on
it eagerly, ferociously, as only starving men
can; the dogs were also fed, and the fire was
well built up; then they curled in their blankets
and went to sleep, thanking the Holy Mother
for her mercy.
.tb
“Taime to go,” said a voice, and they woke
to find the stranger with them again. He had
built the breakfast fire, and water was boiling
in the pannikins. While they ate, watching
him the while with pious awe, he got the dogs
together and harnessed them.
“Allons!” he said, and started on. The
snow was not so deep in the woods, and the
three had had a good-night’s rest, so they were
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
able to follow fast. At noon the figure stopped
again. “Le chemin—de trail,” he said.
Le Hibou looked up and saw the blazes on
the trees. “C’est le chemin—le chemin!” he
cried, and fell on his knees in the snow. Le
Bossu and Dumois knelt too. “Merci, Seigneur
bon Dieu!” they said to the stranger.
He laughed softly, and unwound the muffler
that had so successfully hidden his face. “No
le bon Dieu,” he said quietly—“onlee Jules
Verbaux.”
The three started as though bewitched; then
Le Bossu got up slowly, walked over, and held
out his hand.
“Verbaux,” he said huskily, “Ah hear
mooch bad de toi; mais Ah say dat you have
vone grand beeg hearrt!”
Jules smiled and waved his hand to the
southward.
“Go! Allez! sauf to de post.”
Silently the men filed off, following the
blazed trail; in a few minutes they looked
back, but he was gone.
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
V || JULES’S STRATAGEM
.sp 2
Tritou swore mighty and fearful oaths. For
the third time in as many weeks, his traps had
been robbed of their fur and the empty ones
sprung. The first time it had happened he
reset them, and let it go at that; the second
time he reset them, and watched half the night,
but saw nothing, and the next morning the
traps were all sprung again; now, the third
time, it was too much for any hard-working
Indian to stand.
Tritou set and baited his line once more;
then he started off at full speed for the post,
forty miles away. He was on foot, and it was
night when he reached the stockade; without
a word to any one, he went into his tepee,
brought out food, blankets, and his beloved
rifle; then he picked out his dogs, eight of
them, from the pack that wandered about the
post yard, harnessed them to his light sledge,
and went off into the darkness.
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
The other trappers wondered at this extraordinary
behaviour on Tritou’s part; he was
usually communicative, and often quarrelsome,
therefore this silent streak in him astonished
his fellow-Indians. “Tritou he fin’ beeg lot
caribou to-day, Ah t’ink,” said old Maquette.
“Mabbe,” the others answered, and that was
all that was said about it.
Tritou urged on his dogs; mile after mile
passed under the sledge, and still he hurried
on. It was a quiet night, and at times a cloudy
one. There had been no snow for several
days, and the crust was very hard—so hard
that the sledge often whirled sidewise on the
turns, because the bone runners could get no
hold on the glare surface. The dogs needed
no whip; there were eight of them to the light
sledge, and they made easy work of it with
only one hundred and forty pounds to draw,
for Tritou was not a heavy man. Four hours
they travelled; then Tritou raa-a-ed softly to
them, and they swung off to the right, following
a snow gorge which led across a long barren.
At the edge of the timber Tritou stopped
his team, and fastened the leader to a tree;
with rifle cocked and eyes and ears alert, he
went into the sombre woods. His snow-shoes
clicked a little, though he did his best to prevent
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
it by walking wide-legged and lifting
them high at every step; with a muttered
curse, he knelt and took them off. The crust
was too slippery to stand in moccasins alone,
so he was forced to put them on again.
He went very slowly, listening intently at
every little sound, and peering now high, then
low, through the tree trunks. An owl, disturbed
by this strange marauder, screeched
over his head and flew away. Tritou started
at the sound. “Hibou! Dam’!” he whispered
to himself. Suddenly he stopped and
looked at something that rested in a V cut in
a big spruce; it was the first trap on his line,
and—sprung!
“Ah-h-h!” he softly hissed through his
teeth; then he felt on the crust at his feet, and
found fresh scratches and little places where
bits of ice had cracked under some weight.
Slowly he worked his way along the line of
traps, finding each one sprung as he came
to it.
The spruce trees stood less thickly here, and
a weird, dim gray light shone on the snow between
their trunks. Tritou listened again; far
away he heard the faint click-click of snow-shoes.
His hold on the rifle tightened, and he
looked again to be sure that it was cocked, and
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
advanced more carefully than ever; then he
stopped again; not far in front of him he
heard the thud of a deadfall as it struck the
threshold of a trap, and then the clicking
moved on; so did he, now bending almost
double. The woods grew more and more open
as the edge of a barren was approached, and
the moonlight trickled on to the snow freely
in places.
Tritou stopped and knelt on one knee, raising
the rifle to his shoulder as he did so. One
hundred yards away, in an open spot, stood a
tall figure; it loomed up in the moonlight clear
and sharp.
“Ha!” shouted Tritou as he fired.
The figure swayed, tottered, then gathered
itself and disappeared in the shadows.
“Blessé! Woun’, by gar!” said Tritou,
with great satisfaction, as he hastened to the
place where the figure had stood; he hurried
carefully, with his rifle ready for another shot.
Nothing stirred anywhere; Tritou bent over
in the open space. “Du sang!” he said, as he
saw the dark spots spreading over the crust
here in blotches, and there, close to the woods,
in a thin streak. He thought for a moment,
“Ah go back for ze dog’; he no go far; Ah
shoot for zat beeg hearrt Ah hear so mooch
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
h’about!” He chuckled, and turned back for
the sledge.
Jules Verbaux had had bad luck with his
traps; the Company’s Indians had destroyed
two lines of them entirely, so he started out on
a foraging expedition against their traps. “An
eye for an eye,” thought Jules. He selected
Tritou’s line to plunder, because he had hated
Tritou ever since that day in the woods when
he heard him say that he, Tritou, was going to
kill Verbaux for “dix dollaires et des fines
blankeets.”
Once he reaped the harvest of fur from the
line marked “T,” and he, unseen, had watched
Tritou as Tritou watched for him on the second
and third reapings. Yesterday morning he had
laughed when Tritou struck out for the post,
and had followed him for five miles; but as
Tritou kept steadily on, he came back, ate his
supper, and went down the line of traps for the
fourth time. He was going along slowly,
springing the deadfalls and taking the fur he
found in them, when suddenly he thought he
heard something; he stopped and listened. A
sharp, burning pain seized him under the left
arm, and the shock sent his wits flying for an
instant; then he heard snow-shoes coming, and
gathering his great strength, he sped into the
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
forest. His side pained him cruelly, and his
breath came and went in gasps for a few minutes;
he opened his heavy jacket as he travelled
and put his hand under the two shirts, and
felt a little warm hole near the armpit; he felt
further, and found another hole higher up on the
front of his shoulder. “Dat notting, dat!” he
chuckled, with great relief, and moved his arm
up and down. “Ah t’ink Ah’m feenesh dat
taime certainlee. Tak’ care, Tritou!” he said
to himself as he tore off two pieces of his shirt
and stuffed them in the little holes, effectually
stopping the flow of blood. The old sign of
the pannikin came back to him. “Dey goin’
try, dey goin’ comme near, mais dey not goin’
have success.” He repeated his own words of
four months ago.
Daylight was just coming as he reached the
big open barren; he went across it at wonderful
speed, and on the edge of the next woods he took
off his snow-shoes and ran on and on; he did
not slip on the crust, because the moccasins
he wore had caribou-hair soles. He passed
through the timber and crossed to another
barren; in the middle of it he put on the snow-shoes
again and sped on fast.
Behind him, Tritou with his team came to
the blood again, and followed it, expecting every
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
instant to see Verbaux dead or dying. When
the blood-trail ended, Tritou cursed horribly.
“Ah go h’aftaire you, Verbaux, de res’ h’of ma
life, but Ah fin’ you!” and he called on le bon
Dieu to witness his vow. It was full light now,
and he followed the snow-shoe marks easily
enough to the timber edge; there they stopped,
and not a sign of any kind could Tritou find.
“Sacré-é! he no owl or ange!” he muttered.
“He do dees trick las’ taime; Ah goin’ fin’
h’out!”
He fastened the dogs, and began working in
circles, each one larger and larger as he covered
the ground. It was slow work in the
woods, but at last he found the lost trail out
on the next barren, where Jules had put on the
telltale snow-shoes. Tritou rushed back to the
team, and lashing them, tore on, following the
open tracks. These worked farther and farther
to the southward, until Tritou was travelling
at right angles to his original course. Every
time the tracks ended he would swing the dogs
in a big circle, and invariably find them again
and hurry on.
Jules was crossing a high snow hill; from it
he could see a long way; he looked back, and
saw Tritou in the act of circling. “Ah-ha,
Tritou! you fin’ ma leetle trick, hein? Bon!
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
Jules goin’ show to you ’nodder vone!” He
unfastened his snow-shoes, and stepping carefully
in the middle of his tracks, worked backward
over his own trail till he came to a depression
in the barren; he ran down this, and
crouched low behind a drift. In a little while
Tritou came tearing down the tracks, and
stopped on the hill. He looked all round:
Jules could see him perfectly, standing there
shading his eyes from the glare; then he began
to circle again, swinging out wide, and of
course moving ahead all the time; he disappeared
beyond a rise, and Jules glided off on
the back trail.
Tritou circled and circled in vain; he covered
and recovered the whole barren in front
of him, big as it was, but he could not find the
least trace of Verbaux. He was furious, and
beat the dogs unmercifully as he twisted and
turned and traced over the white country. Then
he took a tremendous circle, nearly ten miles in
diameter, but returned to the hill unsuccessful.
He cursed le bon Dieu for not helping him; he
spat on his enemy’s tracks that came to the top
of the hill and ended there. “Chien! Diable!
Pig! Beas’!” he screamed, shaking his fist in the
air. “Ah goin’ keel you somme taime,
Verbaux! Dam’ you to l’enfer!”
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
He climbed on the sledge and headed the
dogs back. “Ah go to la ligne, an’ set de trap,”
he said to himself. When he reached the lower
end of the line he fastened the team to a tree
again, and worked up, rebaiting and setting.
“He no comme back non plus, an’ Ah’m please’!”
he muttered consolingly.
When half-way up the line, he heard a voice
calling behind him, “Tritou! Tritou! Ah leave
de dog h’at Rivière Noire to-mor’! Rememb’
Jules Verbaux. Au r’voir!” then a laugh, and
all was still. Tritou rushed back, falling down
twice in his frantic speed, and came to the tree
to which he had tied the dogs; they were gone!
Sledge, dogs, everything was gone! Forty
yards away his rifle stuck up, butt first, in the
snow, and the cartridges were scattered about
on the crust at his feet. Far off he heard
a faint crackling, but it died away instantly, and
all was quiet.
He cried and screamed with rage for a time;
then, picking up the shells and gun, he started
on his forty-mile tramp to the post.
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
VI || NOËL
.sp 2
It was the day before Christmas. Jules
was sitting in his home camp, sixty miles from
the post; he was lonely and sad. “Las’ Noël
Ah have ma femme, la petite, touts; an’ maintenant—”
he looked about the bare little room,
“bon Dieu, ’Ow lonelee eet ees!”
It was a cheerless scene. Walls of bare logs,
with moss plugged between them to keep out
the cold; a rude table; two misshapen stools;
a bed of boughs in one corner, with some
blankets heaped on it; a little chimney of small
timber sticking out diagonally in another
corner; and a few old clothes hanging on
wooden pegs near the door.
“Ah, b’en,” Jules said to himself, “eet ees
de will of le bon Dieu. Ah mus’ mak’ t’ink dat
de wife an’ de leetle vone aire veet’ me for to-mor’
jus’ same.” He became full of life with
the thought, and bustled about the little hut,
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
sweeping the hard ground with a spruce bough
broom; he carried out the old bed, and filled
its place with fresh aromatic boughs; then he
brought streamers of moss from the woods, and
festooned them around the walls. In the
corners he built little canopies of dark green
branches, and hung bunches of scarlet berries
over the gray logs. The old clothes were
neatly wrapped up and stowed away under the
boughs; on their pegs he hung a big caribou-skin,
its gray-brown colour mingling with the
green of the interior. He cleaned out the
little fireplace, and filled it with bright pine
chips and dry wood.
“Dere!” he said, surveying his work, “dat
mor’ good; de leet’ vone she lak’ dees comme
ça!” and tears came to the gray eyes. He
brushed them away hurriedly, and went out to
a tiny shed behind the hut. There he dug a
quarter of caribou-meat from the snow, and
carrying it back, he cut thick, juicy steaks;
these he placed in a rough frying-pan, and set
it on the table. From a hewn box he brought
out a little bag of tea, some salt, and some
hard bread. Then he drew the two stools
up to the board. “Dere ees onlee two place’;
la petite she vant place too!” Taking the
axe, he went out, and in a few minutes had
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
made a high stool; this he also put beside the
table.
“Maintenant, Jules, go fin’ somme present
for dose two for Noël.”
Outside it was snowing a little; the crisp
flakes dropped gently through the trees, and
the tops of the spruce bowed gracefully,
swayed by the light north wind; they sighed,
and murmured softly to one another. Jules
put on his snow-shoes, drew the fur cap well
down over his ears, and went off into the dull
forest.
The skies turned a darker lead-colour; they
seemed to threaten something, and Jules said
to himself as he travelled along, “De snow she
comme ver’ queeck!” and hastened on. Over
hill and through valley he went till he came
to his traps; luck was against him: trap after
trap was empty and unsprung. He went all
the way down this line, and not a skin! He
looked up at the heavens: it was snowing as
ever; the crystalline bits floated from their
home in the clouds softly and noiselessly.
There was no wind at all now, and Jules listened
for something, he knew not what. Everything
was silent; the spruce and pine stood like
martyrs, bravely holding up the heavy masses
of snow that the skies had poured on them.
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
Sometimes a branch would rebel and drop its
load with a swish; as it flew back, relieved, it
seemed to jar on the stillness of everything,
until it ceased its swaying and became quiet as
the rest.
“Ah go to ligne five,” he decided, and
changed his course to northeast. His way lay
across wild barrens, and he stopped again to
listen: the solitude was wonderful; only the
unceasing, silent fall of snow. It came faster
now, and the frost morsels covered Jules’s
caribou jacket with a dainty white coat that
rested lightly on the hairs, their prismatic forms
plainly visible. He went on and on. “At
las’!” he said as he came to the first trap on
ligne five. A fine marten lay under the deadfall,
its sleek hair smoothed close to the little
frozen body; the eyes were open and stared
glassily on Jules as he lifted the heavy stick and
put the stiff form in his bag. “Merci, bon Dieu!”
whispered Jules, as he found almost every
trap with its little victim dead and frozen. The
line led through a deep ravine, and Jules’s eyes
gleamed when he came on a heavy trap. A
big black fox lay dead in it; the massive log
had crushed out the life God had given. On
the crust were pitiful scratches where the poor
beast had tried frantically to pull away from the
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
awful weight that tortured it. “Ah-ha! Dat
magnifique!” said Jules aloud, as he lifted the
fall and drew out the long, sinuous body. The
heavy black coat was glossy and thick; the
under hair seemed to reflect darkly the faint
light that came from the leaden skies. “La
petite up dere”—Jules looked at the heavens
as he spoke—“she ver’ content wid dees.” He
turned, and started for home.
It was snowing harder, and his down tracks
were only dimly discernible through the opaque
cover over them. The wind was coming
slowly; a murmur rose and fell weirdly in the
forest; the trees moved, bowed to one another,
and shook off their white dress. Out on the
barrens the drift was whirling along, mingled
with the fresh fall, and Jules’s snow-shoes
clicked with a deadened sound as he hastened
on. A herd of caribou crossed before him,
their hoofs rattling faintly as they raced on
with the wind. They came, and were gone in
a few moments, wrapped in the clouds of snow-dust
which their fast-moving feet stirred from
its resting-place on the crust. Jules stopped at
the edge of a timber patch, and examined marks
at his feet, not long made. “Vone, deux, t’ree,
five snow-shoe!” he said grimly, and swung off
to the left. He went on carefully, listening
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
every now and then; nothing but the whispering
of the wind in the tree-tops answered his
quest for sound. The hut was close by now;
the tracks he had seen five miles back had disappeared,
so Jules approached with a pathetic
gladness in his heart. “Jules goin’ have Noël
jus’ sam’!” he said, and then he sang a French
Christmas song as he saw the clearing in the
distance.
“Oh, Dieu! Oh, Dieu!” His little song
died suddenly. He had reached the clearing
where his hut had stood; in place of it a heap
of smouldering ashes met his eyes—gray, dull-red,
black, and smoking. Gone! All gone!
The home camp, with its little Christmas trimmings,
its strings of moss, its table, its pitiful
high stool—all gone, and a mass of ashes
remained in their place. Their smoke twined
slowly upward into the trees and disappeared
in the wide, wide air above. Silence—infinite
silence! A faint spluttering now and then as
the cold snow quenched the hot embers; beyond
this stillness, solitude.
Jules stared with heavy eyes, a tearing pain
at his heart, which beat thickly and fast. A
split of pine caught his sight; on its white
surface was roughly traced, “Bon Noël, Verbaux.—T.”
That was all. Many intertracting
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
snow-shoe tracks showed how the poor little
home had been destroyed. An apathetic mood
controlled Jules. He looked at the remnants
of his Christmas shelter with drooping eyes.
“Oh, Dieu! Bon Dieu!” he repeated over
and over again. Then he changed swiftly; a
blaze of anger came to the gray eyes, and his
muscles heaved and surged under the caribou
jacket. “Sacré-é-é-é!” he growled; then fury
interrupted the words, and only inarticulate
sounds came. “Jules Verbaux he goin’ show
to you h’all vat he do for dees!”
He turned, and struck off rapidly to the
westward. It was nearly night; the snow was
coming fast, and the wind had increased in
force, but Jules hurried on, seemingly imbued
with a supernatural power; his strides were
tremendous, and the clogging white on his
snow-shoes did not affect him in the least. On
in the darkness and falling curtains of snow he
went; on over hill and across barren, the wind
tearing at his clothes, and hurling the stinging
drift in his face; on through the woods, where
the trees roared their discomfort; on across
lakes, where the ice was swept bare, and where
his snow-shoes slid three feet to every stride;
on in ravines, where the gale curled the flying
snow over the sharp edges; on over ice-clumps,
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
where the drift beat itself to tiny pieces on the
jagged sides. The miles came, were passed,
and fell behind. Jules travelled on tirelessly,
like a steel machine, his snow-shoes rising, falling,
rising, falling, ever and always in that long,
regular step. Twenty, thirty, thirty-five miles
had come and gone, but Jules sped on. Then
daylight with its dim gray appeared, and
broadened over the white wastes; the flakes
came from farther up in the lowering skies,
always whirling, racing down.
At last the post buildings stood before him,
dimly visible through the screens of white; the
flag was frozen to its mast, and crackled when
the vicious blasts of wind sought to tear it from
its hold. The post was awake, alive; blue
smoke issued from the chimneys, and faded
away in the grasp of the storm. The roofs
were covered deep with a white coat, and the
tepees outside the stockade were mounds of
snow with only the tops of the poles visible.
Jules went round the clearing, keeping under
cover of the timber, and came up behind the
store. Within all was gaiety and laughter;
through the window-panes he saw the children
and the women dancing about a little spruce tree,
whose branches scintillated with Christmas
candles, and beneath which were cakes and
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
presents tied with coloured caribou-thongs.
Tritou, Le Grand, Le Bossu, Dumois, old
Maquette, and all the other trappers were
there, standing in a circle round the tree. The
factor, his red face shining with perspiration,
was making speeches and giving presents to
all.
“Jules goin’ feex you touts!” he snarled,
and quickly gathered dry wood and limbs and
piled them against the logs of the store wall;
he went off, and brought other heaps, and
placed them against all the post buildings,
where the wind should catch the flames the
best and hurry them on to their work of destruction.
All was ready. Verbaux lighted a
match and held it under the wood-heap at the
store; the bit of pine flared and went out. He
struck another; it too flashed, then the wind
put out its feeble blaze.
Jules stopped, thought, and looked in the
window again. The children were opening
their parcels, and screaming with delight at
the little toys and knickknacks that appeared.
Gradually his eyes softened. “Ah had leetle
papoose—vonce; she vould lak’ dat!” he
said, and the tears came again to the deep
eyes, and coursed unhindered down the bronzed
cheeks. The snow fell against the panes, and
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
dimmed his view of the interior, but the cheery
Christmas candles shone blurredly through the
mist.
“Ah no goin’ do dees!” he said huskily.
“No hurrrt vomans an’ leetle vones; she
vould not lak’ for me to do eet. Have good
Noél, enfants! Mes petits, geeve merci to le
bon Dieu. Somme taime, Tritou, Ah feex
you! Ah, enfants, have plaisir; t’ink somme
taime of Verbaux, h’alon’, seul, hongree, wid’out
home, wid’out anyzing in de fores’ an’ la tempête.”
He looked wistfully at the warm, happy
scene within, then turned abruptly away and
disappeared across the clearing silently, hidden
by the ever-falling quantities of snow.
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
VII || “REMEMBER JULES!”
.sp 2
It was noon. The day was bright and
warm, and as Jules rested on a snow clump at
the upper end of the Big Barren, he took off
his muffler and fur cap and mopped his broad
forehead. The sky was an opal blue; not a
cloud to be seen anywhere above the horizon;
the sun was comforting and genial in its heat,
and the crust melted fast.
As Jules’s eyes roamed over the dazzling
space, he saw whole hillsides split and sag
deeply, the heavy melting snow sinking on the
light, dry powder underneath. His great, wide
snow-shoes were on his feet, and the fur tote-bag
beside him bulged with pelts, for it had
been a good morning at the traps. He looked
up sharply, keenly, as a faint, far-away sound
struck on his ever-listening ears—Pop! pop!
pop-pop! very distant, but plainly discernible.
Jules jumped to his feet and shaded his eyes.
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
Out of the snowy distance came a dozen black
specks, travelling swiftly over the country.
“Caribou! Feefteen! Somme vone mak’
shooting là-bas!” Soon the frightened animals
were close to him, their heads thrown high,
their little tails straight up, and their long legs
twinkling as the herd sped by with even, graceful
trot. One staggered a little, swayed, but
kept on bravely with the rest. Jules’s sharp
eyes saw the flecks of blood on its hind quarter.
“By gar! Ah get dat caribou!” he said
aloud.
He threw the bag hastily over his shoulders,
and stuck the muffler in a pocket; then, cap in
hand, he left the clump and started off at great
speed after the fleeing animals, which were
again specks on the horizon beyond him.
Shortly afterward, from the white nothingness
out of which the caribou had come, a
larger speck appeared, and travelled nearly as
fast as they had. It grew into a sledge and
seven dogs, and on the sledge was a trapper
named Lavalle. “Mush—ei-i!” his voice
sounded weakly in space. As the outfit swung
past the place where Jules had stopped, Lavalle
caught sight of the wide tracks on the
soft crust. He checked his dogs and tumbled
from the sledge.
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
“C’est Verbaux,” he said to himself. “Les
autres dey tol’ to me hees shoe-marrk, an’ dat’s
eet certainement.”
He examined the tracks at his feet carefully.
They were wide and short, and the toe-bar
indentation was high on the front; the lacings
were of broad, thick bands, as the trail plainly
showed, and the front of the snow-shoe turned
in slightly.
“Ah vould lak’ b’en to catch heem,” Lavalle
said longingly, and walked up on the snow
clump, looking about. “He ees gon’ ’way;
mais Tritou he come aftaire me dam’ queeck,
and to-mor’ ve go catch Verbaux,” he muttered.
Then seeing the single dot disappearing
to the northward, “Voilà mon woun’ caribou!”
he cried, and, leaping down to the
sledge, hurried the dogs on and forgot about
Jules.
The team raced ahead across the softening
snow; the sledge-runners sank in often with
a scrunch, and Lavalle would lift the body up
and then go on. As they passed over a rise in
the barren he looked forward carefully, but saw
nothing of the wounded caribou.
“He fall somme place not far,” he said to
himself, and kept the dogs to their work. The
country was more level here for several miles,
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
and when the sledge approached the next hill
he stopped the team at the foot of it, and, rifle
in hand, stole noiselessly up the side; then,
dropping to his hands and knees, crept on and
peered over the top.
In the little gully on the other side lay a
dead caribou, and bending over it was a tall
man who was rapidly stripping the skin from
the steaming body.
Lavalle ducked his head quickly at the unexpected
sight in the gully, and lay on the
snow, thinking.
“Dat ees Verbaux, certainement. Ah get
heem et le caribou, by gar! Dat magnifique!
Ah go leetle furdaire h’along, an’ mak’ good
shoot.”
He slid down the hillside a few yards, then
worked his way to the top again, pushing
the rifle slowly along the crust. Just below
him, Jules had finished the skinning, and was
deftly unjointing the caribou’s quarters. Lavalle
shoved the rifle carefully in front of his eyes,
took aim between Verbaux’s broad shoulders,
and pulled the trigger.
Jules heard a dull explosion, and dropped
instantly by the caribou carcass; then, looking
up slowly, he saw on the hilltop near by a man
writhing and rolling as if in agony. He watched
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
several minutes: the man’s contortions grew
less; finally he lay spasmodically kicking.
“He try keel Jules,” said Verbaux, as he
stood up and advanced warily toward the
prostrate figure. It was no sham, and Jules
uttered an exclamation of disgust at what he
saw. Lavalle, in creeping along the hillside,
had unwittingly plugged the rifle-barrel heavily
with wet snow; and when, after taking aim at
Jules, he had fired, the old barrel had exploded,
and the breech-block had “blown back” in his
face. The heavy bolt had torn away one cheek,
and the raw flesh lay gaping on the jaw-bone;
Lavalle’s forehead was pierced and gashed in
several places by bits of the shell, and a jagged
rip in the skull over the left temple showed
where a piece of metal had forced its way
through the skin. The gun itself lay a few feet
off, dismantled and useless.
“Dat good so; you try keel me,” said Jules,
thoughtfully, as he watched the twitchings of
the torn and distorted features. “Jules go
now.”
He turned and left the hill and its repulsive
occupant. He cut strips from the caribou-hide,
and with them fastened a quarter of meat on
his back, and another over his chest, to balance
the weight; then, taking the skin under his
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
arm, he started off. When he had gone a little
way he stopped and looked back at the shape
lying on the reddened snow. He stood motionless
for several minutes, then he threw off his
load.
“Bah! Jules Verbaux, you got vone too
beeg heart!” he said to himself sarcastically,
as he went back to the wounded man. He
tore long pieces from his own shirt, and skilfully
laid the ragged flesh of the cheek in its place,
fastening it there with the cloth; the slit in the
skull he drew together with rough care, and
pinned the flaps of loose skin with a bit of wood
which he sharpened and cleaned with his knife
for the purpose. Then he gently pricked out
the steel pieces that he could see embedded
in Lavalle’s face. The semi-conscious man
moved, and muttered incoherently, “Ah go-in’
ke-e-el Ver-baux main-te-nant,” and he feebly
threw up his arms as though holding a gun.
The flesh around the eyes was so swollen that
he could not open them, and he lay there
whispering and tossing.
“’Ow he comme so queeck, hein?” thought
Jules to himself; then he took Lavalle’s back
trail and found the sledge; the dogs were asleep
in a warm mass. He straightened their harness
and drove the team up to the wounded man,
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
picked him off the snow like a feather, and
stretched him carefully on the boards of the
sledge, lashing him securely. The dogs went
on, Jules holding a trace so that the speed should
not be too great. At the bottom of the hill he
gathered the quarters of meat and the skin, and
secured them on the sledge at Lavalle’s feet.
Then “Mush! Allez!” he shouted, and the
team scampered on, he following swiftly, controlling
their speed by a long thong fastened
to one of the sledge-runners. Over hill and
across flat they went, hour after hour, till the
forest-land was reached. Here Jules swerved
the dogs to the northeast, and kept on.
Lavalle became more conscious, and struggled
against the thongs that tied him fast;
then he began to whimper, and the tears
forced themselves through the puffed eyelids
and ran down over his ears. Jules paid no attention,
and they travelled on. The afternoon
grew dark, a breeze sprang up, and in a little
while veils of mist unfolded themselves over
the barrens, and Jules pulled out his muffler,
winding it round his neck as he strode along.
The mist became heavier and changed into a
chill rain that soaked rapidly through the
wounded man’s clothes.
“Ah’m co-ol’, co-ol’!” he sobbed; and
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
Jules took off his own caribou jacket, and
covered Lavalle with it, tucking the corners
under the lashings so that it should not be
blown away.
The country sloped gradually upward, and
at last the top of the long rise was reached.
Jules stopped the team and looked back. The
bare, rolling, white distances were blurred by
the falling rain; the air was damp and had a
bitter edge of cold to it; overhead masses of
grey scud and blue-black clouds hurried past,
and the wind yowled intermittently across the
hilltop. Nothing living was in sight. Lavalle
muttered and cried, and the dogs panted.
Jules gazed long and thoroughly all over, then
he started the team again, turning sharply to
the right.
In an hour the timber came in view, and in
a few minutes they plunged into its shadows.
Soon a little clearing appeared, and in the
centre of it was a hut. It looked lonely and
minute, nestling among the giant spruce and
pine. Jules halted the outfit at the door, and,
gently untying Lavalle, he carried him inside
and laid him on some boughs; the dogs he
unharnessed and turned loose, and he took the
meat, skin, and other things from the sledge
into his little home. With pine chips and dry
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
branches he built a fire on the tiny hearth; the
slight smoke drifted about the room for a
moment, then, feeling the strength of the draft
through the round hole in the roof, it hurried
out, as though glad to be free.
“L’eau! Wat’!” the wounded man was
articulating painfully, and Jules filled a pannikin
with snow, melted it over the flames, and
held it to Lavalle’s lips. The sick man could
not open them enough to drink, and he began
to cry again. Jules took up a wind-cured pelt
from a pile of skins, twisted it into a stiff horn,
and carefully forced the small end between the
bruised and cut lips, and poured in a thin
stream of water. Lavalle’s throat rose and
fell as he swallowed, and he shook his head a
little when he had had enough. “Merci!” he
whispered, and sank into semi-consciousness
again.
It was dark outside. The dogs were growling
and snapping over the meat Jules had
thrown to them. The wind made the trees
creak and groan, and the rain had turned to
snow. It was growing colder, and when Jules
opened the bark door a stinging blast whirled
in, eddying the ashes about the fire and causing
the wounded man in the corner to shiver.
Verbaux cut some caribou steaks, and set
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
them in a frying-pan on the fire; he dropped a
little tea in the pannikin, and built up the
blaze; then he sat near it and waited. The
fire shone on his face ruddily, and the flames
leaped and danced by reflection in the gray
eyes. The hut was quiet, save for the crackling
of the pine sticks and the raucous breathing of
Lavalle. Soon the steaks began sizzling, and
the odour of frying meat filled the little interior.
Outside the wind had increased, and it sirened
now loud, now softly across the open hole overhead.
Every now and then Jules mechanically
turned the meat, his eyes on the fire in a
curious set stare. Then he ate his supper
slowly, decisively, sipping the black tea and
munching the heavy bread in great mouthfuls,
his big white teeth gleaming between the
strong, healthy lips at each bite. When he had
finished he set the pan aside, leaving the pannikin
with its remnants of tea near the heat;
he put more wood on the fire, and drew a
blanket up to it, filled his pipe, lighted it,
and sat down, nursing his knees in his hands,
his head swaying to and fro. Lavalle’s
breathing was more quiet and regular, and the
loudest sound in the hut was the thick puff-puff—puff-phooooo—as
Jules exhaled clouds of
smoke.
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
The red light flickered strangely over the
spotted bark walls, and the shadow of Jules’s
head grew and shrank as the sticks settled,
flared up, burned out, and settled again on the
hearth. And still Jules sat there. His pipe
was out, and the dull black bowl gleamed fitfully
in the spasmodic light. The fire dimmed
and dimmed; at last but a heap of gleaming
coals was left. Jules lay down slowly, folded
the blanket about him, and slept. The storm
had come outside; the snow hurled itself
against the little hut and piled around it; the
dogs had crept to the lee side and were warmly
huddled together; the sledge was a mound of
white; and the gale screamed and roared
through the pine and spruce.
Daylight came, grew, and brightened everything.
All was silent yet in the bark shelter:
one form, hideous, bloody, bandaged, in the
corner; the other, long, strong, and graceful
in repose, slept in the fur blanket before the
cold hearth. Then it stirred, and Jules got up
slowly and looked at Lavalle. He was still
asleep, and Jules felt his head.
“Bon!” he said to himself, and went outside.
The snow was still falling, and he waded
through the drifts that had come during the
night to his wood-heap; then with an armful
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
of sticks he went back, arranged the morning
fire, and lighted it. The wounded man woke,
and in his blindness mumbled, “Tritou, eet ees
you, hein?”
Jules started violently, then he answered in
a gruff voice, “Oui.”
“Tritou,” went on the other in a thick tone,
“Ah tr-y to keel Verbaux yest’da-y; ma-is Ah
don’ know eef Ah do heet when Ah was woun’.
You kno-w, he-in?”
A long pause, then Jules decided. “Oui,”
he answered again, still more gruffly.
“Ah ’m please’. Le facteur he gee-ef to me
two hond’ed dollaires, hein?”
“Oui,” Jules answered for the third time.
The tea was ready, and he went over to
Lavalle, and using the skin horn again, poured
the warm liquid down his throat.
“C’est b-on; me-rci;” and he became comatose
again.
All that day Jules stayed in the camp; he
fed the dogs and watched them fight and snarl
over their rations; he gave Lavalle some tea
three times, and he cut bits of meat very fine,
softened them in warm water, and pushed them
between the helpless lips. The throat swallowed,
and Lavalle was strengthened. In the
evening Jules unbound the terrible wounds,
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
washed them with tepid water in which he
had steeped some pine-bark, and then tied
them up again with fresh strips from his
shirts.
And thus day after day passed; Lavalle
growing stronger with each twenty-four hours.
His face was still in a frightful condition, and
the eyes remained puffed and unopened. Jules
rarely spoke, and the hurt man begged petulantly
to be talked to; but Verbaux kept silent,
or answered in monosyllables, and then gruffly,
rudely. In the daytime he would take the
dogs and go off through the forest, coming
back at night with his furs, sometimes with
many, sometimes with only a few skins.
Three weeks came and went, and Jules still
fed and cared for Lavalle. One night, as Jules
sat thinking, thinking, before the fire, the other
man spoke. “Ha, Tritou! Ah can see de
flame at las’!” Verbaux sprang to his feet, and
scattered the blaze with swift kicks.
“Vat you do dat for? Ah van’ see,” Lavalle
said crossly.
“Sl’ip—dormir,” answered Jules, hoarsely,
and the other said no more.
Before daylight the next morning Jules deftly
wound a bandage securely over Lavalle’s now
seeing eyes.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
“Tritou, vat you do?” he asked with fear
and anger. Without answering, Jules tied Lavalle’s
ankles and wrists, and carried him out
to the sledge, lashed him to it, and harnessed
the dogs, while Lavalle cursed and raved.
They started off in the gray darkness of dawn,
and travelled all that day and all night across
the wilderness. The following evening they
stopped, and Jules fed the blindfolded man as
usual; then wrapped him in a blanket, still
bound hand and foot, curled up himself, and
slept. They were off again at dawn, and on
and on till noon; then Jules halted the team,
lifted Lavalle, and steadied him on his feet.
“Ah feex you, Tritou! Dam’ fine vay to
breeng me to la poste! Vell, Tritou, you got
ze head h’of Verbaux for to geef le facteur?”
asked he.
“Oui,” answered Jules. He cut the wrist
and ankle bindings, and with a quick turn of
his knife severed the bandage over Lavalle’s
forehead. It was dim in the forest, and the
other rubbed his eyes gently.
“Trit—” he began; then his half-opened
eyes cringed, and an awful fear came into them,
as they saw the tall, gaunt figure with wide
snow-shoes.
“Oh! Oh, Dieu! Grâce!” he cried wildly,
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
and shrieked in his terror; he tried to run, but
Jules caught his arm in a powerful grip.
“Leesten to moi, Lavalle! You try keel
moi, Jules Verbaux. Ah sauf you’ laife for
sak’ du bon Dieu; tak’ you’ dog’, go to la
poste! Here de vay! An’—rememb’ Jules
Verbaux! Allez!” He stood like a statue,
pointing to the westward along the blazed
trail.
Slowly and haltingly Lavalle crept to the
sledge, crawled on it, and screamed, “Mush!”
to the dogs; and they raced away among the
trees.
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
VIII || “SOMME T’ING FOR HEEM”
.sp 2
Le Grand, Dumois, Hibou, and Bossu were
camped fifty miles beyond Rivière Noire.
They had their trap-lines set out like spokes of
a wheel from the main camp, and were having
great luck. Fur was plenty, and bait easy to
get because of the numerous herds of caribou.
It was night, and the four men sat about a
roaring-hot fire. The dogs had a shed for
themselves, and the sledges were pushed under
the bough cover.
“Ah vould lak’ to know ’Ow Verbaux he
ees!” said Dumois. “Ah vant t’ank heem for
dat las’ taime!”
The others stared thoughtfully at the leaping,
dancing flames, that crackled and snapped,
casting a warm red sheen over each figure.
“Lavalle he say dat Verbaux he gone
Ouest!” finally said Bossu.
“He ees très beeg hear-rt, dat Jules,” Hibou
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
said quietly, and his black eyes softened and
shone suspiciously in the reflected light.
“Ai-hai!” answered the rest, nodding solemnly.
Le Grand brought more wood for the fire;
as he threw it on, piece by piece, showers of
scintillating sparks were born and scurried up
to their brief existence in the cold air, gleamed
brightly for a moment, then disappeared. The
fresh logs sang merrily, and their rough bark
curled and reddened in the fierce heat of the
glowing embers underneath.
“De fairées!” said Dumois, smiling, when a
loud pop, then a shrill pi-i-ing, came from a
flaming log.
“She ees gone h’up dere!” suggested Bossu,
looking up at the star-brightened heavens.
“Oui, she gone leave h’on star!” Hibou answered
gravely, and a far-away expression came
to his eyes.
The group were quiet, watching the swift
changes that took place in the position of the
wood and coals.
“Un loup-cervier!” said Le Grand, pointing
to a shape, visible to him, formed by three
blackened sticks and some dull coals.
It was a cold night, and the steam from their
wet trousers and moccasins rose in gray-white
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
clouds and drifted away among the dark
branches. A little wind breathed gently through
the spruce, and curled the tops of the long
flames as they shot up into nothingness.
Bossu slowly pulled out his pipe, and as
slowly cut tobacco from a dirt-begrimed plug.
He rolled and crushed the pieces between his
hands and filled the bowl, carefully pushing
them down with a stubby forefinger. Then he
caught up a red-hot coal, dropped it on the
tobacco, and puffed silently. The others
watched the familiar operation with that unconscious
attention which is born of a lack of
anything of real interest to look at. “V’ere
ees dat oglee Tritou dese taimes?” asked
Hibou.
“Bah! Tritou he look, look h’all taime for
Verbaux hees track!” said Le Grand.
“He ver’ beeg fool; Verbaux he keel Tritou
somme taime certainement!” announced
Bossu, speaking with slow precision, and with
pauses between each word. The others nodded,
and the conversation ceased.
Then, weirdly and noiselessly, a tall gaunt
figure stepped into the edge of the firelight behind
them, and stood there in silence, surveying
the group in front of him. His snow-shoes
were slung over his back, and the woollen
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
muffler was tied loosely around the strong neck;
the swarthy face was shining with sweat, and
the massive chest rose and fell rapidly, as
though in distress. He moved forward quietly,
limping as he walked; when he was close to
the four trappers he spoke softly, “Bon soi’!”
They leaped to their feet and stared at him.
“Verbaux!” they said then.
“Ah’m hur-rt!” Jules spoke slowly and
pointed to his left leg. The rough trouser and
heavy moccasin were soggy with blood, which
had congealed on them in a black mass. As
Jules finished speaking he swayed a little and
passed his big hand wearily over his forehead.
Dumois jumped to his side.
“How you woun’?” he asked, a deep sympathy
in his voice.
“Hax,” answered Jules, simply; then he
added, “Ah cut moi par h’accident dees
morn’n’; no can go h’on snow-shoe’; have had
notting for heat; you can geeve me leetle,
hein?” He looked at the others with pain-dulled
eyes. “Ah see your trap’ and comme
for help,” he continued.
“By gar! dat too dam’ bad!” said Hibou,
loudly, to hide the lump in his throat that
threatened to break his voice.
Tenderly and carefully the men supported
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
Verbaux and laid him gently on a blanket before
the fire. The gray eyes flashed their
gratitude; then they closed and Verbaux
fainted from hunger and pain. The trappers
looked at the long, powerful form stretched
helpless at their feet, and no one spoke.
“Bon! queeck!” said Bossu then, “ve mus’
feex dat woun’!” He knelt, and quickly split
the trouser and cut away the top of the
moccasin. A long, deep gash in the calf of the
leg showed black and ugly; Bossu shook his
head. “Ver’ bad dat!” he said. Water was
heated and the wound thoroughly cleansed. It
was a clean cut; the axe had bitten deep, but
the lips of the gash were smooth and even.
Bossu drew them together, and tied the leg up
tightly, first with cloth, then with wide caribou-thongs.
Jules stirred. “Dat good, merci!” he whispered.
Le Grand had been preparing tea and
food, and he fed Jules like a child. Then the
four lifted the big figure and carried it into the
camp, and placed Jules on a fresh heap of boughs,
covered him with blankets, and left him asleep.
Hibou threw more wood on the fire, and they
squatted about it again.
“Ah’m ver’ content; Ah can do somme t’ing
for heem!” said Le Grand.
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
“Nous aussi,” quickly answered the others,
then silence came over the group.
The wind sighed through the trees. “Leesten!”
Bossu held up his hand.
Far off in the forest a scratching and faint
pattering could be heard on the hard crust.
The trappers listened intently; the sound grew,
and then they heard a long “Who-ee-e!”
They looked at one another.
“Tritou, by diable!” said Dumois. “Vat
he comme for, hein?” He looked at the camp
as he spoke, nodding toward it. The others
perceived his meaning and growled, “Nevaire!”
“Ho-o-o-p!” shouted Bossu. An answering
call sounded near by, and in a few minutes
six dogs drawing a light sledge ran into the
firelight and stopped, panting. Behind them
Tritou’s squat figure appeared, rifle on his arm.
“Bon soi’!” answered Bossu. “Vat you do
here, Tritou?”
“Ah come f’om Petites Colignes las’ night et
to-day; Ah go to Hautes Terres to-mor’. ’Ow
many here?” he asked.
“Five!” said Le Grand. The three other
Indians’ eyes gleamed for a moment, but they
made no comment.
“Who ees de hoddaire mans?” asked Tritou,
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
looking about for the fifth member of the
party.
“Clement! ’Sleep!” answered Le Grand,
jerking his thumb toward the camp as he named
an Indian who, he knew, was away from the
post, trapping to the southward.
Tritou unharnessed his team and fed them.
Then he drew his blankets from the sledge and,
with a nod to the others, went in the camp.
Bossu walked in quietly after him, his knife
in his hand.
Tritou had wrapped himself up and lain
down next to Verbaux on the fresh boughs.
There was only a dim, shadowed light, that
came from the fire, in the interior, and Bossu
chuckled softly as he saw where Tritou had
chosen to sleep. He sneaked out and beckoned
to the others; they came, saw, and laughed
softly. Then they brought in their own covers
and stretched out in the camp for the night—all
but Le Grand, who arranged his blankets
in the angle of the walls, and sat there
through the long winter darkness, his eyes
fixed on the corner where Tritou and Verbaux
slept side by side. Sometimes he would take
out his pipe, and the cheep-cheep-cheep of the
sharp knife-edge cutting through the tobacco
would break the breathing stillness of the camp.
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
At last daylight filtered through the trees,
and in its dark interior objects took shape, and
grew in distinctness. Tritou moved and sat
up.
Le Grand quickly slipped to the floor and
watched. The short figure rose, glanced over
the sleeping companions, and went outside,
taking his blankets. Le Grand heard him
splitting wood, and then the cheery crackling
of the morning fire sounded on the quiet of
dawn. Then he heard the rattle of a pannikin
and the frying of meat, then silence.
Tritou finished his lonely breakfast, and
harnessed his dogs. He stuck his head in the
camp door. “Au revoir, h’all; Ah go now!”
and his shouts of “Musha! Mush!” rang
loudly between the log walls. The dogs
yelped and went on, Tritou following. In a
few minutes his voice died away to the eastward
and all was quiet.
Le Grand breathed a sigh of relief and put
away the long knife that had not left his hands
since Tritou came. He went over to Jules; he
was awake, and the big eyes looked inquiringly
at him. “Ah t’ought Ah hear Tritou hees
talk!” he said.
Le Grand laughed. “Tritou he slep’ ici las’
night, near to you!” and he pointed to the
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
crushed boughs beside Jules. The latter
struggled up and looked first at Le Grand, then
at the empty green bed. He growled, and his
hand felt under his wide belt. “Sacré!” he
murmured, “Ah no know dat; but Ah’m no
ver’ strong!” Then he stood up, limped to
the door, and listened. “Ah bien!” he said,
turning to Le Grand, “dat nev’ mind! Somme
taime Ah show to heem! ’Ow he not know
Jules be here?”
Le Grand told him how Tritou had been
fooled, and Jules laughed softly, but the gray
eyes looked in the forests searching for something.
The others were awake, and they chuckled
again and again at their luck in avoiding a
fight. After breakfast the four took their
teams and went off to the traps, leaving Jules
in camp. He walked about in the snow a
little; his leg was stronger, it still ached, but
the tight bandages supported the muscles and
he could move quite easily.
“Ah mus’ go,” he said to himself; “mes
dog notting h’eat t’ree day, poor beas’!” He
took a small piece of caribou-meat and a little
bread and put them in his pocket for himself
on his trip. He sewed the rough trouser-leg
together, and patched the cut moccasin. Then
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
he peeled a square of thin bark from a small
timber, and using a charred stick as a pencil
he traced roughly, “Merci.—V.,” and put it on
the boughs in the camp, then slung the snow-shoes
over his back, and limped off in the deep
timber.
In the evening the trappers returned, and
Hibou called, “Verbaux!” No answer; they
were frightened. Then Le Grand found the
tracing in the camp, and showed it to the
others. They were silent for a minute, when
Bossu spoke huskily. “Ah, bien, ve do somme
t’ing for heem! Bonne chance, Verbaux!” he
said as he looked at the darkening forests.
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
IX || MAN AGAINST MAN
.sp 2
The Montaignis came down to the post on
one of their trading expeditions, and they told
weird tales of seeing a tall figure on strange
wide snow-shoes up among the hills, two hundred
miles away. This figure, they said, had
been seen by many of the tribe, but no one
had been able to get close enough to speak to
him.
Tritou, since the time of his wounding
Verbaux, had been always on the watch for the
familiar tracks, but had never found anything,
so he listened eagerly to the mountaineers’
stories.
“C’est Verbaux, Ah know,” he said afterward
to one of his cronies; “he no comme
back ici!” and he nodded wisely. Dumois
overheard this affirmation. “V’y for Verbaux
he no comme back?” he asked, and Tritou
became silent. He had not told any one of his
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
misfortune—how Verbaux had borrowed his
dog-team and left it, eighty miles away, at
Rivière Noire; but revenge burned fiercely in
his thoughts, and he would mutter curses when
Verbaux’s name was mentioned.
Thus it was that Tritou, to follow up the
blood price he promised himself day by day,
got permission from the factor to take a trip
with the Montaignis, when they returned to
their hill country. He did not tell his true
reason for wishing to go, but whispered in the
factor’s ear, that “mabbe un gran’ territoire
pour la chasse là-bas, an’ ve sen’ mans from la
poste, hein?”
The factor saw the force of this argument,
and agreed that Tritou should go.
The Montaignis waited about the post,
camped outside the stockade, until the weather
should be good for the start. The snow-storms
in their territory were much more to be feared
than they were here, about the post. The
Athabascan country is treacherous in the snow
months, January and March, and no Indian sets
out long trap-lines then.
One evening, Washook, the Montaignis
leader, said that they would leave the next
morning at daylight. Tritou’s eyes gleamed
when he heard this, but he said nothing. He
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
was alone in his tepee, getting his blankets and
supplies ready, when the flap was pushed aside,
and Le Grand came in. “Bon soi’, Tritou!”
he said.
Tritou was not overfond of Le Grand, because
he felt that in some way Verbaux and he
were friends. It was strange that no one could
say a word against Verbaux without Le Grand
contradicting him quietly and firmly. When
asked his reasons for this, he would refuse to
explain, saying always, “Ah know of vat Ah
say!” So Tritou was suspicious of the visit,
feeling uncomfortable in Le Grand’s presence,
as though the latter knew that revenge was
his object for going away into the Montaignis
country.
Le Grand opened the conversation. “You
goin’ get des skeens, hein, Tritou?”
“’Ope so!” the latter answered shortly, and
went on folding up his blankets in small bundles,
tying them with caribou-thongs.
“Ah see Verbaux hees track yes’day!” announced
Le Grand suddenly, watching Tritou
closely. This was a lie, but Le Grand wanted
to know how much of Tritou’s desire for the
long, hard trip with the Montaignis was actuated
by his madness to find Verbaux.
Tritou looked up quickly, and his breath
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
came faster. “Vat figure, den, dose Montaignis
dey talk h’about?” he asked.
Le Grand did not answer at once, but stared
fixedly at his host. Then he spoke. “Tritou,
you goin’ h’aftaire Verbaux; Ah know eet, an’
Ah goin’ warn you, Tritou, dat you veel be
keel, keel! Ond’stan’, Tritou?”
Tritou’s face was ugly to see: the black eyes
gleamed dully, and the broad nostrils quivered;
the lips were drawn back in a half-snarl, and
the tobacco-stained teeth looked like the fangs
of a wolf.
“An’ Ah tell to you, Le Grand, dat eet ees
no you’ affaire. You lak’ Verbaux, Ah t’ink,
an’ Ah goin’ breeng back Verbaux hees head
cut hoff, to show to la poste, tu comprends
ça?” and he leered horribly.
“You veel t’ink somme taime of Le Grand,
vat he tol’ to you! Bon soi’, Tritou!” With
these words Le Grand left the tepee.
Tritou chuckled. “Ah ça, you no can sauf
Verbaux!” he said to himself. Then, his
preparations completed, he rolled up in his
blankets and slept.
The next morning was a beautiful one, and
amid laughter, cheers and au r’voirs the Montaignis
left the post, bound for home, two
hundred and thirty miles away to the northwest.
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
Tritou accompanied them with his big sledge
and ten dogs. As he went out of the gate Le
Grand called to him, “Gare Jules Verbaux!”
and Tritou scowled.
Day after day the party travelled on across
miles of deep timber and long stretches of
barrens where the wind bit fiercely and the
frost patched their faces with gray. Night
after night they camped, built big fires, and
curled up round them in their blankets, and all
the time Tritou was sullen and spoke rarely
to his companions. One day, when travelling
over soft crust in single file, the man’s sled
just in front of Tritou’s upset, and the load
scattered over the snow. Tritou never offered
to help him reload, but made a detour to avoid
the accident, and kept on in silence. These
things were noticed by the Montaignis, and they
began to wonder what sort of man was this who
wouldn’t talk, who wouldn’t even smoke with
them by the fire in the evenings. Mutterings
were frequent among the Indians about it, and
at last suspicion was openly talked of in their
own language, which Tritou did not understand.
They suspected him of being a Company
spy, and one of them went so far as to tell him
so in halting, broken French. Tritou made no
answer, and the Indians grew uglier toward him.
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
On the sixth day out from the post, the
chief, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped
and examined some tracks which crossed their
course; the others gathered about and jabbered
excitedly. Tritou noticed the unusual
commotion from his place in the rear, and
came up to find out the cause. He saw the
strange, wide snow-shoe trail, and his eyes
glistened venomously; but still he said nothing.
That night, when the party made camp, he
was missing. No one had seen him leave, and
conjectures were many and loud.
The chief listened to them all, and decided
that they had better not do anything about it;
that Tritou had gone of his own volition, and
that it was his affair, not theirs. “He has
probably turned back to the post,” he said; so
the next day the Montaignis went on without
him.
Tritou had at once recognised the snow-shoe
trail as that of Verbaux, and when he dropped
back to his position in the line, he determined
to leave the Montaignis secretly at the first
opportunity, go back, pick up the trail and
follow it to its maker. The Indians’ course took
them through a wooded ravine; Tritou saw it
a long way off, and he dropped back little by
little, intending to leave the others when they
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
turned the ravine corner at the upper end. It
happened as he planned; the others kept on
steadily, and he slowed up until there was five
hundred yards between him and the last of his
travelling companions.
When the ravine was reached they all went
up through it, turned the corner, and Tritou
stopped his team, threw himself on the sledge
and lashed the dogs. They bounded forward,
and he was soon out of hearing of the Indians’
voices, going back to his enemy’s trail. It
was only five miles off, and Tritou soon covered
that distance, for he was going very fast.
“Ah-ha-a-a! at las’, Verbaux!” he said
hoarsely when he came to the tracks again,
“Ah goin’ keel you dees taime!”
Before starting on the chase he lashed the
load firmly on the sledge, filled his rifle with
cartridges, and looked to the dogs’ harness;
then, with everything secured he started on
the trail. The country was entirely strange
to him, as this was two hundred and ten miles
from the post, and he had never hunted in this
direction. It was all hills and valleys; the
timber was thick, and the hillsides steep; his
advance, therefore, was slow. The wide tracks
led due north; over hill and through valley,
up ravines and across barrens it went, straight
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
as a compass course. It was at least a day old,
Tritou decided; and he coaxed the dogs to
their best efforts. The tracks led over a high,
bare hill, and he stopped to look about. He
could see a long, long way ahead, but as far as
his eyes could reach were barrens on barrens,
white and desolate; not a living thing in sight
on the snow or in the air.
The sun shone over the glare-crust with dazzling
brilliancy, and he could not look on it long.
“Mush!” he shouted to the dogs, and went on.
The trail kept its northern course, straight over
the barrens and down through the deep timber
on the far side; always a day old it seemed
to Tritou, fast as he went. The dogs were
lagging; he stopped to feed them, and ate
some cold food himself. He did not dare to
light a fire for fear of warning the man he was
after. In an hour he started on again. The
landscape changed. He came to a big lake,
where ice was black and deep, and where the
cutting wind made him shiver and draw his
muffler close. He lost the trail here, but
remembering Jules’s old tricks, he went across
the ice in a northern direction and found that
the tracks began again on the other side.
It was coming twilight; the sun was sinking;
it grew colder, and Tritou saw that he should
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
not get up on Verbaux that night. He travelled
as long as he could see the tracks before
him; then he lay down among the dogs, and
slept.
Day was just beginning to lighten the sky
when he was up and, after a hasty, cold breakfast,
went on again. The trail turned a little to
the northeast as he went, and then he came to
the remnants of a fire, and saw where Jules had
slept, and where the dogs had dug holes for
themselves in the snow. The signs were not
very old; indeed, Tritou fancied that he could
still feel heat in the ashes. With renewed
vigour he pushed on and on. The course lay
through heavy timber now, and he had to stop
and puzzle out the faint snow-shoe scratches in
several places. He came to another lake, but
this was covered with snow, and the tracks
showed clear upon it. Half-way across he
stopped; to the northeast of him, in the woods,
a thin blue haze indicated smoke. Tritou
breathed faster, and followed the tracks to the
edge of the woods. There he left the team and,
rifle in hand, sneaked along the snow-shoe
marks. “At las’!” he whispered, as he saw
the smoke ascending through the trees two
hundred yards in front of him. He loosened
the knife in his belt, and made sure that
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
the rifle was ready. Then he crept forward
warily.
Jules was skinning some marten in front of a
little shed hut; a fire burned brightly near him,
and he sang merrily as he peeled the sleek fur
from the little stiff body in his hands.
.pm verse-start
“La boule elle roule,
Laridon-dè, laridon-da!”
.pm verse-end
Crang! His ear stung and he drew his hand
away from it bloody. Crang! His cap
twitched as he flung the marten to one side and
dashed behind a big pine. All was silent. He
wondered who it was that had fired at him.
Then he took off his cap and saw the bullet-hole
in it, near the fur tassel. “C’est près, ça!
Dat close!” he said. He stuck the cap on a
twig and pushed it carefully from behind the
trunk. Cran-ng! and the cap fell to the crust.
“He shoot good!” muttered Jules, as he kept
perfectly still behind his tree.
A soft crunch broke the silence; Verbaux
stuck his head in and out from the tree trunk
quickly.
“Tritou!” His voice quivered ominously,
and his hands clenched. He had seen Tritou
as the latter, knowing that Jules had no gun,
went from one tree to another, to get a near
shot when opportunity offered.
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
“Bon! you tak’ care!” shouted Jules.
A mocking laugh from the other was the only
answer.
Round and round Verbaux worked about his
tree, keeping its protecting trunk between him
and Tritou. The latter did not dare approach
too close, as he feared that Jules might rush
him if he did. The long afternoon passed thus,
each man seeking an opportunity that would
not come. The shadows grew deeper, and the
skies turned a dark green-blue; still the two
watched and waited. Darkness came and the
forest was plunged in black. Verbaux listened
intently. Everything was absolutely still, except
for the hoot of an owl in the distance.
Slowly, very slowly he stepped out from behind
his tree and listened again. No sound! Inch
by inch he worked his way in Tritou’s direction.
It was wonderful; he moved over the crust and
made not the tiniest crackle. Swish—crunch!
came from the darkness beyond, very softly,
but Jules heard it and sneaked on. “Diable!”
he thought, as an unseen stick crackled under
him; he stopped. Tritou had heard it, too,
and was fleeing through the woods, his snow-shoes
clicking loudly. He had not dreamed
that Jules was so near. Verbaux started after
him. Tritou’s snow-shoes gave him a decided
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
advantage, because Jules slipped and slid on
the crust. He did not have on his moccasins
with caribou-hair soles. Cran-ng! sounded
the rifle, and the bullet pi-i-nged viciously over
Jules’s head. He made no answer, but ran on
at full speed. Cran-ng! again, and the bullet
thudded into a tree near by. Tritou was firing
toward the sound of Jules’s leaps on the crust!
Cran-ng! The leaden missile zi-i-i-ped at
Jules’s feet. He dodged to the right and
listened. Tritou stopped, too, and the woods
were deathlike in their stillness.
“You, Tri—” Cran-ng! Jules did not hear
the bullet this time. “Tritou!” he called again;
no answer. “Tritou! tak’ care!” Whe-e-e! the
bullet whined from a tree close by. Jules said
no more, but knelt down and took off his
moccasins; then he stole forward in his coarse
stockings. “Dat bettaire,” he muttered, as
the woollen material stuck well to the slippery
surface.
Tritou had not moved, and Jules edged
noiselessly forward, listening between each step.
He put his hand on a big pine to lighten his
weight, and stopped again. Swsht! a light
rustle came from behind it. Jules drew his
knife softly from his shirt and put it between
his teeth, then sprang like lightning round the
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
trunk. “Ha-rgh-rr!” he growled as his hands
felt a warm, living body. “Tu diable!”
screamed Tritou and fired the rifle. The bullet
went wild and the two men fell, rolling over and
over on the crust. Jules felt Tritou trying to
draw his knife, and he used both hands to prevent
him. His own knife was still clenched in
his jaws. “Ah tear ze eyes h’out of your tête!”
screamed Tritou, crazed with rage. “Ah cut
ze hearrt’ f’om your corps!” and he struggled
again for his knife. Jules made no answer.
The two men writhed and tumbled over the
snow, one snarling like an animal, the other
silent. Jules held on grimly, waiting his chance.
The struggle grew fiercer instead of less; now
both men breathed in loud gasps, and grunted
as one or the other came underneath in their
rolling.
All this time Jules was silent, fighting
strongly; of a sudden the animal sprang up
in him, something snapped in his brain, his
strength redoubled, and dropping the knife
from his teeth, he threw his head forward,
and down to Tritou’s throat, and opened his
mouth as he felt the hot, sweating flesh on his
lips; his teeth closed tighter and tighter, cutting
through skin, blood-vessels, and muscle. “Arh!
Arh! Arh! Arh!” screeched Tritou, kicking
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
and writhing; he felt the teeth crunching and
chewing, mouthing his life away. Jules bit
deeper and deeper; his teeth sank into the gums,
he held them there, then with a supreme effort
he twisted his head sidewise, wrenching Tritou’s
throat apart. The body under him relaxed,
quivered, and jerked spasmodically, then lay
still. The hot blood covered Jules’s face; it
was up his nose, and had gone down his open
throat. He got up slowly and looked at the
limp body he could just see in the darkness at
his feet. Then he sank to his knees and crossed
himself.
“Oh, bon Dieu! Leesten vat Jules say!
Zis Tritou, he follow me ev’ place, he try for
to keel me so h’often, an’ now, bon Dieu, Ah
have keel heem! Pardon, bon Dieu! Grâce
for me, miserabl’ dat Ah am!”
He rose, dull-eyed and trembling, and went
away, leaving the dead man stretched out and
stiffening on the snow.
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
X || INTO THE NORTH
.sp 2
It was twilight on an early spring day in the
far North. The snows had melted a great
deal, and the giant spruce and pine were clean
of their winter clothes of heavy white. The
forest was absolutely still. Jules stood beside
a crushed and wrecked heap of bark that had
been a hut, and his home; his big sledge and
five dogs were near; on it was piled a load of
fur, well fastened; the old frying-pan hung out
behind, and the familiar tote-bag lay on top of
the heap; the blankets were rolled up and
thonged to the curve of the sledge-runners in
front, and a worn axe-handle stuck out at one
side. Jules took off the fur cap. “Adieu,
hol’ place, forhevaire! Ah had many pain’,
many joy’ here! Le facteur an’ hees Indians
destroi mes trap, mes hut, ev’t’ing! Jules go
far ’way, v’ere he can be h’alone. Adieu!”
He looked sorrowfully at the ruins of his home,
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
and waved his hand to the tall, silent trees
about, who had been his only friends for so
long. “Allez!” he said to the dogs, and with
them vanished in the darkening forest.
It was a fine evening; overhead the stars
appeared dimly in the pale-green skies, then
brightened as their background grew dark.
There was enough crust to hold up the sledge
and team, but Jules sank in, and his snow-shoes
crunched loudly in the silence of the black
timber. Straight into the North he travelled,
until he came to an open place among the tree
trunks. At one side, faintly visible in the dim
light, stood a little rough-hewn cross; Jules
stopped the dogs, went to it, and knelt. “Adieu,
petite; your faddaire he go far ’way, but he
t’ink hall taime of toi. Adieu!” He bowed,
and kissed the cold snow at the foot of the little
cross; the tears trickled over the bronzed
cheeks, and fell unheeded from the square chin.
He rose, hoarsely ordered the team on, and left
the white cross glimmering, faithfully watched
by the tall, sombre pines.
Steadily and speedily he and the dogs coursed
on over hills; across wide barrens, where the
starlight shone mystically on the white surface;
through ravines, where the heavy woods cast
dark shadows; in deep timber, where the blackness
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
of everything was intense; on and on and
on. The country changed; it became flat and
bare; the barrens were miles in length, and
forest-land was scarce. The north star gleamed
white, blue, pink, then white again in the far,
far distant heavens; and ever toward it Jules
travelled on ceaselessly.
Daylight paled the eastern skies; at first
gray-rose, then purple, slate, and yellow, and
at last the orange-red of sunrise spread and
washed the few clouds in the heavens with
golden splendour. The gleaming sphere appeared,
grew, broadened, and shone brilliant
over the desolate whiteness of the lonely
northern wastes. Jules still hurried on. The
dogs were tiring; he himself was wearied
after the ceaseless swift pace of the night. He
stopped, and at the edge of the forest island
built a tiny fire; he boiled some tea; and fed
the brutes who worked so strongly for him.
Then, standing up, he gazed long over the
back trail.
“Bon Dieu, Ah loove dat countree wit’ all
mon cœur, but Jules he ees driven h’out lak’ a
wolf, lak’ a chien; he go een straing’ territoire
forhevaire. Puneesh dose Indiens, bon Dieu,
an’ le facteur!”
It was broad, light day and glorious when
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
Jules started the dogs on again, he following the
sledge with even strides and the click-click-click
of his wide snow-shoes. The sun warmed
the little snow that was left over the earth, and
the going was hard for the team. At noon Jules
halted again, climbed a tree, and from its top
he looked over the white barrens far and wide.
“Dey comme, bon Dieu!” he muttered as he
saw many specks on his trail in the distance.
“Dey goin’ track Jules to de las’! Vat Ah do?”
He looked ahead, and saw a small lake at his
feet; the soft ice was almost gone under its
cover of thin snow, as the long cracks in it
showed. Jules’s eyes gleamed. “Dat’s good!
Vous autres,” he called to the oncoming sledges,
“for de las’ taime, Ah’m goin’ show to you
h’all dat Jules Verbaux ees inconquerable!”
He slid rapidly down the tree, its rough bark
tearing his caribou jacket and scratching his
hands. “Mush! Mush! Allez!” he shouted,
and the dogs hurried on till they came to the
lake edge beyond. Here Jules stopped them,
and tested the white surface with his foot; it
crackled and groaned, and, when he put his
whole weight on it, split into fragments and
showed the green, cold waters beneath. “Allez!
Ho-o-o-o-pp!” he cried, and the team scampered
across, their speed and light weight saving
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
them from breaking through, though the ice
crackled with muffled reports as they raced
over it. Verbaux watched them reach the
other side; then he laughed. “You Indiens!
Follow de track, hein?” He took off his
snow-shoes and sneaked, as of old, in his moccasins,
on the back trail for a little distance;
then he leaped strongly from it, far out to the
left, put on the thonged hoops again, and
travelled swiftly around the lake. The team
had stopped when they reached the far side,
and he found them there, curled up asleep. He
drove the outfit over the rise, and sat down on
the sledge where he could see below him.
Soon sounds of gruff voices broke the noon
stillness, and Jules watched eagerly. They
came—ten men, ten sledges, and many dogs.
Their calls echoed vaguely across to him, as
they came to the lake at different places along
the bank. “Voici le track direct!” shouted
one of the Indians, and the whole crowd
rushed on, pell-mell, over the treacherous
surface.
Crack! Cra-a-a-a-a-ck! Crunk! The thin
ice crumbled to bits under the heavy weight of
ten men, ten sledges, and many dogs.
“Oh, Dieu! Sacré-é! Dam’! Furies!”
screamed the men, as they floundered in the icy
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
water; the sledges had upset and their loads
were thoroughly soaked. Slowly the crowd
fought their way to the shore near by through
the rotten snow-ice, swearing with hoarse
voices. The dogs had twisted and chewed
their way out of harness, and had crawled to
the bank, but the sledges drifted tantalisingly
among the floes, their loads totally ruined.
Jules’s big shoulders heaved and shook, and
the swarthy face was wrinkled with hearty
laughter, as he watched the half-frozen men
gather together on the other side and gesticulate
wildly.
“Diable! Diable! Diable misère!” screamed
one of them in frantic rage, “ce dam’ Verbaux
he ees drown, an’ dat ver’ good jus’ so!”
Jules stepped to the edge of the hill.
“Holla, là-bas!” he called loudly, “long chemin
to la poste!”
The Indians looked up, startled, and saw the
tall, gaunt figure silhouetted against the glorious
azure sky. It spoke again. “Jules Verbaux
he speet on you! Adieu!” The figure
laughed mockingly, waved its hand in derision,
and disappeared.
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
XI || THE NEW COUNTRY
.sp 2
Spring came and went. The summer
months passed, finding Verbaux sometimes at
one post for a few days, and again travelling
into the North steadily, now by canoe, then on
foot, carrying his food, blankets, and the axe.
At last he reached a wild and desolate stretch
of territory between Bear Lake and Lac des
Sables.
He built a little home and stayed there,
thinking that he was to be alone and free. He
came to know his new country, and to love it
for its utter solitude, for its breadth and depth,
and because fur was plenty. The gray eyes
were ever sad, but they had a look of freedom
in them, and did not always watch on every
side.
Winter had come again; the greens were
browns in the forests, and the browns were now
covered with white. Verbaux was in the deep
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
timber-lands; before him stood a comfortable
log hut, with a dog-shed behind it. A pile of
wood neatly stacked was at one side; two
giant pines stood by the little home, their great
branches reaching out and meeting over the
roof, and the smoke from the tiny chimney
filtered away through their needles in graceful
plumes.
He turned the dogs loose from the sledge
at his feet, and went into the camp. The log
walls were covered with skins, a raised bough
bed was near the fireplace, and the frying-pan
stood black in a corner by the rough but even
table. At the head of the bed hung a child’s
woollen cap, surrounded by a wreath of moss.
“Dose Cree-e Indians, Ah see deir track to-day;
Ah lak’ know vat for dey comme so far
au Nord,” said Jules aloud as he built up the
fire and brushed the cold ashes in a mound
about it. He cooked a frugal meal of caribou-meat
and warmed some heavy bread in the
hot pan.
The door stood open, and the light breeze
waved the hair of the skins on the walls. Verbaux
lighted his old pipe and threw himself on
the boughs; little by little the clouds of tobacco
smoke lessened, then the strong jaw
dropped, the pipe fell, and Jules slept.
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
Outside the bright afternoon passed slowly;
the shadows grew deeper and the skies changed
from blue to yellow-green; then a long streak
of crimson stretched across the west, the sun
sank below the narrow horizon of the woods,
and the northern twilight began. The stars
shone tiny bright at first, then grew and grew,
seeming to approach the earth, until the dark-blue
heavens were scintillating with their number,
all twinkling, flickering, gleaming. Jules
slept on, the long, gaunt figure stretched in
rough grace on the dark green bed, the big
chest rising and falling regularly, and the
massive hands loose in rest by his side. The
dogs were quiet, the breeze had died away, the
two huge trees were motionless, only a faint
haze came from the chimney.
From out the darkness of the black forests
came a sound, faintly at first, then it grew into
footsteps on the soft snow. They stopped, and
then advanced carefully. There was dim starlight
in the clearing before the hut; a dark
figure loomed up in it, stopping as it saw the
peaked shape between the big trees. It stood
and looked, crept to the door, listened, and
went in.
The footfalls, gentle as they were, wakened
Jules. “Qui ees dere?” he asked suddenly,
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
leaping to his feet. Absolute stillness was his
answer. He held his breath and listened, motionless,
while the gray eyes searched the darkness
of the interior.
“Ah t’ink Ah hear somme t’ing,” he muttered
as he walked to the door. He looked out—nothing.
He made the round of the hut
outside—nothing. He listened again, but there
was no sound of any kind.
“Ah rêve!” he said. “Ees cold; mus’
mak’ fire!” He went back, and drew a match-stick
sharply over the table surface; it flared,
then the wood burned dimly between his fingers.
A strange feeling came to him. He
turned quickly and held the dying match over
his head. By its uncertain light he saw a man
standing near the door; the new-comer’s eyes
shone black in the yellow light.
“By gar! Qu’est-ce?” growled Jules, bounding
forward. The match went out, and the
red bits dropped to the floor; his hands closed
on empty air. He felt round the walls, then
listened out in the night—silence!
“Dat ver’ drôle! Ah see man here certainement!”
At that instant another light
flashed in the blackness; Jules stared at it
eagerly. The man he had seen held it, and the
stranger now stood by the bed.
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
“Candelle,” he said gutturally. Verbaux
felt on a little shelf, found the caribou-fat candle,
and gave it to the man. He lighted it
and set it on the table. The two looked at
each other.
“Vat you do ici, an’ vat your name?” asked
Jules.
“Mon nom Le Pendu; Ah go nord, Fond du
Lac,” answered the other, while his black eyes
shifted hither and thither restlessly.
“Vat for?” Jules asked again.
“Porter hordaires to les Indians là-bas h’of
de war; hordaires to keel dose mans of odder
Compagnie!”
“Mak’ fight?” Verbaux questioningly repeated,
and the other continued, “Dat Compagnie
du Nor’ouest she t’ink she have ever’t’ing
for hersel’; she t’ink dat h’all dis territoire
ees to elle, an’ dat nous autres, ve can go
hongree! Ve goin’ mak’ bataille, an’ den you,
Verbaux, go wid nous, hein?” The man leaned
forward slightly as he finished.
Jules was silent; the candle-flame guttered
and flickered between them.
“Non,” Verbaux said gravely, “Ah no tak’
life h’of mans v’en Ah no have to.” His voice
was decisive and strong. Le Pendu rose,
turned to the door, and disappeared. Jules sat
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
still. Then, with a slight whirring sound,
something flashed past his eyes and thudded
on the logs; he looked up and saw a knife
quivering there, buried deep in the wood. With
one puff he blew out the light and crouched
low; then he stole out to the cold air. Le
Pendu was gone. Jules watched and listened
a long time, but heard nothing.
“Dat traître!” he ejaculated, “Ah see heem
trois month’ h’ago h’at Lac la Pluie. Somme
taime Ah see heem haga’n, mabbe!”
He relighted the candle and sat on the edge
of the bed, looking at the hafted blade that
stuck viciously from the logs.
“Ah vondaire vat eet ees wid Compagnie
Nor’ouest? Ah mus’ go to-mor’ fin’ h’out.”
He got up, took his blankets from the boughs,
and went out into the deep shadows, leaving
the candle glimmering on the table. Some
distance away from the hut he curled up
between the rough, gnarled roots of a spruce
and slept.
The long night passed; then the light grays
of dawn stole through the woods. Verbaux
woke, listened a minute, and went back to the
hut. Everything was as he had left it. The
candle was a lump of grease on the table, and
the early morning wind disturbed the cold ashes
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
on the hearth. He looked for the knife, but it
was gone. “He comme back après,” Jules
said; “he t’ink he catch me, hein?” then he
laughed softly. He lighted the fire and had his
breakfast; then he cleaned up the cabin, took
down the wide snow-shoes, slung them over his
back, and put the child’s cap in a pocket.
“Maintenant Jules he go Isle la Crosse, warrn
Facteur Maac Taveesh h’of dose Cree Indiens.”
He filled his tote-bag with pemmican and bread,
and struck off into the forests, travelling southwest.
It was a cold, dark day; the skies were dull,
and the wind murmured restlessly through the
tall spruce and pine. Jules went on steadily,
swinging along with even strides. He came
out on a small lake; there was a light covering
of snow on the ice, and many tracks of moccasins
led down to the river beyond (Petite
Rivière la Biche). He stopped and examined
them. “C’est bien Indiens!” he muttered as
he moved ahead carefully. “Bon comme ça!”
he thought as it began to snow. The flakes
came thicker and thicker, deadening the sound
of his steps, and hiding the landscape in a
falling white shroud. There was little wind,
and Verbaux went on faster, keeping his direction
with unerring instinct. He followed the
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
course of the river and reached the next lake;
at the edge of the timber he stopped. Figures
were moving to and fro, like shadows in the
veiled light, just across from him; he saw the
gleam of a fire, and every now and then he
could faintly hear rough voices. He watched,
but was not sure who the men were. “Ah
mus’ see eef dose les Crees,” he whispered
to himself. Taking the snow-shoes from his
back, he hid them under a little thick spruce,
and stole forward, crouching as he advanced, his
eyes keen and bright. Yard by yard the distance
lessened, and he stopped often, listening.
The gruff voices were very near, but the
curtain of snow prevented his seeing the men.
Closer he went till he heard the crackling of
the flames; then he sat down under a tree to
listen. His caribou clothes and fur cap matched
its bark, and he was motionless there; only the
sharp eyes, looking, watching, were alive.
The men squatted about the fire, and Verbaux
scowled as he recognised Etienne
Annaotaha, a renegade half-breed Canadian.
“Dat Verbaux,” the man was saying, “he
leeve Lac des Sables.”
“Mm-m-m, cle-ootz-tin-sale-oo-anno-we-koo-e-ya?
[Maybe, will he go with us?]” asked an
Indian.
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
“Ah don’ savoir eef tul-ul-um-oo-e-koo-e-ya
[he will go with us]; mais eef non, den—” and
Annaotaha laughed unpleasantly.
“Ah-ha [Yes],” answered the others.
“Ni-mi-na-hon-an [We kill] h’at Isle Crosse,”
Etienne said, and he scanned the heavy faces
around him.
“Ta-is-pi? [When?]” some one asked.
“Nis-to day’ [Three days off].” Grunts of
approval were uttered by the party; they
smoked awhile in silence.
“Cho-oe, wa-a-te-la-lesh! [Come, hurry!]”
Annaotaha spoke sharply. The crowd picked
up their packs and went off over the lake,
laughing and talking.
Jules hurried down to the edge of the ice
and watched them go. “Etienne Annaotaha!
By gar, Jules see vous somme taime h’aga’n!”
he said aloud, then went back for his snow-shoes,
and kept on rapidly to the southwest.
He came to the end of the timber-lands, and
crossed out on the barrens. Here the snow
fell faster than ever; the frozen morsels of
white coated his jacket and cap, stuck on his
straggling moustache until his breath melted
them, and they froze in globules of ice on the
ends of the hair. Jules looked back, but the
shifting snow hid the forest, and he went on
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
rapidly. He travelled without stopping again
all that day, and when night closed in he built
a little fire with some bits of wood he had
brought under the shelter of a drift, ate his
supper, then wrapped himself in his blanket and
slept. The storm increased at midnight; the
wind blew in dismal gusts, whirling the snow-dust
along in chilling clouds. Verbaux’s form
was covered with it, but he kept his face clear
even in his sleep. Suddenly he sat up and
listened. To the right of him he heard the
yelping of wolves; the sound came closer,
and he saw the big black forms moving noiselessly
about him. “Ho-o-op!” he shouted,
and lighted a match under cover of his jacket.
Like phantoms the beasts disappeared, and all
was silent, save for the soft, almost inaudible
sound of the wind-driven flakes as they settled
on him. He lay down again.
The wolves yowled throughout the night on
the barrens, but they feared this living thing
of fire and did not approach it again. In the
morning Jules waked, stood up, stretched himself,
and swung on in the dim hours of daylight.
The snow was deep, and he put on the snow-shoes;
they clicked dully and were ever laden
with the flying drift. On and on Verbaux went
till he came out on a high hill. The gale pushed
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
him here and there, but he smiled as he saw.
Below him in the distance were the twinkling
lights of the Northwest Company’s post, Isle la
Crosse. “Dat bon!” he said. “Ah no too
lat’ encore!” and he hastened toward them.
Soon he entered the clearing, and stopped
at the stockade gate. There was riotous noise
and life within; he listened to the shouts of the
Indians and the tom-tom of their drums, then he
went in quietly. In the yard were crowds of
Dog Rib (Plats Côtes de Chiens) and Slave
Indian trappers; they danced round an empty
wine-keg, reeling and screaming with drunken
energy; the squaws stood in groups about the
men, chanting in minor tones; the factor’s
house was dark, but as Jules watched he saw
MacTavish moving among the howling
crowd. Verbaux elbowed his way through the
sweating, drink-reeking Indians to the factor’s
side.
“M’sieu’ MaacTaveesh,” he said quietly,
touching the big Scotchman’s arm, “Ah vant
spik to you.”
The factor turned quickly.
“Ah, Verba’, ’tis glad I am to see ye!
Wull ye drink?”
“Non, M’sieu’ le Facteur, Jules mus’ spik wid
you, important,” Verbaux answered.
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
MacTavish noticed the serious note in the
deep voice.
“Coom into the house,” he said, and led the
way through the shrieking crowd to his log
house. Jules followed. The factor got a light,
and then faced his guest. “Whut is ’t, mon?
Can I do aught for ye?”
“Non pour moi, M’sieu’ le Facteur; Ah
comme warrn vous dat les Crees f’om hoddaire
Compagnie goin’ hattack here ver’ queeck!”
The factor’s face turned white. “Attack us
here, mon!” he cried, and began pacing up
and down the little room. “How d’ye
know?”
“Dat scélérat Le Pendu he tell to me dis,
an’ he h’ask Jules to mak’ war on vous,” Jules
answered slowly.
Both men were silent.
Outside the noise had increased, and the
babel of voices came to them distorted and
strange, mingled with curses and the sounds of
the Indian Wobbano songs.
“And whut ’d ye say to him?” MacTavish
said at last, watching Jules closely.
“Ah tell to heem dat Jules Verbaux no keel
mans v’en he no have to!”
“But ye’ll fecht wi’ us, mon, won’t ye?
We’ll pay ye weel fur ’t!”
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
Jules drew himself up proudly, and the factor
winced at the sombre gleam of the gray
eyes.
“Non!” Verbaux answered. “Ah no tak’
l’or to keel, M’sieu’ le Facteur!” He turned
for the door. “Rememb’ vat Jules he tell you:
gare les Crees!”
“Verba’, fur God’ sake don’t leave me like
that, mon; I meaned na eensult to ye. Whut
am I to dae? The min are all druunk, as ye
can see. I had to gie ’em the liquor tae keep
’em frae the Houdson Bay people!”
Jules stopped, his hand on the latch.
“M’sieu’ MaacTaveesh,” he said, “eef you had
beene bon to dose Indians dey vould no leave
vous for hoddaire Compagnie!”
“Ye fule that ye are! Oh, ye fule! Canna
ye see that I hae to obey arders? I hae to do
as I am bid; ’tis na choice o’ mine. Wull ye
help me straighten oop those damn things out
there? Ye and me are near the only sober
min on th’ place!” The Scotchman’s voice
was anxious and eager.
Jules hesitated for an instant, then he spoke
quietly. “Ah do vat Ah can pour vous,
M’sieu’ le Facteur, parceque vonce you help
Jules. Allons, dere ees no mooch taime.” He
opened the door and stepped out. A big fire
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
had been built in the yard, and the Indians
looked like red fiends dancing and rolling about
it. The light showed the buildings up sharply,
and threw strong shadows in the corners where
Flat Head, Chippewyan, Dog Rib Indians and
Canadian voyageurs lurched and slept in their
drunken orgy. Tom-toms still thrubbed monotonously,
and the snow fell unheeded on
everything. Unconsciously Jules looked across
the yard, out into the black snowy night, then
at the wild scene before him.
“Come queeck,” he said again, and the two
plunged into the throng.
“Nan-to-bun-ne-win! [War!]” shouted
MacTavish lustily, shaking every man he could
reach. They laughed crazily in his face, yelling
the louder. Then a murmur rose. “Way-mit-tic-goo-sh
an-i-mou-che! [French dog!]” It
grew fiercer! some one threw a hatchet, and
the blade clipped Jules on the shoulder. “Oo-e!
Oo-e! [Go!]”
One by one the Indians took up the cry and
rushed at Verbaux, who tried to tell them of
the danger. MacTavish heard the threatening
roar, and saw the mass edging toward Jules.
“Gang, mon! Gang awa’; ye can do nae
mair!” he shouted to him from a group of
voyageurs he was beating and kicking to make
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
them understand. Jules faced the ugly cries,
then with a powerful voice that rang loud above
the clamour he called, “Les Crees du Hodson
Baie comme queeck. Tak’ care!” Mocking
laughter and insults answered him, and missiles
of all sorts were hurled in his direction. He
shrugged his big shoulders. “Bon! Jules
have do vat he can; he go maintenant.” With
long strides and thrusts from his massive hands,
he fought his way to the gate and went out
into the darkness.
“Sacré-é!” he muttered as he discovered
that the tote-bag with his food had been taken
from him. A few Indians followed, screaming
curses at him for disturbing their dance, but
they soon fell behind and returned to the post.
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
XII || THE MEETING
.sp 2
Jules went on. The sounds from the
buildings faded gradually away. The snow was
soft and deeper than ever, and he stopped in a
thick patch of woods. His snow-shoes had not
been taken, and he was grimly lacing their
thongs round his ankles when he looked up and
listened. From the direction of Isle la Crosse
he heard the faint sounds of rifle-shots; dropping
the snow-shoes, he climbed a tall pine,
going up through its dense branches with speed
and ease. When at the top he could see the
lights of Isle la Crosse; the reports of guns
multiplied, and the air crackled with detonations.
As he watched, a lurid flame shot up; then
more appeared, and countless red fire tongues
curled and whipped in the wind. The glow
was reflected in copper hues on the clouds, and
Verbaux smelled the burning wood.
“Dat terrible,” he said. It seemed like a
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
dream: the flames, the awful fight and massacre
he knew were going on, and yet about him
everything was silent save for the whispering
of the wind. “Pauvre MaacTaveesh; Ah
goin’ fin’ hout eef he ees keel.” He got down
out of the tree, put on his snow-shoes, and
hurried back.
Between the tops of the spruce, as he went
along, he could see the glowing sky dim shade
by shade; at last just their own gray-black
colour remained. Then he heard voices coming
through the dark woods; he stepped swiftly to
one side and crouched behind a big log.
Shadowy forms passed him, many of them in
single file; some carried heavy loads, and he
heard a woman’s stifled crying. One of the
party spoke. “Mis-ta-bou-tah-kse! [Very
good work!]”
“Ah-ha,” answered another figure.
“Bon t’ing, dat; ha-ree-no-os-kit-chip! [I
am glad!]” some one else said.
“Annaotaha h’aga’n!” Jules growled softly
to himself. He counted forty-two men. They
had all gone by, but Verbaux waited a little
while, then started on fast. He came to the
ruins of the post, and his eyes hardened at what
they saw. Not a building remained standing;
bright masses of coals marked their places, and
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
the black, pungent smoke floated off heavily
and noiselessly, laden with tiny sparks. The
falling snow showed very white against it.
Jules listened, but there was no sound of
living thing; the coals hissed and spluttered,
and the dull crashes of the charred logs sounded
thickly as they fell in on one another. There
was a grim feeling of solitude over it all, and
Verbaux’s face was stern as he moved forward
carefully. A little light, given out by a few
feeble spurts of flame, intensified the desolate
and mournful scene.
Parts of the stockade were standing, but
every log house, fur and supply-shed was gone.
Verbaux took off his show-shoes and walked
slowly towards the remains of the factor’s
house; suddenly he stumbled over something;
he looked down, and felt of the obstruction.
It was a body, still warm. He listened a
moment, then got a small flaming brand from
one of the fires and held it over the face. It
was one of the voyageurs, hacked and disfigured.
“Ah vondaire ’Ow many get sauf ’vay?”
and Jules sighed as he rose and hunted further.
At the ruin of the voyageurs’ house were the
scorched forms of three men resting on the hot
coals beneath; the odour of burning flesh was
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
sickening, but Verbaux turned all the bodies
over, trying to identify them.
“Non, pas MaacTaveesh!” He prodded
and searched among the ruins for two hours,
and found the bodies of eleven men and seven
women; all were mutilated. “Bien!” Jules
said when he had finished the gruesome search;
“le facteur no keel; maintenant did he get
’vay sauf, ou était il capture?” He went out
to the edge of the ruins. “Notting to h’eat;
Jules have to go queeck deux jours hongree
for arriver home!” he said to himself. Accordingly,
he started out of the stockade to the
northeast; he had gone but a little way, and
was kneeling, putting on his snow-shoes, when
a bigger blaze than the others caught his eye;
he looked, and saw a figure pass between him
and it.
“Dat somme vone. Vat he vant là-bas,
hein?” Jules asked himself.
He worked his way back closer and closer
to the now brightly burning fire; keeping
under cover of the upright portion of the
stockade, he approached to within twenty yards
of the flames, and peered through a chink
between the logs. He could see the dark form
moving rapidly among the ruins, searching
here, there, everywhere. Verbaux felt for his
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
knife and loosened it in its caribou-hide sheath,
then he stepped forward noiselessly and went
to the fire. The stranger was back toward
him, and Jules waited silently; the man turned.
“Verbaux!” he said, with awe in his voice.
Jules’s face brightened, and a faint smile drew
up the corners of the mouth. “Le Grand!”
he said. The two stared at each other; the
light of the leaping flames between them
played over their figures, and still both were
silent. The wind was coming, and it whirled
the snow and cold ashes hither and thither;
then Le Grand came forward, a step at a time.
“C’est b’en toi, Verbaux?” he asked hoarsely,
his face gray under the tan.
“Jules Verbaux!” the other answered.
“La femme, Verbaux, you have see la
femme?” Le Grand asked then in low tones.
“Y’h’our wife? Non, pauvre Le Grand,
Ah have no see. She vas ici?” Jules pointed
to the ruins.
“Ta femme, Verbaux!” Le Grand spoke
solemnly.
An awful look came on Jules’s face; the
gray eyes narrowed to gleaming slits, the
mouth was rigid, and the nostrils quivered
and dilated; the muscles of his temples surged
and played under the edges of the fur cap, and
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
his whole body contracted like a steel spring
about to be released; his breath came and went
with a hissing sound. Le Grand stared, fascinated;
the fire crackled sharply, and the
howling of wolves suddenly broke the silence
of the black timber beyond. The sounds rose
and fell in lonely cadence, now carried by the
wind, then weakened by it. Neither of the
men spoke, and the tension between them was
terrible.
“Ma femme?” Jules said at last, speaking
with difficulty and in a strange, hollow voice.
“Oui,” answered Le Grand as though hypnotised
by the flashing gray eyes that stared
into his soul; “la vieille poste v’ere you vas
vonce destroi lak’ dees; Maquette, Hibou,
Bossu, le facteur, an’ mes petits—keel! Ah,
Le Grand, go ’way fas’ an’ fin’ votre femme,
Verbaux, hongree, near to dead, dans la forêt;
she h’ask me to breeng elle to fin’ toi, Verbaux.
H’aftaire toi leave dose Indians h’at Lac de la
Petite Hache Ah see your track go nord direct;
den w’en Ah fin’ dat fille hongree, h’alon’, Ah t’ink
h’of dat track an’ breeng ta femme for to fin’
toi, Verbaux. Ah lef’ Marie ici t’ree day’ gone,
an’ den Ah loook, loook pour toi; dey tell to
me dat ils ne savaient pas v’ere you leeve, alors
Ah chercher partout, ev’ place. To-night Ah
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
come back, an’—” his stoicism broke down and
silent sobs shook him.
Jules spoke no word, but a spasm of agony
crossed the strong face. The wolves’ voices
drew nearer, and the dismal sounds echoed
vaguely through the storm; then Jules held
out his hand.
“Le Grand,” he said brokenly, “you h’aire
good mans!” The other took it, and they
stood thus with hands clasped, looking steadfastly
at each other; the yellow light flickered
about them, blurring their shadows into one
across the ash-begrimed snow.
“Verbaux, ve go, you an’ moi, for to fin’
Marie?” Le Grand asked, with a pitiful note
of hope in the words. His black eyes were wet
with tears, and their moisture was reflected by
the flames. Silence came on the two again;
Jules’s face changed swiftly from mood to
mood, now hope, then despair, and old memories
with their stabs of pain pictured themselves,
and his sombre eyes dulled. Le Grand
watched, leaning toward Verbaux and quivering
with eagerness. Jules spoke at last, but
the voice that sounded monotonously in the
snow-laden air was not his.
“Non, Le Grand, she lef’ Jules pour Manou;
je suis content!” His face twitched as
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
if in mortal stress, his hands clenched, and
sweat broke out on his forehead, but he stood
fast.
“No—go—fin’—Marie?” Le Grand whispered
as he and Jules drew apart, and his voice
was tremulous. “She loove toi, Verbaux; Ah,
Le Grand, say so, an’ Ah know h’of vat Ah
say!” he continued, and held out his arms
appealingly to Jules.
The wind blew hard through the trees, and
the fire at the men’s feet roared fitfully. Verbaux
moved as though to take the outstretched
hands again, then he stopped and
shuddered.
“Non!” he said slowly.
“Alors, Verbaux, eef you no go avec moi to
fin’ Marie, to sauf dat leetle fille, Ah, Le
Grand go h’alon’ fin’ her; an’ rememb’, Jules
Verbaux, vat Ah tell to toi, dat Marie she
loove you; somme taime you veel t’ink of vat
Ah tol’ à toi dees night, le bon Dieu leesten!”
Le Grand held up his right hand to the dark
heavens as he finished.
Jules shook his head. “Je suis content,” he
whispered, drawing a long breath. “She lef’
me for Manou!”
“B’en, Verbaux, Ah go! Au revoir; mabbe
adieu forhevaire!” Le Grand bowed his head
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
for an instant, then shook hands with Jules
silently, fastened on his snow-shoes, strapped
the food-bag to his back, and went off in the
darkness and snow.
“Le Gr—” Verbaux called and started after
him, but he was gone. Nothing was to be
heard but the yelping and quarrelling of the
wolves, scenting the bodies and coming very
near. Jules returned to the fire and stood before
it, his eyes fixed in an unseeing, heedless
stare. The snow fell very thickly and fast, the
gale dashed wildly now in the forests, and the
stench of the burning dead was eddied about
among the ruins and carried away into the
black timber-lands.
Jules looked in the direction that Le Grand
had taken. “Ah ’ope dat—” He stopped.
“Non, Le Grand, Jules no ’ope so!” he finished,
and slowly wound his snow-shoe thongs
round his ankles; once more he looked over
the lonely scene, then struck off to the northeast,
leaving the hungry wolves to their feast
undisturbed.
He went steadily on through the dense
forests, where the blasts of wind shrieked in
the spruce, pine, and hemlock; down by frozen
brooks, where the snow was banked in deep
drifts; up over hills, where the full force of the
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
storm struck him, hurling the biting frost in his
face and eyes; across the big barrens, where
he had to lean against the fierce gusts that
swept everything from their path except him.
On a rise of land he stopped, breathing hard
from his fast pace. He looked back. Nothing
but hurtling masses of white met his eyes.
“Bon Dieu!” he groaned and faced his course
again. The woollen muffler about his neck
was damp with sweat, and his body was as if
on fire; nature rebelled, the powerful legs
weakened and trembled slightly, but his iron
will overcame all and it forced the weary body
on and on. He did not stop again, either for
food or rest, but raced ahead as though escaping
some awful fate. His face was blotched
with the gray of the cold; the eyes shone with
undimmed strength. “Allez! Allez!” Jules
said to himself when he felt his strength
lagging. The physical pain alleviated the
agony of his mind, dulled it into semi-consciousness.
All the next day he travelled
ceaselessly; the shoe thongs wore their way
through the heavy moccasins into the flesh,
but Jules did not know it.
At last he crossed Petite Rivière la Biche,
and went through the forests that surrounded
his home. Staggering, he came into the little
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
clearing, hungry, faint, exhausted body and
soul, and stopped, leaning against a tree.
The camp had been destroyed. The walls
were pulled down and the logs scattered about;
ashes here and there showed how an attempt
had been made to burn it, but had failed.
Jules looked and scarcely understood; then a
new vigour came to him, and he searched
among the fallen logs, and found the child’s
woollen cap crushed under the snow. He
kissed it. “Marie! Marie!” he groaned,
then the will overpowered the body again.
“Non! Je suis content,” he whispered. There
was no pemmican or food of any kind among
the ruins. The gnawing pangs of hunger
forced themselves on him; he held up his hand
and looked at it; it shook strangely. “Verbaux,
you do vat Ah say!” The will spoke
aloud to the worn body. “Ah go maintenant
to Poste Fond du Lac for somme t’ing to h’eat;
dat ees l’autre compagnie; but mabbe dey not
know Jules!” And he went on to the westward.
The storm was dying away; the snow
fell in smaller flakes and less thickly, but it lay
deep on the ground, and Jules dragged his
wide snow-shoes painfully along, stopping often.
The strong face was drawn with pain, great
shadows had grown about the eyes, and deep
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
lines scarred the under lip and high forehead.
The gray eyes themselves were undimmed,
and the will master as always. He crossed
one of his trap-lines and went along it, looking,
hoping for something to satisfy the wild cravings
of his stomach. In one trap he found a
wolverine; he tore the throat open and sucked
the cold, sluggish blood. “C’est—bon!” he
said as he felt a little strength creeping over
him. He cut off the haunches and chewed the
red meat as he travelled on. At night he
stopped and rested for the first time in three
days. He lay down uncovered and slept in an
instant. It was broad daylight when he hastened
on. All day he travelled, his snow-shoes
rising and falling ceaselessly, though his ankles
were raw and bleeding. That night he saw
the lights of the Hudson Bay Company’s post,
Fond du Lac, before him. He watched them
for an instant from a hill-barren. “Eef dey
know Jules dere, alors—c’est—finis,” he said,
and went on slowly to the post. The gate was
closed; he listened, but heard only subdued
voices within. Then he knocked heavily with
his fist. Some one came across the yard and
the gate swung open; a big Slave Indian
looked at him.
“Has-sa-tch? [Your name?]” he inquired.
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
“Le Chassè’,” answered Jules. “Facteur?”
he continued. Silently the Indian closed the
gate and led the way across to a big log building.
He went in, Jules following. “Sa-ner,”
the Indian said briefly to a tall white man, and
turned away.
“Who air ye?” the factor asked.
“Canadien, Le Chassè’.”
“What do ye want?” The factor’s questions
were sharp and curt.
“Somme t’ing to h’eat—am hongree,” Jules
answered.
“Where did ye come from?”
“Poste Reliance.”
“Two hundred and twenty miles, mon?”
The factor was incredulous.
“Oui,” came the steady answer.
“Did ye pass à la Crosse?”
“Oui, heet destroy!” Jules said quietly,
looking at the big Scotchman.
“Ah-ha! that’s fine; we’ll show that Nor’west
Company that we can push ’em out. Did
ye see any pairson gettin’ awa’?” he asked
then.
“Non, M’sieu’ le Facteur.”
“Weel, tell me, did ye know aught o’ a mon
somewhaire downe in that deestrict called—Let
me see; Le Pendu was here last week and
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
told me his name—Verbox, Verbax, something
like that?”
“Oui, Ah know heem; he leeve au sud long
way h’off,” Jules answered, and the gray eyes
snapped.
“Weel, ye go an’ get ye summat to eat,
but ye’ll have to pay me in furs!” The factor
looked keenly at the big French-Canadian
before him.
“Certainement!” Jules answered, and went
out of the store. A voyageur showed him to the
supply-house, and he got some pemmican, tea
and bread, and a blanket. Then he cooked
himself a meal at one of the tepee fires and ate
long, but slowly and carefully. When he had
finished, he went over and squatted silently
with a group of Indian trappers and Canadian
voyageurs. He was tired out, but his long
sufferings seemed dulled; he rested and listened
to the low, monotonous hum of the rough
voices about him, rarely speaking himself. A
French trapper took pity on the haggard face,
and when one by one the crowd turned in, he
touched Jules on the arm.
“S’lip là-bas!” he said, pointing to a tepee
across the stockade. Jules bowed his head.
“Merci!” he said, and went to his new friend’s
camp.
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
It was a big tepee; the circular interior
was covered with skins, and wolf-hides were
patched together for a floor. The light consisted
of three fat candles held up by sticks;
they fluttered and flickered at the draft the two
men created on entering. In one corner was
an Indian girl of the Ojibway type. She rose
as they came in, and Jules sighed to himself as
he saw two children asleep together. The girl
was tall and graceful, with almond black eyes,
like those of a deer; long, straight black hair
fell away from each side of her small head, and
the yellow, uncertain light shone dreamily over
the delicately browned face; the high, straight
nose threw a shadow on her cheek, and the
small, well-shaped chin was gracefully poised
over the slender throat. She stood shyly by
her husband, and the small hand crept into his
big one.
“Un ami!” he said, nodding toward Jules,
who stood by the blanketed entrance.
“Ni-coun-is [Friend],” she repeated softly,
and sat down by the children.
The man turned to Jules. “Mon nom Jean
Cuchoise,” he said.
Verbaux looked at him keenly for a moment,
then, “Mon nom Jules Verbaux!” His voice
was quiet.
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
Cuchoise started violently. “Verbaux?” he
asked, and a deep frown came over his heavy
face. “Le Pendu he tell to me dat he keel
Verbaux five day gon’ at Lac des Sables.”
“He no tell to le facteur dat,” Jules said.
“You tell to M’sieu’ Neelson ton nom Verbaux?”
Cuchoise asked him.
Jules smiled and shook his head. “Non!”
The two men faced each other; the girl
watched with stoic eyes, and the children slept
on peacefully.
“Bon!” Cuchoise said at last. “Verbaux,
you confie en moi, Jean Cuchoise, Ah no tell
heet to le facteur.”
When he had finished, the voyageur stretched
himself on a bed of skins. “Bon soi’, Verbaux,”
he said, and was soon asleep.
Jules unfolded his blanket, spread it across
some boughs, and in a few minutes he too slept.
The girl arranged her bed beside the little
ones, blew out the candles, and silence came
on everything.
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
XIII || SOLITUDE
.sp 2
The dogs about the post yelped and quarreled
throughout the night; and the nearly full
moon fell slowly through the northern heavens,
showing gray-white and metallic on everything.
The north star was vividly bright and twinkled
ceaselessly. All was still about the post so far
as human beings were concerned. Oft in the
steel-blue distances wolves howled, and the
sounds of their voices came softly across the
intervening cold wastes; the dogs stopped and
listened, then broke forth in louder clamourings.
The night passed, and then a growing light
brightened the eastern skies; little by little they
turned from deep blue-black to light green, then
a faint rose-colour appeared and broadened; it
changed into darting beams of golden light
that spread over the heavens, fading to pale
yellow in the west. A few clouds drifted slowly
across the path of the rising sun and were
bathed in its warm glow. One by one figures
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
came from the tepees and buildings in the post;
the smoke from many fires curled upward slowly
in the still, crisp air.
Jules and Cuchoise came out into the yard
together. “Ah mus’ get hax,” said Jules.
“M-m,” the other answered, went back to
the tepee, and brought Verbaux a bright new
axe. “Voilà!” he said as he gave it to him.
“Merci, Jean, Ah go maintenant get des
poils; au revoir!”
Verbaux, snow-shoes on his feet, went out
of the yard and struck off northwest across
the white country. His ankles were stiff and
lame, but he travelled at a good pace. He
crossed a large river, frozen solid and three
feet of snow over the ice. The land on both
sides was level and sunken for many miles
back. “Rivière du Grand Marais,” Jules said
to himself, and shifted his course to west.
The sun was three-quarters low when he
reached the timber-lands. After an hour’s
tramp he stopped, threw off the fur tote-bag
that contained his food, and in a short time
built a little lean-to of bark and branches; then
he cut some fire-wood, and went off into the
deep forest to make and set his traps. When
the work was finished he had twenty traps
ready, and he went back to the lean-to and
built a roaring fire.
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
The evening was a beautiful one; the stars
came out one by one and glimmered with their
cold gray, celestial light. The water in the
pannikin on the fire bubbled, and Jules dropped
some cherry-tree tea in it, then munched chunks
of pemmican slowly, staring at the flames before
him. The meal over, he lay down in his
blanket by the heat, his head resting on one
hand.
The red flames sprang fiercely in the air, subsided,
sprang again, while the embers underneath
glowed white-hot, pink, and dull-red.
The gray eyes filled with great tears. “Marie!
Marie!” The strong head was buried between
the arms, and here, in the silence and solitude
of the deep black forest, Jules gave way for
the first time, and rasping, choking sobs came.
The changing, shifting, glancing light played
over the prostrate figure that heaved. The
giant trees about were motionless, their high
peaks silhouetted against the dark heavens, like
teeth of an uneven saw. At last the long
figure lay quiet, the fire lessened slowly, then
smoke came instead of flames and twisted its
way through the intervening branches into the
free air and was lost. A dark, lithe thing
edged gingerly from the shadows toward the
sleeping man, sniffing the air delicately and
moving without sound; it came close, then
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
scented the human body and scurried away,
flitting ghost-like between the black trunks
until it disappeared. A marten, its curiosity
aroused, scampered swiftly hither and thither
about the lean-to, searching, smelling, stopping,
then scampering off again with its queer long
little jumps, and it too went away.
The fire was out completely, but a few tiny
wreaths of haze came from the ashes. Jules
slept, his head on his arms, the long limbs
resting in graceful repose on the blanket.
The silence, the infinite silence, was deep
and wonderful; not a breath of wind moved
the weakest branch on the trees, not a light
breeze even disturbed the ashes. The cold
moon sailed up and across and down again
over the noiseless landscape. Then the stars
faded and their twinkling lights were gone.
The air grew warm and a blackness settled
over everything where the steel light had been.
Clouds, black, gray, lowering clouds, came,
and soon the patter of thousands of raindrops
sounded. These lasted but a few minutes,
then changed to big white flakes that fell
silently. Jules turned in his sleep.
“Ma femme, Marie!” he muttered, and tossed
restlessly.
A whispering came sibilant and faint through
the forest.
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
“La petite! la petite! she call!”
The big figure rose in the falling snow, the
eyes were wide open and set; straight ahead
Jules went till he stumbled over a log and fell,
awaking. “Bon Dieu, Ah see la petite dat
taime!” he groaned aloud. The dull black
depths of the branches overhead choked the
sound of his voice, and he stood, half awake,
dreaming and wondering.
The snow had ceased, but the wind grew
stronger, and it whistled and moaned about
him. The air cooled and became bitter with
the sting of frost. Jules shivered and found
his way back to the lean-to, crawled in it with
his blanket, and tried to sleep. He tried in
vain; always his dream was lifelike before his
eyes, and he turned and twisted over and over
under the fur covering. Then his sharp ears
caught a faint cracking sound; he sat up and
listened. A gaunt white form came and stood
motionless before him, then it lifted its head,
yowled dismally, and was gone. “Loup blanc!
Dat bad signe!” Jules spoke dully—lay down
and closed his eyes, striving to forget. Sleep,
deep sleep, came again, and the figure under
the blanket was still.
It was gray dawn when Verbaux woke.
After the morning meal he went down through
the woods to his traps, and found six sable, a
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
cross-fox, and a marten in them. “Dat pay
for mon h’eat!” he said as he skinned out the
dead forms. Then he took up his axe and
food-bag and started for the post again. The
wind was strong; it dashed the loose snow
over the barrens; its bitter edge made Jules
draw his muffler close and compress his lips to
keep his teeth from aching with the cold. “Ah
lak’ see dees territoire,” he thought, and worked
his way steadily along to the south-east. After
crossing the wide, desolate stretches of level
waste he came into the timber-lands again.
The trees stood very thickly and the leaden
skies cast but little light beneath their branches.
There were many tracks of the inhabitants of
the forest on the snow.
Here the short leaps of the sable, there the
shuffling trail of a marten, and beyond the
dainty footprints of a fox—faint, soft lines
showing that he was care-free as he dragged
his heavy brush. The tall hemlock and spruce
swayed and bowed gracefully with a caressing,
monotonous sound, and Jules felt the soothing
influence of the great wilderness as he strode
on, his snow-shoes stirring the loose white that
rested on the light rain-crust. Overhead the
sun shone coldly, mystically, through flying
scud and hurrying thin clouds. The forest
ended again, and straight ahead loomed the
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
endless cold distances; the snow-line and the
gray-white horizon came together and blended
into one. Jules stopped and looked about him:
everywhere white, everything white and still.
The greatness of the wastes and the depth of
nature came over him.
“Ah am notting,” he whispered, and went
on. The miles came, were passed over, and
fell behind the tall, gaunt form that hurried on
tirelessly. Jules crossed Lac au Loups and
changed his course to east; going over a hill he
saw a herd of caribou; the fleet animals sped
on across the wind and disappeared like wraiths
in the harmonious white desert. Late in the
afternoon Fond du Lac appeared as a black
dot, then grew into the buildings and the
stockade as he went toward it. Entering the
yard, he crossed to Cuchoise’s tepee and went
in. It was empty. He lighted his pipe and
lay down on the boughs, his eyes roaming
wistfully over the Indian girl’s clothes and the
children’s rag dolls. He turned his back and
lay there thinking, dreaming the day-dreams of
waking hours.
The flap was softly pushed aside and the girl
came in alone. She started a little at the sight
of the strong form stretched at her feet, then sat
down quietly and began to sew with caribou-sinews
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
on some of Cuchoise’s moccasins. Jules
listened and watched with half-opened eyes.
“Ma-shca-wis-sie! [He is strong!]” she
whispered, looking at him. “Ki-wa-bi-min In-nin-ee
sak-ar-te-win [I look at you, big man,
with love],” she murmured softly. Jules closed
his eyes; a shadow of pain flitted over his face.
“Bon Dieu, no dat!” he prayed, and lay still.
The girl moved little by little toward him.
“Ki-non-don-no-ne? [Do you hear?]” she
asked. He feigned heavy sleep. Her black
eyes played over him and he felt their glow;
his soul rebelled, and he sat up quickly; the
girl uttered a little cry, holding her hands,
delicate and thin, toward him. “Ne-na-bhai-m!
[My true husband!]” she whispered. Jules
stood up slowly. The gray eyes were sad, and
a weariness seemed to come over his body.
“In-din-ne-ga-wwe-go-in-dum-m [I am
sorry],” he said in low tones, and passed out of
the tepee, taking the food-bag and the light
axe. He went to the store and threw the pelts
he had at the factor’s feet. “Dat good?” he
asked. Nelson looked at the skins. “Yes,
but ye ’re not awa’, mon?” he asked. Jules
nodded and went out of the store, across the
yard, through the gate, and away into the
wilderness once more.
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
XIV || LIGHT OF THE EVENING
.sp 2
Onawguishin (Light of the Evening) jumped
to her feet, ran swiftly to the gate, and watched
him go. The finely chiselled face quivered,
then she turned and went to the store. Silently
pushing her way through the Indians gathered
there, she found the factor. “Wa-ymit-te-go-osh,
Weer-baux [Frenchman gone, Verbaux],”
she told him abruptly, and went quickly
as she had come. The black eyes gleamed
fiercely, as she went back to the tepee and sat
down to the sewing of the moccasins. Everything
was turmoil in the yard; the Indians and
voyageurs ran about shouting, the factor yelled
furious orders from the store; then a dozen
men on snow-shoes sped out of the post, took
Verbaux’s trail swiftly, and disappeared on it.
Evening Star sewed on quietly. Steps approached
the tepee and Cuchoise came, threw
down his load of fur, and looked around the
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
interior. “Verbaux ta-nin-dai? [Where is
Verbaux?]” The girl looked up at him
steadily. “Ma-tche-ma-ni-tou [Evil Spirit],”
she answered. He stared at her without
understanding.
“Here, girl, where did this mon Verbaux ye
told me of go?” The factor’s loud voice at
the entrance startled them both. Cuchoise’s
face was blank in amazement.
“Sa-gai-egan wa-bu-no-ng [Lake to the
East],” she answered.
“Hurry up there, he’s gang over Bear Lake
to the island; take the quick road,” Nelson
shouted to some one in the yard, and went back
to the store.
Jean Cuchoise’s eyes were ugly; he stepped
toward the girl, who stitched on silently.
“Oo-kut-ta-aw koo-me-cha-n! [You betrayed
my friend!]” he said in a low voice.
Evening Light nodded. The voyageur’s face
grew black with rage at the thought of Jules,
who confided in him, having been betrayed by
his wife. He lunged forward, and his big
hands closed round the girl’s brown throat.
Her head fell back and the black eyes looked
up into his, but she did not make the slightest
struggle. “Serpent!” he snarled, flung her
from him, rushed from the tepee, picking up
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
his snow-shoes as he went. In the yard he
stopped and listened. All the men had gone
on the chase, and the place was deserted. He
stole out of the post and hurried away toward
Bear Lake, that showed flat and dreary in front
of him. He could see many specks straggling
over the surface, heading for an island whose
timber showed black in the distance.
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
XV || “NO GREATER FRIEND....”
.sp 2
When Jules left Fond du Lac he intended to
strike off south of east back to his own country,
but something forced him to go across Bear
Lake. He reached the wooded island and
looked back. At the edge of the lake, four
miles away, he saw many specks coming toward
him fast. “Dat fille, she tell!” he ejaculated,
and thought a moment, then hurried on
round the base of the woods, keeping on the ice
and making a broad trail. Half-way round he
took off his snow-shoes under a big pine, then
pulled himself up carefully in the branches.
He worked his way, swinging from tree to tree,
for a hundred yards, then dropped lightly, ran
to the other side of the island, and crawled
under some thick young spruce.
Voices came in a few minutes, and he saw
the Indians stop in front of him and wait for
those that came on behind. When all were
together, they crept forward carefully in a mass
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
on his trail, and disappeared round the point
of the woods.
Jules waited a few moments longer, then
darted with wonderful speed across to the
mainland, half a mile away. Under cover of
its protecting shadows he laughed, put on the
snow-shoes again, and travelled on, following
the dense timber by the edge of the lake.
He looked across and saw the Indians hunting
about and gesticulating under the pine that he
had climbed. He laughed again. “You h’all
no catch Jules Verbaux,” he said grimly.
In a little while Petite Rivière de l’Ours
(Little Bear River) twined its way at his feet
to the southward. The cold roar of rushing
waters filled the quiet air. Just below, a quick
water was open, and the freezing current dashed
on among rocks and ice banks, the silver crest
of each rapid wavelet shining with a thousand
sparkles in the afternoon sunlight. Jules went
down on the ice to where the live water came
from under the snow, took the thonged hoops
from his feet, slung them over his back, and
stepped into the chilling flow.
“Ugh!” he said as it penetrated instantly
to the bone with numbing effect. It was not
deep,—just over his knees,—and he walked
on down, keeping close to the banks, out of the
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
strongest current. The water was ice free for
a quarter of a mile, and when he stepped out
of it and put on his snow-shoes his legs ached
with the cold. “B’en! Comme den, vous autres,
fin’ Jules’s track, hein?” he said aloud,
and went on into the forests, stamping his feet
vigorously and sending up myriads of snow
particles that eddied lightly in his wake, then
settled again on the crust.
Meanwhile Cuchoise hurried over toward
the island; the others had disappeared on the
far side. “Ah sauf Verbaux!” he muttered,
and changed his course, going straight up the
lake instead of across the lower end. He travelled
on fast, looking often over his shoulder;
no one in sight, he slowed up.
“Sa-ner!” shouted a Cree. He had come
through the upper end of the woods on the
island, and saw the figure in the distance on
the lake. The cry was taken up by a score of
throats; the rest gave up the search for tracks
and raced on madly after Cuchoise. He saw
them coming at last, and took off his tasselled
cap. “Ah t’ink dey know dat,” he said, and
laughed to himself as he thought how easily
he had drawn the pursuit upon himself and
given Verbaux a chance to get away.
He increased his speed, edging toward the
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
forest on the left. When he came to it he
stopped. Behind him, a mile away, came the
Indians, travelling swiftly over the snow-covered
ice. Cuchoise chuckled and went into the sombre
depths. The afternoon light was fading and it
was dim there under the shadowing trees. He
kept on for another mile, then sat down on a
log. “Voilà! V’en dey comme, Jean Cuchoise
he mak’ rire!” he said, and waited. It grew
darker and darker; the tree trunks lost their
shapes at fifty yards. A faint clicking came from
beyond, and Jean smiled broadly as he thought
of his companions’ discomfiture. Then the
sound ceased, all was still. “Serpent! Traître!”
Cuchoise said to himself as he thought of the girl.
Then an awful pain came; he fell from the
log, writhing and doubling on the snow, that
reddened slowly under him. “Finis!” he
groaned weakly; his head fell limp, blood
gushed from his mouth, the kindly eyes dulled
and became set. The heavy, strong body
quivered a moment, then relaxed inertly.
An Indian strode up, rifle in hand; behind
him came others, sneaking closer and closer.
They stopped when they saw the dim shape
lying on the blood-blackened white.
“Me-on-wash-in! [Good!]” said the Cree
who had fired. A voyageur went forward and
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
turned the stiffening body over with his foot.
“Dieu!” He started in alarm. The rest
crowded about, saw, took off their caps slowly,
and were silent. Everything was quiet; the
men stood about the dead form; the Cree
shivered and shook, but no one spoke. The
northern twilight was at its height and the
distant light shone but little on the death scene.
Then somewhere in the black woods a lynx
shrieked; the rasping, curdling sound echoed
and re-echoed in the crisp air. A Canadian
spoke slowly. “No tell le facteur dees!” he
said, looking at his companions. They shook
their heads, and the Cree who had done the
killing was still. Silently the men knelt and
dug a hole through the crust and deep into the
snow, boring it out with their bare hands. They
dug till the hard, frozen ground was reached,
then reverently they lifted the body of Jean
Cuchoise, lowered it carefully, pushed the cold
white feathery sod over it, and stamped it down.
Then they dragged up logs and big branches
and piled them over the freezing grave, so that
the wolves should not dig where they had dug
and find what they had buried there. Each
man crossed himself and muttered the Ave
Maria; then they made off silently through the
dense shadows.
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
XVI || THE MESSENGER
.sp 2
Verbaux travelled on and on across the
wilderness of silence and of space. He heard
nothing but the howling of the wolves, saw
nothing but colourless barrens, dark green
timber depths, and frozen waters. He came
at last to the clearing by Lac des Sables, and
built up his wrecked home. It took him two
days to finish the work, and two more to catch
the dogs he had turned loose to shift for
themselves sixteen days gone.
It was evening; a cheery fire crackled on the
little hearth. The interior shone warm and
comfortable in its glow, but the log walls were
gray and bare instead of warm and brown with
skins as they used to be. Jules sat before the
fire; his eyes reflected the light dully and his
thoughts were far away—where he knew not,
but of whom he knew. The old heartbroken
moan for Marie, Marie came from his lips, and
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
he would start violently, as though dreaming,
and shake his head. “Je suis content!” he
muttered; tears came, nevertheless, and rolled
slowly down the bronzed cheeks, dripping drop
by drop and glistening on the rough shirt.
The yellow-red flames played noiselessly in
the air, but their sources snapped and gave out
tiny diamond sparks that died two inches from
the place of birth. A storm was coming from
the northeast. Little by little the wind increased
in strength, first whispering, then sighing,
then moaning fitfully by gusts, and finally
shrieking through the millions of branches that
are the forest. Jules heard but heeded not.
The violent draft carried the smoke away in
straight blue lines, the sparks had longer lives
and disappeared in the wooden flue. A dog
yelped, the others awoke and joined him, and
their voices blended into one long minor
clamour that sounded above the whistling
wind, and cadenced with the now loud, then
softer notes of the gale. A muffled roaring
came down the little chimney; sometimes the
powerful back draft imprisoned the smoke and
it filled the hut with its pungent acrid smell.
Dream figures appeared to Jules and passed in
long review before his half-closed eyes. The
very flames were distorted into living things
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
that moved and, as he saw them, disappeared.
He rose, went to the new bed of boughs, fell
on it, and slept instantly. And in his vague,
unrestful slumber the figures came and passed
again before his brain.
“Traître!” he growled in his sleep; “Ah,
Maquette, mon vieux, how ees, hein? An
you, Bossu, an’ Hibou, mes camarades dat Ah
sauve’!” The changeless voice shrilled then,
and the long arms stretched out, “Petite!
Marie!” He awoke, dazed, and heard the
sobbing of the storm overhead. “Bon Dieu,
grâce!” he said, and knelt by the bough bed,
his face buried in his hands. He prayed, but
always, even in his prayers, the squat, ugly
figure of Manou with his treacherous eyes
came before him; and much as the body cried
out for the woman that lived somewhere under
the broad expanse of God’s heavens, still the
iron will and reason spoke through the pain-compressed
lips and said, “Je suis content!”
The fight was awful in its terrible fierceness; at
last he sank, utterly exhausted, on the boughs
and slept dreamlessly. The northern hurricane
grew under the black skies; it lashed the
trees until they groaned and snapped. As an
accompaniment to the shrieking voices of the
wind sounded the crashing reports of falling
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
trees, here, there, everywhere. The two giant
pines on each side of the hut moved to their
foundations and twisted; their great roots
heaved and tore the frozen sod beneath its
white cover, and the walls of the camp trembled
at each furious gust. And Verbaux slept on.
Long past its regular hour, the timid light of
dawn appeared and broadened over the wild,
tumultuous earth. By its light the flying
masses of filmy clouds tore across the leaden
skies. Sometimes a big black one came over
the horizon and was whirled away over the
lonely north at tremendous speed. Two sables
came to the hut, pushed and buffeted by the
gale, their tree home destroyed by the storm;
they crept within the shelter of its lee side
and curled up there together, hungry and
frightened. The dogs howled at intervals,
but their voices were almost lost in the heavy
peals of the monstrous noises of the forest.
A gray shape came speeding past the hut,
saw it, and stopped under its lee, disturbing the
little sables. It was a tall caribou that stood
there panting, its scarlet tongue dripping with
foam, its great eyes drooping, its tired sides
pumping air ceaselessly to satisfy the big lungs.
And in a moment a dozen dark forms came and
stood silently in a half-circle before the hut,
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
breathing hoarsely, drool streaming from their
open jaws. The wind pushed them about, but
they stayed and watched. The dogs caught a
whiff of the stench of wolves and set up a great
cry in their shed, that sounded even above the
hurricane. The dark forms listened, heard,
recognised, and disappeared at once, wrapped
in dim snow-clouds, through which their fleeing
shapes appeared for an instant and were
gone.
The caribou rested awhile, then faded away
among the trees. Jules slept on, inert, on the
boughs; the little sables cuddled closer together
and were still.
More and more light came, and Verbaux
awoke to another day. The weather remained
the same, and he pulled his fur cap well down
when he went out to the traps. Trees fell
about him, broken branches dropped, rattling
on the crust, great rents in the trunks of the
hemlocks showed the fierce wrenching power of
the wind. No living thing moved in the complaining,
groaning forests, but Jules was happy
in the chaos, and his loneliness and longing left
him for a time. “By gar! Ah get beaucoup
de poils!” he said. Every third trap held its
dead prisoner. When he had finished the line,
the load of furs on his back was heavy: eight
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
sable, two lynx, three wolverine, four marten,
and a gray fox.
He was on his way to the camp when suddenly,
faint in the gale, he heard a voice calling
“Holla, là-bas!” Then he saw coming toward
him a short, broad figure on snow-shoes. The
stranger came along easily, watching the trees
that snapped and squeaked and bowed to their
waists. Jules stopped and waited. “Bo’ jou’!”
said the stranger in a friendly way. He was a
French-Canadian, keen of eye, characteristic in
face, strong in figure.
“Je suis Philippe Crevier. Ah comme two
hunder’ mile’ look for un homme; you got fir’?”
“Oui; comme!” Jules said, and the two travelled
across the timber-land to Verbaux’s camp.
Jules lighted the fire, then set food on the
table. Crevier sat and watched him silently;
with a nod, he ate a hearty meal.
“Ah-h, c’est bon!” and he sighed comfortably
when he had finished, and ceremoniously
drew out his quilled and beaded tobacco-bag
and presented it to Jules. The latter filled his
pipe; Crevier did the same; then Verbaux
leaned back against the wall with legs firmly
spread, the gray eyes fixed on the other, who
was stretched on the green boughs. They
smoked in silence for several minutes; the
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
interior was redolent with the powerful reek of
the black tobacco; the roof quivered with the
sudden impacts of heavy wind, and there was
the faint patter of millions of crust bits that,
driven before the storm, struck the logs with all
their minute weight and strength.
“Ah look for vone Jules Verbaux. Dat Le
Grand h’at Poste Reliance he comme dere nine
days h’ago wid une femme; by gar, she vas tire’
and hongree! She vas tak’ by Hodson Baie
Compagnie at la destruction de Isle la Crosse
by dat Annaotaha. Le Grand, fr’en’ to me,
fin’ dis girrl and mak’ bataille avec dat scélérat.
Le Grand seeck ver’ bad; he say to me,
he say: ‘Philippe, you go fin’ Jules Verbaux;
dees femme hees wife; she loove him mooch,
mais he don’ t’ink dat trrue. You tell to heem,
eef you can fin’ heen, dat ol’ Le Grand he ver’
bad, and vant for to see heem befor’ Le Grand
est mort.’ Den Ah comme loook!”
Jules listened; his face was expressionless
and at rest. His eyes glistened for an instant,
then they too were void of feeling; he seemed
interested, nothing more.
“You know dis Verbaux?” Crevier asked.
A flash came to the gray eyes. “Oui, Ah
know heem; dis ees hees territoire; he gon’
Fond du Lac h’eight jour’ passé.”
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
“B’en, Ah go to Fond du Lac to-mor’; Ah
geeve promesse to Le Grand for to fin’ heem
eef eet possible, and he pay moi ten skin’ de
day for do heet. Ah can stay avec vous ici
to-night, hein?”
“Certainement!” Jules answered.
There was a silence—one man comfortable,
happy, care-free; the other too full for utterance,
but with calm, undisturbed features
through it all.
The storm raved on through the afternoon,
but with the coming of night it slackened, the
gusts were less fierce, the trees ceased their
contortions, and gradually a deep stillness
spread over the forest. In the hut the two
men ate their supper; Jules fed the dogs. The
fire burned lightly, and Crevier’s dark face
showed in sharp relief against the light-gray
logs.
“Vat you t’ink—” he began; then he caught
sight of the child’s cap in its old place over
the bed. He looked at it, then looked at
Verbaux.
Jules had not seen the discovery of the cap.
He sat, his broad shoulders stooped forward,
his chin in his hands.
“Jules Verbaux!” Crevier spoke the name
slowly and quietly.
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
Verbaux started, then his eyes looked sharply
from under the strong, heavy brows. “Pourquoi
you call me Jules Verbaux?” he asked.
Crevier’s arm stretched out, long in the dancing
light, the dark hand pointed silently to the little
cap, and he smoked again.
“Ah tol’ you dat dees Verbaux hees place,
hees territoire, dat he gone ’way las’ weeek!”
Jules spoke aggressively.
Crevier shook his head. “Non!”
“Pourquoi non? You say dat I mak’ de
lie?”
The other seemed not to notice the angry
tones; he took his pipe leisurely from his mouth
and spoke again in a low, soft voice. “Le
Grand he tol’ to me dat Verbaux he had petite
fille vonce, dat he loove dat enfant ver’ mooch.
You tell to me dat dees ees hees place to mak’
la chasse; Ah see dat leetle chapeau là,” and
he looked up again at the cap. “an’ den Ah,
Crevier, say dat you aire Verbaux.”
“Pourquoi?” asked Jules again.
“Becaus’ Verbaux no go ’way an’ leave dat
souvenir of enfant ici!”
Crevier looked at Jules through drooping
lids. The stooped figure swayed a little,
stopped, swayed again, then shivered very
slightly, and was still.
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
Crevier stood up and went to the door.
Outside, it was a fine, clear night. The
straggler clouds of the storm hurried in little
groups across the light faces of the stars to
catch up with the main body. The cold, penetrating
air was fresh-smelling of the pine
and laden with ozone of the wind and snow.
He turned.
“To-mor’ ve go back to Poste Reliance!”
he said quietly, then stepped out into the
shadowless gloom.
Verbaux raised his head and listened;
everything was still but the snapping fire at
his feet.
“Pauvre Le Grand,” he murmured. “Ah
mus’ go an’ see heem, mais Ah go seul’ment
for dat, seul’ment for dat!” he repeated rapidly,
as though trying to choke down the other
thoughts that craved expression in different
words from those that he had just spoken.
Alternately a pale, wan face, then a rugged,
kindly one, came before his eyes. “Ah not
go for to see dat femme!” he almost shouted,
because he feared to trust himself in the
silence.
“Toi ver’ beeg fool!”
Crevier stood in the door; his arms held a
pile of fire-wood, and jets of freezing moisture
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
streamed from his nostrils as he came in out of
the night and closed the bark door. He threw
his load down in the corner, the dry sticks
breaking sharply above the crackle of the
hearth fire. He got out a light blanket from
his carry-bag and laid it over some skins that
were on the floor. “À demain, Verbaux,” he
said as he stretched himself on it; he turned
over, and was asleep in a moment. Jules
stood looking down at the still form for long
minutes.
“Ah go ’way for leetle taime. Ah no can
go weet heem!” he whispered to himself; then
silently and quickly he took his snow-shoes,
reached up for the little cap and put it in his
shirt, took some food, and went away into the
darkness.
For a long time after he had gone nothing
stirred. The trees were resting after their long
turmoil, and stood as though carved from green-black
marble. Crevier slept on quietly.
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
XVII || THE DREAM OF MORNING STAR
.sp 2
Jules trod with care until he was out of
hearing of the camp; then, with the keenness
natural to a born woodsman’s eyes, he hurried
on through the dense blackness, rarely making
a sound except the soft crunch of his moccasins
on the crust. After two hours’ swift travelling
he came out on a barren, and stopped in the
open and listened—silence—greater than death
which is laden with sorrow, that silence of the
great and boundless wilderness of the North
which is unfathomable, indescribable. Straight
away from him lay the long, rolling waste, at
his feet white, farther on gray, and beyond that
void of colour. He looked up at the heavens,
and as he watched the glinting stars he saw
one appear from behind the others and rush
across the sky to the south-east, leaving yet
drawing a long fiery tail behind it. It arc-ed,
sailed below the tree-tops, and disappeared.
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
The gray eyes looked into the dim distance,
then behind him at the woods. “Dat étoile
say go back.” He retraced his noiseless way
through the black timber to the hut. As he
went in Crevier, who was smoking by the heap
of glowing embers, said slowly, “Ah know dat
you comme back.” “Vat for mans!” Verbaux
muttered; then he sat near the heat in silence.
It was so absolutely still that the soft little
burning hiss of the tobacco at each breath
Crevier drew on the pipe was audible. The
light of the coal created on the walls vague
shadows that grew more and more shapeless.
Then only a dim dark red shone on the men’s
faces; everything else was black. The two sat
on, silent. Then, crisply, rifle-shots rang out
on the bitter-cold air, and silence again.
Crevier leaped to the door and listened. Nothing
at first; then, “Verbaux!” he called
softly. Jules was behind him. “Leesten!”
he said.
Far off in front of them they could just hear
the crunching and light crackling of the crust
as something ran over it; then a snapping of
branches. “Somme vone comme fas’!” Jules
said. The steps approached rapidly; then
they heard heavy, laboured breathing that
sounded hoarsely out there under the thick
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
hemlock and pine. The thing that hurried and
ran came close, and was passing the camp when
it stopped and coughed—a rasping, harsh
cough. “Trappé!” A man’s voice groaned
with agony and fear in the tones. As one,
Crevier and Verbaux ran swiftly out among the
black trunks; the man heard them coming and
started on. “Qu’est-ce?” called Crevier in a
low, penetrating voice. The man stopped,
turned, and came toward them. The three
stood close but could not distinguish one another.
“Pierre Du—bat, moi, Compagnie
Nor’ouest,” said the stranger, brokenly, and
breathing hard, “chassé par les Indiens du
Hodson Baie Compagnie; dey comme h’aftaire
moi ver’ queeck aussi.”
Crevier and Verbaux heard the man stagger
in the darkness as he finished speaking. They
caught hold of an arm each and rushed him
to the hut. He sat weakly on the bed, and
Verbaux began to build up the fire. “Non!
Non!” said Pierre hastily, “dey see le feu and
comme ici. Non!” Then he faltered to the
door to listen. The two others were motionless.
“Ah-h!” Pierre whispered. The patter
of dogs’ feet could be heard coming swiftly,
then the light creaking of sledges, eerie and
mysterious in the depths of trees. The three
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
men stood in the little doorway. “Mes dog!”
Jules said very softly. “Dose Indiens go pas’
eef dose dog’ no mak’ barrrk!” They waited.
On came the sledges; one was approaching the
clearing: they could hear a voice swearing at
the darkness. Then a team came into the
scarce light.
“Bash!” shouted the man on the sledge.
The dogs stopped.
“Hache!” breathed Crevier as the three fell
back silently in the hut. Verbaux reached
behind the door and handed him the axe.
“Ho-o-e’o-o-ooe!” called this new arrival.
Answering shouts came from near by, echoing
back and forth dully. The man came up to the
hut, then stopped, listened. The three kept
still. He advanced to the door and looked in.
The dogs in the shed smelled their kind outside
and howled loudly. The man stepped in;
Crevier swung the axe viciously at the figure
that showed against the dim light of the outside.
It dropped without a groan. Then all was still
again in the little interior.
“Chies! Chies!” a voice called harshly close
by.
“Annaotaha!” muttered Jules.
“Diable! v’ere he go?” said the voice again.
The shouts and cries of other men were
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
closing in. “Choo-ee! [Come here!]” called
the voice hurriedly.
“He ’ave see la hutte; vat ve do?” whispered
Dubat.
“Sssssh!” warned Jules.
Somebody was approaching the camp from
behind; the steps came round, and then another
figure darkened the door. Pierre swung the axe
again, but missed, and the sharp tool struck
heavily in the logs.
“Dam’!” The figure spoke and jumped
back. “Pierre Dubat, ve ’ave toi! La mort
dees taime!” and it laughed.
“Pas encore, Etienne Annaotaha!” Dubat
answered savagely, the two others were silent.
Dim forms moved to and fro in the little
clearing.
“She-se-eemont, Dubat? [Are you hungry
and tired?]” called Annaotaha, mockingly;
coarse laughs sounded here and there. Crang!—a
spit of straight flame. The rough bullet
whizzed through the door against the logs of
the back wall. The three flattened against the
side of the hut.
“Sacré-é-é!” growled Pierre, “dey goin’
shoot!” In answer to his words sounded the
crang! crack! crang-crang! crang-crang!
crang-crang! crack! of rifles. The bullets
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
hurtled and droned, they thudded in the logs,
caromed and pi-in-inged shrilly in the interior.
Jules stood close by the door, behind the
upright timber. Dubat was flat on the bed
and Crevier under it. And still the rifles
spouted flame and the leaden missiles sang and
whinged through the hut. Then they ceased
suddenly. After the furious noise all was deathlike
in stillness. Everyone listened.
“Tha-la-il [Dead!]” said Annaotaha to his
companions after several minutes of the intense
silence. An indistinct form came and stood in
the door, listening with gun ready. It heard
no sound, for the three were silent and holding
their breath.
“Tha-la-il! [Dead!]” he said it again, and
entered the camp fearlessly. A heavy fall,
that sounded but thick and muffled, and the
figure sprawled in death on the ground motionless.
“C’est bon!” said Etienne approaching.
He came to the entrance, stumbled over
the two limp figures, and sprang back, screaming
in fear, then his voice died away.
Inside the hut Jules crept noiselessly to the
bed.
“Go now! ve be keel ici! Dubat go nord!
Crevier go sud! Ah go ouest!” he said in
almost inaudible tones.
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
Carefully the two others followed him to the
door, and they sprang through the clearing into
the blackness of the forests.
“Trois mans, by diable!” screamed Annaotaha
as he saw the three flit like shadows from
the camp. The Indians’ rifles barked again,
and the bullets pludd-ed among the tree trunks.
Wild cries and shouts arose, and Jules heard
some one running after him. He increased his
speed and went on swiftly through the deep
woods, his pursuer cursing aloud and losing
ground fast. Soon Jules could hear nothing of
the man behind him, and he stopped. Everything
was still; then far to the rear the faint
pang of a rifle jarred the crisp silence.
Verbaux started again and travelled steadily to
the southwest. Hour after hour passed; daylight
came, then broad day swept over the land,
and still Jules kept on. At last the timber-land
ended; he crossed out on the great barrens.
The morning wind created living things of the
loose drift. Round, oblong snow-clouds
whirled and twisted along, their under sides
blue, their tops dazzling white in the sun.
Many delicate tones of gray-blue and dark gray
mingled and blended into one another as the
wind scud passed over the face of the sun and
cast fast-changing shadows. The wind was
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
cold; it had come for thousands of miles over
chilled countries, endless barrens, black lakes
and rivers frozen in fantastic shapes, and was
always laden with the ice particles, that hummed
and rustled monotonously, caught up by one
gust, dropped, taken by another and hurried
through miles of space. Verbaux covered his
face with his muffler. “Ah had for leave dat
chappette,”[#] he said sadly. He looked back.
The timber fringe of the barrens was far away;
only the giant trees lifted their peaked tops
above the solid line of dark green. Then Verbaux
slowed his pace, hesitating. “Ah lak’ go
back for dat,” he thought, and the gray eyes
were wistful. “Non! Ah mus’ fin’—Le
Grand, oui, Le Grand!” Not the slightest
admission of his heart’s wish came from his
lips.
.pm fn-start
Little cap.
.pm fn-end
“Ha! dere track!” he muttered as a little
farther on his keen eyes saw many snow-shoe
marks; he bent over them, but the drift had
almost obliterated the indentations, and he was
not able to recognise any of the trails. There
was one long, narrow track that turned in at
the heel instead of at the toe. “Ah nevaire
see dat befor’!” Verbaux said as he walked
along slowly, watching the peculiar marks. As
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
he proceeded his interest grew strangely, and
soon he was following the trail backward at a
rapid pace; the other snow-shoes had crossed
and recrossed it, but the long scratches and
slidings on the crust showed clearly by comparison.
“Comme f’om Poste Reliance, Ah
t’ink!” Jules raised his head, then stopped
suddenly. A few yards ahead of him lay a
body thinly covered with white; dark stains in
the snow around the head told the story. He
brushed the form clear; it was that of a squaw;
the eyes were fixed and glaring stonily into his
own as he turned the figure over. A deep
gash in the throat had given the outlet to the
life-blood that coated the freezing surface about
it red and brown. “Diables, dose mans!”
Jules growled. The long track traced in and
out near the body, and he puzzled out where
the maker of that trail had stood and bent over
the dying woman. She was not very old, and
not ugly. “Eet ees near to t’irt’ mile’ to
Reliance,” Jules thought. “Ah no can tak’
dat femme là-bas, an’ Ah have notting to mak’
de trou ici!” He straightened up. “B’en,
Jules have to go! Pauv’e femme!” he said
aloud and travelled on. Shortly afterward he
came upon a snow hill. Rising black from
the white before him was the forest again, a
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
few miles on. He turned his head on the
back trail and shuddered. Specks were moving
hither and thither, now dark and sharp,
then blurred and dim as drift puffs partially
hid them. They gathered together in a certain
spot on the barren and seemed motionless.
“De loups dey have fin’ dat corps’! Bon
Dieu, Jules Verbaux he t’ink dat somme taime
he have to mak’ la guerre on dat Hodson Baie
Compagnie an’ keel lak’ dose Indiens dey
keel!” His voice was low and savage. He
went on again.
Late in the afternoon the buildings of the
Northwest Post of Lac la Pluie (Rainy Lake)
showed up ahead, and in an hour he entered
the yard.
“Et toi, Verbaux!” one of the group of
voyageurs called to him laughingly; “vat you
do so far ’way de Lac des Sables?”
“Ah go Poste Reliance in vone, two day’!”
Jules answered as he joined the group. Picturesque
men they were and rough in their
tanned-skin shirts that hung outside of the
broad caribou-hide trousers; fringes of hair
adorned the ends of their shirts, and choice
bits of ermine were cleverly stitched in various
designs here and there on the brown skins.
Beaver, otter, and fox caps were predominant
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
on the men’s heads, and tassels of picked fur
dangled gracefully over the sides of their faces.
Long moccasins with coloured beads were on
their feet, and bright handkerchiefs knotted
loosely about many of their throats showed
their childlike love of bright colours. They
offered Jules tobacco; he filled his pipe and
lighted it. “Ah see dat Annaotaha an’ les
Crees!” he said then. “Quand?” “V’ere?”
“V’en?” The questions came eagerly. “Las’
nuit dey h’attack Crevier, Dubat, an’ moi, an’
comme near feenesh nous aussi!” and Jules
laughed silently. The crowd were clamorous
for details. Jules told them the story of the
night attack, and how he and the two others
had fled, and of his success in getting away;
he told of finding the woman’s body, and deep
curses showed the feeling of these men of the
wilderness. When he had finished his story,
there was a silence.
“Verbaux, you somme taime go avec nous
feex dat Hodson Baie Compagnie?” a square-shouldered,
deep-chested voyageur asked. Jules
looked at him for a moment. “Oui,” he answered,
“somme taime.” He left the group and
went over to the supply-house and found the
factor; to him he told his story, and asked to be
“trusted for skins” for a blanket and some food.
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
“Aye, Verbaux lad, ye ’re welcome!”
Factor McNeil answered. “But wull ye gie
us a leeft with these deevils when the time
coomes?”
“Mabbe!” Jules answered gravely, got his
“stuff” from the clerk, and went out among the
trappers and tepees.
“Tell, mon frère, you been Fond du Lac
deese taime gon’,” a genial Frenchman, named
Gregoire, asked.
“Vas dere trois day’ gon’; dey fin’ h’out Ah
vas no’ goin’ avec dem, an’ dey try for to catch
moi, but Ah arrivé Lac des Sables ver’ queeck
jus’ sam’!” and Jules chuckled.
“Ah t’ink dat dose Hodson Baie mans dey
mak’ du trouble for nous. Las’ Mercredi Ah
vas comme f’om Rivière Folle Avoine an’ see
dose canaille Crees et des Piegans veet’ dem;
Ah mak’ le détour an’ comme sauf, mais dose
bad, ver’ bad!” Gregoire looked troubled as
he spoke.
A tall, wiry half-breed Canadian joined in
the conversation. “Vone mont’ ’go Ah fin’ vone
compagnie of dose Plats Côtes de Chiens [Dog
Rib Indians], par là, au nor’e’st, an’ dey had
fusils, an’ mak’ lot beeg talk, tell h’all taime
mooch vat dey goin’ do à nous touts du Compagnie
Nor’ouest.”
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
And so the late afternoon passed, the men
laughing and talking together. The blue skies
darkened, then shone with myriads of bright
points as the stars crept into view. Fires
gleamed more and more warmly, and groups of
light-hearted voyageurs, singing and jesting,
sat about some of them; around others serious
Indians squatted and smoked, watching their
squaws get supper. Twilight died away; then
came the clear, sharp night of the ice-bound
latitudes. Overhead the northern lights drifted
slowly, sometimes fading to misty white shafts,
then blazing out in brilliant lights that brought
every log house and tepee into deep relief
against the surrounding forests. Faint reports,
sometimes distant crashes like far-off thunder,
came from the ever-changing aurora, and great
nebulous rings appeared, disappeared, narrowed,
broadened, always shifting, moving. Dogs
wandered among the men, snuffing here and
there restlessly. The strong, tanned faces were
lighted by the yellow tongues of the fires, and
the deep voices harmonised with the animated
scene.
Verbaux ate his supper with his friends, and
afterwards they lighted their pipes and silence
came over the little group. As they sat there,
these typical men of the woods and wastes, an
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
Indian approached and sank on his knees by
the fire. He was handsome; dark eyes,
quantities of straight hair, a strong aquiline
nose, high cheek-bones, long sinewy arms,
light hands with tapering fingers; dressed in a
fancy skin shirt on which coloured beads glittered
as he moved, with high moccasins on his feet
and legs, and wolf-hide trousers. He smoked
a long pipe slowly, meditating between puffs;
then he spoke in his own language, and everyone
listened.
“My friends and brothers: to me, Morning
Star, the great Manitou sent a dream on the last
night, and I come to tell that dream to you.”
He began swaying back and forth gently, and
his voice sank into a musical monotone. No
one moved.
“A spirit of my forefathers came and stood
before my eyes, and it spoke to me. ‘Morning
Star, Chief of the Chippewyans, war, death,
hunger, fire, and cold are coming on you,’ the
spirit said. ‘You will be overwhelmed, crushed,
beaten, and thrown to the wolves unless there
comes to aid you a big man. So that you and
your brothers may know this man, I say to you
that he has gray eyes, that he is tall, but short
in many things, that he comes to you but to
leave you, that he wants what he does not want,
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
and that he fears no one but himself. When
this man comes, tell him what I say, and tell
him that the justice of the Manitou and the
cause of the Indian demand that he stay for the
hour that approaches!’”
Morning Star’s eyes were closed as he finished
speaking, and his swaying ceased.
Jules’s face had paled under the deep brown
as the chief told his dream, and now all eyes
were on him. He leaned forward, his eyes
glittering with awe and excitement, for he had
never seen Morning Star and knew of him only
by name.
“Étoile du Matin! call h’on le Manitou an
h’ask de Marie an’ Le Grand,” he said, with
powerful emotion in his voice.
The Indian’s eyes remained closed. “Who
speaks?” he asked.
“Ah, Jules Verbaux!”
The lights of the fires were dim and cast
fitful shadows; voices about them were hushed
and a throbbing silence was over everything.
Then the Indian rose to his feet, an inch at a
time, yet without seeming motion; he stood
upright, his left arm pointing to the heavens,
where blinked the stars. He remained thus
for several minutes, then he spoke again, his
voice low and vibrating:
“Jules Verbaux, the great Manitou bids me
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
say that the woman you seek is safe, that she
waits for you, that she can wait in safety and in
plenty, that the white man cares for her, that
the man she came with is sick of a wound, but
that it may be so that all will be well with him
if the big man obeys the orders of Our Father,
the great Manitou!”
The chief turned abruptly and left the fireside.
Jules shivered to himself and groaned.
Antoine Clement spoke quietly. “Dat
Étoile du Matin he have des rêves, mais dey
comme h’alway’ trrue!”
“Toujours vrais,” said the rest, solemnly.
One by one they got up and went to their tepees.
Jules sat there, thinking, then a light tap on
his shoulder roused him. “Dormir là-bas veet’
me,” Gregoire said, pointing to his home, and
left the circle of light shed by the bright coals;
the silence of rest was on the post.
Somewhere wolves voiced their doleful cry
out in the wilderness; Jules disliked the sound
strangely to-night and muttered angrily as the
distant tones rose and fell, echoed, and died
away. He got up and moved noiselessly from
the fire, through the tepees, and out of the
yard. The woods were there, grim, black,
motionless. He listened; then he went slowly
round the post, treading carefully, his gray eyes
watching everywhere. Suddenly as he stood
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
by the gates again the northern lights
brightened. Their cold, pure gleam grew
swiftly and things became shapes as by the
light of day. A white form trotted out from
the dark timber and came straight toward him;
it drew close, then stopped, threw up its head,
and a long howl came from its throat. Verbaux
could see the shining fangs in the open
jaws; he caught the glint in the eyes as they
reflected the sky light, and he shuddered
unconsciously when the dreary wail died away,
its sound killed by the thick trees. A moment
longer the form stood there, then it moved off
silently and was gone. The brightness of the
aurora faded; everything was star-dark again.
“Ah-bah! ’nodder loup blanc! Dat ver’
mauvais signe toujours!” He turned into the
yard, closed and barred the gates, and went
over to Gregoire’s home. It took but a
moment to spread his blankets on the boughs,
stretch himself on them, and he slept instantly.
The dogs were very restless; they trotted
hither and thither in the yard, whining sometimes,
and scratching at the foot of the stockade.
The hours passed slowly, and daylight
was coming faint rose over the tree-tops to the
eastward when Jules sat up quickly. He
listened, but everything was normal. He
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
wondered what had wakened him; he felt a
sense of alertness and got up. Then across
the yard came a long howl; other dogs took up
the cry and the air was full of sound. The
brutes ceased all at once. Verbaux was already
in the yard. “Dere ees somme t’ing dat mak’
dose chiens inquiet!” he muttered. Faint
grumblings from some of the tepees showed
that the dogs’ voices had disturbed the slumber
of a few, otherwise everything was still.
The eastern skies glowed with the sunlight
that crept up the horizon; it was bitterly cold
at this hour between darkness and dawn, and
Jules shivered as he watched.
A cracking of branches caught his ear, then
a soft swishing and rubbing sound was audible,
as of pine-needles brushing against something.
Verbaux looked at the trees; they were motionless,
except that a big branch on a pine swayed
and trembled.
“Ha! dey loook for see!” and Jules crouched
low.
The branch shook; then the next one above
it trembled. Jules traced the spy working his
way quietly upward. Then against the fast-brightening
heavens a head appeared at the
top of the tree, black and sharp. For a moment
it was there motionless, then it disappeared;
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
the branches quivered again one by
one all the way down the pine. Jules ran
swiftly to the gate, unbarred it softly and
looked out. The shadows were still heavy
under the trees, and he could just see a figure
stealing away from the foot of the big pine; it
was lost at once in the sombre light. Verbaux
went out of the post, and hurried into the deep
timber.
It took him but an instant to pick up the
spy’s trail, and he hastened along it. Once or
twice the keen gray eyes caught glimpses of
the man ahead; Verbaux slowed up.
“Ah vant fin’ h’out, no catch!” he whispered
to himself. The figure before him travelled on
fast, never looking round, entirely unsuspicious.
Then it turned to the left, and Jules stopped.
He heard voices not far away, and went on
carefully. The light was strong now in the
woods, and he dodged warily from tree to tree
till he was close to the party. There were
about seventy men—Indians, half-breeds, and
voyageurs—all belonging to the Hudson Bay
Company.
“Bien, Ah see de poste!” said one of the
group.
“Le Pendu!” Jules whispered, “dat traître,
hein? Bon!”
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
The men all began talking at once, and he
could not understand anything he heard.
“Silence, mans!” an authoritative voice
spoke, and the crowd were still.
“Ve go dees midi h’at sun-’igh to feenesh
dat poste!”
“Bravo!” “Bon!” “Magnifique!” said the
rest.
Verbaux had heard enough; he turned back
and sped as fast as he could to the post.
It was breakfast-time when he reached it.
The morning breeze played with the smoke of
the fires, twisting it into long curves and spirals,
then wafting it away into the wilderness.
“Gregoire! Gregoire!” Jules called as he
went among the trappers.
“Ici; qu’est-ce?” answered he.
Verbaux told him what he had heard.
“Ah-h-h, at las’!” growled Gregoire, brutally.
“Ve show dose mans vat ve do, hein?”
Jules did not answer at once; then Morning
Star’s dream came to him, powerful and compelling.
He again saw the white wolf in
memory.
“Ve goin’ try!” he said in solemn tones.
“Bon! Ah go fin’ le facteur; toi tell to de
oddaires la bataille come maintenant!” Gregoire
said and ran off.
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
XVIII || FULFILMENT OF THE DREAM
.sp 2
Jules spread the news fast, and although a
tremendous hurrying and running about took
place, still everything was done in an orderly
way and with significant purpose. The roofs
of the buildings were quickly covered with
green wolf-hides as a protection against firebrands;
the women and children were placed
in the strongest log house; tepees were pulled
down and the poles thrust sharp end upward
against the stockade. The gates were double-barred
and braced, and big logs rolled against
them. The factor dealt out guns and ammunition,
also axes to the men. In an hour everything
was ready; many of the Frenchmen had
tied their bright handkerchiefs over their foreheads,
thrown off their mufflers, and rolled up
their shirt-sleeves, showing the weather-blackened
and muscle-knotted arms. The Indians
were quiet and grave, the white men joking
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
and laughing, some in earnest, a few to hide
their fear. The squaws wept and wailed in
unison in their strong house; their voices
sounding discordant and shrill, mingled with
the tearful screams of children. Then the
factor came among the defenders.
“Me lads, do the best ye can, and God forgie
us and them,” he said.
Then came the lull before the storm. Men
stationed as sentries on four sides of the stockade
stared at the forests through the little
spaces between the logs. Only muffled cryings
came from the women; the men, with their
guns, waited grimly for the attack.
Jules, a long, light axe in his hand, paced up
and down under the stockade, peering through
here and there.
The farthest sentry moved his hand in signal.
Jules ran to him and looked. Men were moving
rapidly among the tree trunks, but silently;
as Verbaux watched he saw them open out
like a fan and skirt the edge of the timber.
He turned to the others and laid his fingers on
his lips.
The attacking party came out into the clearing,
advancing step by step and listening. On
they came till they reached the stockade. Something
pressed against the gate; it creaked
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
lightly, a heavier shove made it groan, then
Gregoire’s rifle sounded loudly.
“Nor’ouest! Nor’ouest! Nor’ouest!”
shouted the defenders.
Outside the upright logs rifles crashed merrily,
their bullets whistling and sighing across
the yard. “Ah, diable!” screamed a Northwest
voyageur and fell, writhing, clutching at
his chest.
Outside and in the shouts and curses grew
and grew until the sound was gigantic.
Oaths, blasphemies, bitter curses, rang out
while the guns rattled on through the chinks
in the logs. The choking powder smoke burdened
the air; it hung close and suffocating in
the yard. A hand appeared on the top of the
stockade.
Cludd! and Gregoire’s axe severed four of
its fingers: they fell inside, and lay on the
snow waxen and bloody.
“Oh, Dieu! blessée!” groaned a huge trapper,
Eugenois by name; he staggered to and
fro, gasping for air, reeling weakly, then he fell
and lay still.
Little by little the flames of battle, of hate,
grew in Jules’s heart as he saw his friends
limping, falling about him.
Wild screams sounded from the squaws’
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
refuge; a bullet had found its way in and had
killed a child. The men’s fury redoubled. The
smoke settled lower and lower until figures
were only as shadows flitting through it, firing,
loading, and firing again from the yard and
building-tops. A loud crash resounded thickly,
and the splintering of wood; the big gates
were buckling under the impact of some strong
material. Crash! crackle! crack! The wood
bent, sagged, broke, and fell inward bit by
bit.
“Here, lads, for God’s sake stand ’em off;
think of yer squaws, me lads!”
The factor’s voice sounded true and strong
over the awful tumult. Trappers rushed to
him, working their rifles frantically, some
wounded, the bright red blood streaming from
arms, sides, and faces. Big Indians, stoic in
their pain, hard hit, fired regularly at the men
outside.
“Ha!” shouted a Canadian as he rolled off
the store roof to the ground below, striking it
with a thud.
“At ’em, lads; gie it to ’em!” screamed the
factor, seizing an axe and striking hard at a
face that showed over the wall. For a second
the growing gash showed livid and terrible,
then the head sank. Always and ever the rifles
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
outside and within the stockade spat tongues
of flame.
Incessantly their death missiles twanged and
shrilled, striking logs and living men. The
yells and agonised cries grew fiercer and more
wild; then “Le feu!” Verbaux shouted, as he
saw tongues of flame creeping, licking, leaping
over the logs of a shed. He tore off his shirt,
wrapped it about his hands, and beat at the
flames; they scorched and burned him, but he
beat on; others joined him, leaping at the
scarlet waves of fire, and together they put
them out and returned to the stockade. An
Indian near Verbaux dropped his rifle, swayed
a moment, and tumbled without a word.
“Hurrt bad?” shrieked Jules.
The black eyes looked into his, a spasm
crossed the strong face, and it was over.
From the trees themselves came a hail of
bullets, humming, pi-i-i-inging in the yard. A
hot thing passed through Jules’s forearm.
“Sacré-é-é-é!” he growled as he tied his
handkerchief above the wound, that dripped
blood steadily. It ached, it burned, it seared
his mind, this wound. He became savage
instead of defensive. Here and there forms
and faces tried to climb over the stockade.
“Çà toi!” Jules slashed powerfully at one
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
of them, and felt his axe bite deep; the handle
was nearly wrenched from his grasp as the
man fell, his head split to the chin, and the
hot red flow ran down the wooden handle and
covered Verbaux’s hand. “Bon!” he said to
himself, and watched for more.
“Crang! crash! bang! whi-i-i-i-ng! crack!
pang-pang-pang!” sounded the guns without
and within.
“I’m hit, lads!” the factor called, and
tumbled to the bloody ground.
Jules and Gregoire ran to him. The heart’s
flow ebbed in spurts from his chest.
“Keep it up, me lads; gie it to ’em! Don’t
gie up, Verbaux. I trust the post to ye, lad.
Good-b—” The brave man’s voice died away
in a deep sigh and he lay still.
In the midst of the turmoil, with death
passing them close each instant, the two pulled
off their caps and muttered a prayer.
“Come, den,” Gregoire said, “la mort for
touts!”
Everywhere men slashed and hacked wildly;
loaded and fired with blood fury, gnashing their
teeth and howling in frenzy. A big dog ran
round and round in a circle, biting at a wound
in his side and foaming at the mouth; in his
pain-blindness he fell against Gregoire; the
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
latter with one quick stroke of his axe severed
the suffering beast’s head, picked it up and
hurled it at the figures that tried desperately
to scale the stockade. Then firebrands began
dropping fast among and on the buildings;
here and there spouts of red showed that
they had caught. Verbaux put them out; he
climbed on the highest shed and stood there
with bullets moaning through the air, seeking
him, but he was not afraid, and stamped out
another blaze. He could see over the walls,
and counted many men in the attacking party;
several lay on the snow, some rolling and
twisting, others motionless. Still the wind
would not come, and the sullen powder fumes
hung like gray shrouds over everything, the
fighting, cursing forms rushing back and forth
through them like phantoms. Fifteen bodies
lay inert in the yard, trampled on by the
defenders; there was no time or chance to
carry them away.
A bullet breathed against Jules’s face, then
another and another passed close to his head.
He looked at the trees across the clearing;
jets of thick blue smoke came from the
green masses, opened out, then floated upward
grudgingly.
“En bas! En bas!” shrieked Gregoire at
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
him from below, and he leaped down into the
thick of the defence.
“By Dieu! Dey goin’ keel nous, by dam’!”
a trapper yelled, as he wiped powder grains
from his eyes with bloody hands.
Again the women broke into frantic cries
and came rushing out into the yard. Unnoticed,
the corner of their refuge had caught from
a brand, and half the structure was blazing
fiercely; flames leaped into the smoke-thickened
atmosphere, cleaving it with their forked tines,
and the heat was frightful. Higher and higher
the flames danced and played; the women
crouched by the store, the children, dumb with
fear, watched the horrible scene with set eyes.
A young squaw moaned pitifully and fell on
her side; the others chanted as they saw the
red coming from under the black hair. Jules
went to the wounded girl, but she was dead.
“For dat Ah keel, bon Dieu!” and Verbaux
cursed as he ran back to the others. “Mes
frères, ve go hout and keel!” he called
loudly, a strange note in the powerful voice.
Every man able to stand ran to him; with
quick strokes they cut the weakened gates
open and rushed out. A big Indian came at
Jules with reversed gun, trying to club him;
Verbaux parried the stroke, swung his axe
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
underhand and drove the steel into the other’s
legs; the man sank, and tried to crawl away
on his hands and knees; Gregoire saw him
and finished that life with a fearful blow on
the Indian’s skull. The Hudson Bay’s men
could not get into the yard; men fought hand
to hand and in groups. The curses and shouts
ceased somewhat; only gasps and hoarse grunts
could be heard above the roaring of the
burning house in the post. Some one made
a lunge at Verbaux with a knife; the keen
blade slit his shirt and scratched the skin;
before Jules could retaliate a Northwester
killed the man with the stock of his gun.
“Bon le Nor’ouest! Bon! Bien fait!”
Jules shouted as he saw that his men were
slowly forcing the others back to the edge of
the timber. He gripped his axe with both
hands and leaped into the hardest of the fight,
pounding and slicing. Little by little the
enemy were driven off.
“Los’! Sauf you’self dat can!” screamed a
voice.
With one thought, what was left of the
attacking party turned and fled, running through
the trees.
“Non! Non!” Jules yelled at those of his
men who started to pursue. “Put h’out de fir’!”
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
The men tore into the yard, and despite the
heat and glare they pulled down the burning
building and stopped the advance of the conflagration
on other sheds that had caught.
The reeking smoke lifted and rolled away
slowly, and the afternoon sun shone clear on
the scene.
No one spoke; disfigured bodies, some
scorched and blackened, others twisted in inconceivable
shapes, were all over the yard. The
smell of clotting blood tainted the air; low
cryings and monotonous chants sounded as the
women rocked to and fro over their dead.
Broken rifles and dismantled axe-heads were
scattered about; quantities of gun-waddings
were everywhere. The logs showed little
black-rimmed holes where the unsuccessful lead
had buried itself in the wood. Nearly all the
trappers were tying up wounds, grumbling and
swearing. The smell of burnt wood and cloth
came strongly from the ruined shed, where
nothing but charred logs and twining smoke
was left. Jules went the rounds and took
account. Nineteen dead, thirteen wounded,
some badly.
“Ah t’ink dat dose man no come back ici
ver’ immédiatement,” he said.
Then came the work of clearing up. In
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
two hours the dead were heaped by the gate
to be taken out for burial, the tepees reset,
fires started, and the badly hurt stretched as
comfortably as possible in the back of the
store. The widowed squaws sat by the heap of
inanimate forms, their heads dishevelled, dresses
torn and awry; they wept and sobbed as they
kept up their ceaseless rocking.
Evening came; the shadows lengthened and
blackened shade by shade. Verbaux sat by
the fire with Gregoire, Charles Chartier,
Jacques Pelisse, Jean Fainéant, Josèphe Hebert,
Batiste Lafarge, and Morning Star. They ate
their supper silently. Verbaux’s arm bothered
him; it throbbed and pulsated painfully, and he
moved it to and fro, as the motion alleviated
the aching. The chief lighted his long pipe
and passed it gravely to Jules, who puffed on it
a few times and handed it back. Then Morning
Star spoke:
“Ah-ta-tah-ke-bou-tis-in [Big man of the
fight], the great Manitou is pleased. What are
your orders?” The others looked at Jules
curiously. Verbaux sat thinking, pondering,
when one of the sentries came up hurriedly.
“Somme vone dey comme h’alon’!” he said.
As he spoke a rapping was heard on the reinforced
gates.
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
“Laissez entre!” Jules said.
A small Canadian ran in, panting. He
stopped when he saw the dead piled near the
gate, and his eyes widened at the sight of the
burned building and the bandaged men.
“Ah comme so queeck Ah can for to tell dat
you goin’ be h’attack h’aga’n von taime dam’
ver’ soon; Ah see vone hunder’ mans yes’day
by Lac Plat. Ah sneeek an’ leesten; dey say
dey comme ici!” He sat down wearily; a
long silence ensued; every one looked at
Jules. Morning Star puffed on stoically.
The faint night breeze swung the smoke
here and there, wafting it across the men’s
faces, that shone ruddy in the light. The lulling
death-song of the squaws floated on the wind;
the sniffing and querulous bickerings of the
dogs came harshly on the night stillness.
Bright spark-eyes from the coals hastened to
their end in the cooling atmosphere, and beyond
in the deep timber the trees sighed and their
branches rubbed sibilantly together. Verbaux
was silent; the rest waited.
“Étoile du Matin, vat you say to dees?”
he asked, in a few minutes.
Morning Star rose, and looking at the heavens
that sparkled with the diamond lights of the
stars, he answered in a sing-song voice:
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
“Ah-ta-tah-ke-bou-tis-in, your words are
heard by the Manitou; you ask, he answers
through me: do as you would do for the best”;
and Morning Star relapsed into silence again
and smoked on.
Then sharply over the soothing quiet sounded
the yelping bark of a fox. Once, twice, thrice,
the piercing note thrilled and echoed, then
quiet, with its suggestiveness of peace, fell over
everything.
And Verbaux thought deeply: on one hand,
his heart’s desire and his cravings; on the
other, his duty as he saw it. “Ah t’ink dat
h’all mus’ go ’way, partir, f’om dees place;
dere ees no de facteur, ve can no stand h’off
autre h’attack; Ah no desire stay ici; an’ Ah
say, den, dat to-mor’, v’en de sonne comme
h’ovaire de tree, dat ve brûler dis poste, dat
vous h’all go, partez, to Maison du Lac, an’
dat moi, Ah go to Reliance!”
Morning Star nodded, the others grunted
their approval and betook themselves to sleep
and rest. So did Verbaux, and nothing moved
in the post but the four sentries that paced
silently up and down, across, and between the
log openings.
The night was dark and the air damp and
still; at daylight snow fell swiftly; the cold
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
white bits massed themselves on everything;
shapes grew, becoming distorted and vague.
The soft murmuring of the trees as they bowed
to and fro in the light wind came faintly
through the screens of white; like veils of
down, the big flakes floated to the earth, silently
and relentlessly. The sentries gathered together,
and their guttural whisperings sounded thick
and muffled on the heavy air; one lighted his
pipe, and the faint glow of the match showed
the four faces close together, and cast thin
shadows behind their ears. Up and down, up
and down they paced again, their figures moving
by unseen motion in the dim half-morning
light. The smell of burnt wood was blown
about by the eddying draft that moved within
the walls, seeking its way out. Then from
somewhere floated a cry—an unknown, indescribable
tone that vibrated, thrilled a moment,
and died away.
“Qu’est-ce?” asked one of the Indians. No
answer: the others were listening. Only the
snow silence could be heard; the minute settling
of the flakes on the logs, the drifting of
the heavier ones against the buildings, was
audible; beyond these nothing was felt but the
peace of the coming of day, that hour when
everything is truly still, when man sleeps the
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
heaviest, when animals are about to wake, but
have not moved from their night’s bed. The
sentries watched from their loopholes and saw
the light come stronger and stronger; saw the
outlines of the clearing define themselves; saw
the branches of the trees stand out clearer and
clearer from the mass and become separate;
saw them bending farther and farther with
their load of white, and finally could see
through the dull gloom of the forest trunks,
and discern the stillness of everything. The
atmosphere changed suddenly; it became steel-like
in its sting of cold. The falling snow was
harder and the wind increased, blowing it into
the men’s faces in biting myriads. The light
was chilling and gray; comfortless and repellent.
For a fleeting instant one yellow ray
of the coming sun forced itself athwart the
pallid heavens, then it was gone and all was
bleak and stern again.
A fire was lighted by a tepee; voices came
and went; then more fires shone uncertainly
through the changing, ever-falling white, and
the post was awake. Dull and lifeless seemed
the inhabitants as they moved hither and
thither solemnly. For were they not to leave
their homes to-day and go into the Unknown
of the wilderness? Breakfasts were eaten in
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
quiet; the flames that boiled the tea and cooked
the meal alone gave life to the cheerless scene.
And afterward came the tearing down of homes,
the packing of necessities and little family treasures,
the gathering of all outside the stockade.
Jules had arranged everything, and now he
went, firebrand in hand, from building to shed
and building, setting them all ablaze. As the
lurid fires shot skyward he took off his fur cap
and muttered “Adieu!” with the rest. “Dieu
soit veet’ you h’all!” he said then, and gravely
watched the trappers and their families as they
disappeared, with the wounded on the dog-teams,
into the dense timber-land beyond. He
listened for their voices, and a feeling of loneliness,
of longing for some one, came over him
with unpitying force. The buildings burned
with roars and crashings, and the billows of
sparks were lifted up and carried far into the
snow air. And still he watched, fascinated:
shed by shed, log house by log house, the post
caught, flared, and fell before him. At last the
stockade caught the conflagration, and rings of
fire crept slowly round it; and then it was all
gone but heaps of smouldering ashes.
“Adieu encore,” Jules said as he swung
about and went off under the thick trees, his
snow-shoes sounding dully as he strode along.
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch19
XIX || THE AWAKENING OF THE GREAT HEART
.sp 2
On and on through the dense forests he
went, straight, unswerving, to the southward.
Hours passed as he traversed the black depths,
then more hours came and went as he hurried
over long miles of barrens. The winter darkness
brightened, and the light of another day
grew and shone cold-coloured on the face of
the northern solitudes. Many times Jules saw
wolves, now running before him, then sneaking
cowardly on his trail, and yowling with notes
of hunger in their deep voices. He crossed
trails of the musk-ox, that shy inhabitant of
the far North that shuns the slightest suspicion
of a human being. Foxes scuttled away as he
advanced, and the white ptarmigan whirred
with boisterous wings from his course. He
saw traces of the grizzly bear, and sighed as
he thought of the thick warm skins of these
monsters that he once had had as his own,
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
Each night of his travel he built a little fire,
ate, then slept beside it, and the next day sped
on. Sometimes the whirling snow would wrap
itself about him caressingly, but with the fierce
grasp of the cold in it; again all would be still—no
wind, nothing but the sound of his own
steps to break the insolvable, inscrutable stillness
of everything. He followed frozen rivers,
crossed the shapes of lakes, solid and deep
with snow, went over mountains, climbing
slowly up their steep, slippery sides and airily
coasting down beyond on his wide snow-shoes.
He watched for human tracks, but saw none.
Day after day his eyes scanned the interminable
distances, and roved over the desolate
barren scenes and solemn depths of the forests.
Then one evening, just as the northern lights
began their fantastic contortions and shiftings,
he reached Poste Reliance. The faint reflections
of many fires shone glowingly over the
top of the walls, and Jules’s heart was glad as
he went in the gate. “Marie!” he whispered
softly, looking about him.
There was a crowd around a tepee; they sat
there talking in low tones, and he joined them.
They looked up, hearing his steps.
“Verbaux, par Dieu!” said a voice. Instantly
he was surrounded by the men.
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
“Le Pendu!” Jules said. “Vat you do ici
h’at Nor’ouest Compagnie?”
“Nor’ouest? Dat bon! Nor’ouest! Ha,
ha, ha!” and the crowd roared with laughter.
Jules tried to withdraw, but everywhere were
ugly looks and strong bodies in his way.
“Vat ees?” he asked.
No one answered, and he stood there, towering
over the other figures, his eyes searching
for a friendly face; then Pendu spoke coarsely:
“Dees place ees Hodson Baie maintenant!
Ve le capture four day’ gon’; you aire prisonnier,
Jules Verbaux!”
With a bound Jules forced his way clear of
the men, but they fell on him, seized his hands,
his arms, his ankles, his body, and bore him to
the ground, helpless. He knew that it was
useless to fight against such odds, and lay still.
They brought thongs and bound him securely,
then rolled him to the firelight.
“Ah-ha! mon vieux, dis taime you aire no
h’at liberté, by gar! Vous autres,” Le Pendu
shouted to the crowd that had increased about
the fallen man, “her’ ees Jules Verbaux, le
beeg mans du Nor’ouest, tie’ han’ an’ pied; ve
goin’ have du plaisir avec heem?”
“C’est ça!” “Dat feen!” “Bon!” shouted
they; and Le Pendu turned to Jules.
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
“You goin’ tell to us vat ’appen’ h’at Lac
la Pluie?” Verbaux was silent. The fury of
unfair means controlled him and he was sullen.
“You no tell? Bien, le feu!” said Le
Pendu.
Red-hot brands were drawn from the fire by
some of the crowd; with them they closed in on
Le Pendu and his prisoner.
“What ye do, min?”
A strong voice sounded above the curses
and growls as Hudson Bay Factor Donalds
kicked and elbowed his way through the
crowd.
They fell back respectfully, and the factor
saw the bound form lying near the fire.
“Who aire ye?” he asked Jules.
No answer. Then Le Pendu interrupted
eagerly.
“M’sie’u le Facteur, dat homme ees Jules
Verbaux, du Nor’ouest Compagnie. Ah see
heem vonce t’ree mont’ gon’; he say den dat
he no mak’ fight avec nous; to-night he come
ici an’ he t’ink dat dees place encore Nor’ouest
Compagnie. Ve h’all h’ask heem du Lac la
Pluie; he no tell; ve mak’ le feu, den, for heem.
Dat bon, hein?”
The factor knelt and severed Jules’s bonds
with his own knife for answer, while the rest
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
stood aghast and Le Pendu fell back step by
step, muttering angrily.
“Ye aire Verbaux?” the Scotchman asked
then.
“Oui, M’sieu’ le Facteur,” Verbaux answered
as he rose to his feet.
“Thrree min bring him to the store,” the
factor said, and went away.
The sheen of the flames was on the angry
faces that threatened with black looks and
growlings; three big Indians stepped forward
and fell in beside Jules. One hit him on the
back with his fist; like lightning Verbaux
turned to retaliate, but he restrained himself
and walked ahead quietly between his guards.
They led him to the store, showed him up the
steps and in the low door; four candles flared
uncertainly by a table at which the factor and
another stranger sat.
“Get out!” the factor ordered, and the
Indians disappeared.
“Weel, Verbaux! we have ye mon nou!
What d’ ye say is to be doune wid ye?”
Jules was silent; in his brain was the
thought, the wild fear, for Marie and Le
Grand.
“Speak oop, mon, speak oop!” the stranger
said harshly, and Verbaux turned to him.
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
“Ah comme ici loook for ma wife an’ ma
fr’en’; Ah tin’k dat dees poste ees to Nor’ouest,”
he said.
The two men chuckled. “So she war, lad,
so she war, tull four days ago; thin the Hudson
Coompany tookit posseesion,” the factor
grunted.
Jules stepped backward and leaned against
the log wall, tumultuous and furious thoughts
passing in whirlwinds through his mind.
“Den ma wife and ma fr’en’?” he asked
huskily.
“Don’t know who they may be, but the place
was gien oop tae us quiet-like; there was nae
fecht; them that wanted to leave I let gang, an’
mony deed go, bad luck to ’em!”
A cold grip of despair came over Jules and
he staggered. “Parti! Parti!” he whispered
dully.
“Now, Verbaux, ye can bide here, an’ hount
for us, or I wull hae to keel ye, mon!”
“Nevaire Ah mak’ la chasse for you; Ah
mus’ go. Oh, bon Dieu!” and Jules shook in
his pain.
“Aweel, mon, me bruither was to Posht
Fearless, an’ he told me ab’ut ye. Now look
here, lad: gie me yere promeese to stay an’
not try to jump yere work an’ I’ll let ye go
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
free to hount for us, an’ tell us whut ye knaw.
Coome, what d’ ye say?” the factor asked, and
waited.
“Non! Jamais, par Dieu!” Jules shouted
fiercely at him. “V’ere ees ma femme an’ Le
Grand? Ah mus’ go ce soir!”
“It aire too bad, me lad, thut ye’re no opin
to sic a chaince. Aweel, God ha’ maircy on
yere soule!” He whistled sharply as he
finished, and the store was suddenly filled with
Indians.
“Take him awa’ and look after him till sun-oop,
thin shoot him!” the factor ordered, and
Jules was buffeted and hustled out of the store.
The guards goaded and insulted him; they tied
him hand and foot and pushed him headlong
into an empty tepee, without blankets or food,
and left him there, powerless.
He lay on his back and unconsciously listened
to the heavy, gruff voices whose hoarse
murmur penetrated to him from the fireside
beyond. Then a tremor of rage thrilled him;
the powerful muscles twisted and bulged, but
the fastenings held and the thongs cut into the
skin. Jules gave up and was still, while fears
and hopes for Her crossed and recrossed in his
brain. “V’ere dey go? Par où dey gon’?” he
whispered to himself time and again. The
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
restrained circulation in his arms and legs
pained, and thumped audibly, it seemed to him;
his hands had lost their feeling and were
growing cold. Time dragged slowly on; all
had become silent in the post, when some one
came into the tepee and stood in the darkness,
chuckling.
“Le Pendu,” Jules thought, but said nothing.
“Eh, tu!” his visitor said, pushing him with
his foot. No answer. The Indian kicked
Verbaux hard. “Wak’ hup, cochon, beas’!”
he growled.
Jules’s anger seethed, but he gave no sign of
it. “Vat tu vant?” he asked.
“Notting,” the other answered. “Ah comme
for to tell dat cette vomans an’ l’Indien be los’
certainement; dey gone au nord, loook for toi,
an’—ha, ha! c’est drôle—you den comme here!
Bien, c’est bon comme ça; Ah tol’ to you dat
you mus’ be au Hodson Baie Compagnie, hein?”
“Oui.” Jules spoke quietly, resolved not to
let his tormentor know of his sufferings.
“You be keel dans le matin, an’ Ah goin’
shoot toi, Verbaux; den mabbe Ah go fin’ dat
femme?” he laughed and stepped nearer to Jules.
The latter heard the Indian close to his feet,
though he could not see him, and raising his
tied legs, he shot them forward viciously with a
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
straight hip thrust and caught the other in the
stomach.
“Dam’ toi to l’enfer!” Le Pendu coughed
as he lurched out of the tepee. “Ah feex toi
for dat!” and he swore fiercely.
Jules heard him move away, coughing hard,
and was satisfied. “Ah geeve heem good
keeck!” and he felt more comfortable. Then,
“Los’, bon Dieu? Non! not los’! Marie! Marie!
eef Ah could onlee fin’ toi an’ Le Grand,
eef Ah could seulement see you vonce h’aga’n
an’ tell to vous dat—Ah, non! no encore; not
so, Marie; mais Ah vant see toi—an’ eet ees
feenesh dis taime!” He spoke aloud and his
voice trembled. He rolled over on his stomach,
rested his chin on the hard, lumpy ground; the
change of position lightened the strain of the
bindings and he slept.
Day had just broken across the high skies
when they woke him, severed his feet-thongs,
and led him out into the yard. It was bitterly
cold, and tears of chill welled in the corners of
Jules’s eyes as his guards stood him by one of
the log houses, facing the east.
He looked at the heavens, over which swung
veils of different colours that changed continually.
The yard was crowded with Indians and trappers;
they were silent, in a semicircle, their
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
blankets fluttering slightly in the wind of the
dawn that blew across between the buildings.
Five of them, grouped together in front of him,
had guns. Everything was still, and Jules
thought of his lonely, free life that he loved. He
looked passionately on the forests that showed
black and uneven beyond the post walls, and
his keener senses felt the glorious, fierce winds
that swept the wastes. He saw, not his executioners,
not the death-hungry crowd, not the
stiff houses, but the white country, and far away
a hut that stood desolate between two giant
pines; he saw the child’s cap, and then a form,
a slight figure, stood before his dream-eyes;
beside it a strong face, with long black hair
about it, looked at him, and Le Grand’s voice
came to his dream-ears. “Ah, Dieu!” he
whispered, and knelt there in the snow with
bowed head. The crowd shuffled uneasily, then
one by one they took off their caps, all but Le
Pendu, who held a gun and grunted contemptuously.
Slowly the dark vaults above lightened
and faint yellow beams stole, far-reaching, over
the dark spruce.
“Bénissez, vous bon Dieu, ma femme et
mon ami, si c’est votre volonté dat Ah die
ains’. B’en, c’est fini!” He stood up and
faced the east again.
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
A candle-lantern approached, and the factor
came into the circle. “Aire ye ready, me
lads?” he asked.
“Mm-hm!” answered Le Pendu; no one
else spoke.
“Verbaux!”—the chief turned to Jules—“I’ll
gie ye a chaince mair, mon, for ye life,
If ye’ll gie me yere worrd o’ hanair not to gang
awa’, an’ to bide here an’ trap for me, I’ll let
ye go. Me bruither, God rest his soule! told
me of ye, an’ said ye cud be truisted when ye
promeesed.”
Jules straightened up proudly. “Ah’m no
h’afraid of la mort, M’sieu’ le Facteur, an’ Jules
Verbaux he no can be forcé to do vat he no
vant to do!” he answered.
The Scotchman shook his head slowly.
“I’m vera sorry,” he said, stepping back; he
nodded to the shooting squad. They moved
forward, cocking their guns, then stopped. A
picture of a woman, alone, destitute, maybe
hounded by an Indian; the reflection of a
rugged face, of a strong form now bent of
wounds, yet doing what he could for his sake,
passed rapidly before Jules; then came the
thought of the child: this was its mother after
all. The craving to see Marie again some time,
to find her, the heart’s cry for her, was too
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
strong, and won at last. The deep voice spoke
hoarsely.
“Ah geeve ma promesse, M’sieu’ Le Facteur,”
Jules said.
A long sigh came from the men; Le Pendu
cursed under his breath.
“I’m glad, Verbaux! Cut him loose,” and
the factor went away.
Some one parted his wrist-thongs and Verbaux
was free, alone in the yard; from beyond
a tepee Le Pendu shook his fist at him and
disappeared.
Jules went to the gates and walked out to
the edge of the dark woods. The smell of the
trees drove him to madness, and he caressed
the rough bark of a tall hemlock. “Ah go fas’,
dey no catch me!” he thought, and looked
back. Nothing stirred at the post; the gray
light made shapes dimly visible. “Non! Jules
he geeve hees promesse, he no can go,” he
whispered, and went into the yard again. He
felt friendless and alone; nowhere to go, no one
to speak to, no one to say a kind word to Her,
or tell him of Her.
Hesitatingly he wandered to his prison tepee
and threw himself on the cold earth. At first
he regretted his weakness, then he condoned it
with thoughts of Marie. “Somme taime Ah
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
fin’ dat fille, eef Le Grand he ees h’alive an’ stay
veet’ her’ an’ Ah know dat he do dat!” Then
he resigned himself to the situation, and stepped
gravely out among the fires that crackled cheerily
for the morning meals at Hudson Bay
Company’s Poste Reliance.
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch20
XX || THE QUEST
.sp 2
There were but few squaws to be seen.
“Dey no arriver encore,” Jules muttered.
The voyageurs nodded to him in a friendly way;
the Indians seemed not to notice his presence,
and Le Pendu scowled openly. Verbaux approached
one of the fires where French-Canadians
breakfasted, and they made room for
him to sit. One of them offered Jules his
pannikin and plate and motioned toward the
food—a caribou-stew that simmered in an iron
pot and gave off appetising vapours. Verbaux
ate silently; no one spoke to him, and he did
not feel the necessity of speech. His meal finished,
he went to the factor’s house and asked
for orders; and as he stood listening to what
the factor said, his eyes wandered longingly
through the forest tops, and focused themselves
on a white strip of barren that was the horizon,
many miles beyond the trees.
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
“I’ll gie ye dogs, sledge, food, an’ blankit
to start wi’; ye’ll sattle wi’ yere fierst lot o’
skin!”
The old prison tepee was given him as his
home; five mangy brutes were turned over to
his care as his team; a medium-light sledge,
two thin blankets, some tea and pemmican
completed his indebtedness to the Hudson Bay
Company. He smiled a trifle bitterly when the
factor concluded his orders by “Do yere worrk
weel, mon, an’ ye’ll be recht; eef ye don’t I’ll
make ye that feine ye canna be sweeped!” and
the throb for freedom and Her came over him
hard, but he answered quietly enough, “Oui,
M’sieu’ le Facteur,” then turned away, leading
the scrawny dogs and dragging the sledge and
outfit.
All day he worked steadily, patching up the
rotten skins of his tepee, and bringing boughs
for his bed. He made his own fire, ate alone,
and lived apart from the other inhabitants of
the post. When night came again his home
was comfortable and warm, and he slept with
the prayer for Marie on his lips.
Long before any one was awake the next
morning he started off, taking all his food and
his blankets. He travelled as fast as his dogs
could go until evening, then built a temporary
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
camp at the edge of the open country. He
fastened the team after supper, put on his
snow-shoes, and crossed out from under the
black timber to the barrens. A light breeze
was blowing and Jules inhaled great lungsful
of its strength. The cold stars glittered above
him, and the crust crackled sharply under his
weight. In the centre of the space he stopped.
Behind and beyond showed the skirts of the
woods, like black cords drawn about a white
sheet. Shooting comets trailed and flashed
athwart the studded heavens, and he wondered
whence they came and whither they went.
There was no sound but that of the icy myriads
as they moved along over the crust, impelled
by the breeze.
“Eef Ah onlee could go an’ loook! Eef Ah
could go—have liberté vonce h’aga’n!” and
Jules sighed. “Dat no possible; somme taime
Ah get ’way, tell le facteur dat Ah go, an’ den
go queeck—somme taime, mabbe!” He retraced
his way slowly, lingering over each step
that took him toward the things that belonged
to the Company. The dark line heightened as
he went, and when he reached the woods again
he could see the shifting reflection of his fire.
He came to the bough camp, wrapped himself
in his blankets, and passed into the unconsciousness
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
of sleep while the darkness hung
on, then little by little gave way to the irresistible
power of another sun.
This day Jules set forty traps, and in four
days had twenty marten, nineteen sable, three
fox (one gray), six wolverine, five lynx, and
a beaver (that he killed on a neighbouring
pond).
The fifth day he set out for the post again.
A strong northerly storm was on, and the sleet
dashed against him with dizzying strength as
he slowly forced his way against it. He broke
the trail, and the dogs followed on his heels,
whining and shivering, their long hair clustered
with white and their tails dragging heavily.
The wind sang riotously in Jules’s ears, and
their inner rims were covered with the blowing
drift; the hair in his nose froze solid, and
prickled as he breathed; and the gusts found
their way inside the thick muffler and chilled
his body. But he loved it, and fought his way
steadily to Reliance.
A few trappers were in the open when
Verbaux entered the yard, and they grunted
surprisedly as they saw the tall, gaunt figure
leading the team and sledge.
“’ave success?” asked one.
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
Jules nodded and went to his tepee, fed the
dogs, gathered up his skins, and sought the
factor.
“Voilà! Dat h’anough for you?” he asked.
“Aye, that’s guid!” the Scotchman answered,
and counted the pelts. “That’s guid, mon,” he
repeated, but Verbaux had gone out of the store.
Jules passed close to Le Pendu’s camp on
the way to his own, and he stopped suddenly.
Lying at one side were Le Pendu’s snow-shoes,
and it was their remarkable and unpleasantly
familiar shape that caught Jules’s attention;
they were long and narrow, turning up at the
toe and heel, with thin lacings.
“Ah rememb’ maintenant! Dat le track Ah
see long ’go’ par dat femme mort près de Lac
la Pluie!” he muttered, and went on.
The winter days, weeks, and months rolled
sluggishly by. Verbaux kept to his promise
and worked faithfully and hard. To be sure,
he got good pay for his skins from the factor,
and this he saved carefully. He had brought
his dogs to perfect form and they held the
reputation of being the fastest team on the
post. The Indians had grown to like Jules,
while the voyageurs were outspoken in their
admiration for his great skill in the forests,
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
and for his wonderful sagacity and cunning
in setting traps. His luck had been phenomenal
up to the close of the season, and represented
a good share of the entire take of the
post. Le Pendu was always ugly, but Jules
laughed in his face and snapped his fingers
at him.
Five long months had passed since he had
given his word to stay with Factor Donalds.
The snows had all gone; in their place the
spring gray-green of the barren tundra showed,
suggestive of hot suns and warm skies. In the
forests the undergrowth was thick, and bright,
tender leaves appeared from day to day. The
birches spread their budding limbs hungrily to
the southern winds that came caressingly from
warmer climes, and the winter masses shrivelled
on their trunks and died. The ice had melted
from the lakes and rivers, and their cold
waters shone dancingly in the lengthening
days. Snow-shoes were laid away, and in their
stead graceful bark canoes lay daintily on the
beach before the post at the lake edge. The
dogs strolled lazily about, their work finished
for some months. And still Jules remained.
One night he pushed a canoe from the shore,
and leaping in sent it flying over the calm
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
waters with long, sweeping strokes of his paddle.
Some distance out he ceased paddling and
drifted. The darkness was warm, the night air
laden with the odours of the fresh things of early
summer; the still waters mirrored the tiny
bright lamps of the heavens, and as he watched
and lived in the silence of the waters a gleaming
crescent lifted its horns above the trees and cast
long, glancing rays across the lake. Jules was
kneeling in the canoe, resting his hands on the
paddle, that lay athwart the craft.
“La lune, by gar she mak’ bon signe!” he
said aloud as he noted that both tips of the new
moon pointed strongly upward. Higher and
higher it rose; the shining dew on his tanned
shirt shone gray and the little drops of moisture
on his cap gleamed in the blue-white sheen.
The light swirls of trout as they rose to the
surface here and there broke the silence; from
far beyond in the marshes came the solitary
qu-a-a-ck of a duck; the hoarse croaking of a
heron sounded faintly; then the dull, booming
calls of the marsh bittern floated up out of a
distant valley stream.
“Ah mus’ go to-mor’,” Verbaux decided as
he listened to these sounds of the summer wilderness;
the heartache to find Marie overpowered
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
him. He paddled slowly back, dipping
the blade lightly into the dark waters; the
soft lap of the little wave at the bow of the
canoe sounded like liquid music to his ears, and
he sighed as it ceased and changed to the
harsh, sandy grating of land. He lifted the
light craft, carried it on shore and turned it
over, then he went to the tepee and lay down
to sleep. “For de las’ taime,” he promised
himself as he felt nature’s unconsciousness approaching.
The hard patter of rain on the skins woke
him, and he got up and looked out. The
heavens were dark and lowering, and the rain
poured in thin sheets from the low-hanging
clouds; it coursed in streamlets from the roofs
of the buildings and twisted its way out under
the stockade, furrowing deeper as he watched
it. The roar of the falling drops in the forest
came to him murmuringly. A heavy fog spread
across the big lake, motionless and thick; the
air was tinged with warmth. Jules made his
preparations to go: he tied up his blankets,
putting his food, tea, and the clothes he had
made between them. Then he ate a cold
breakfast and went out in the wet to the factor’s
house.
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
The Scotchman listened to Verbaux’s frank
admission of his intended departure, then he
laughed.
“Na, na, ye’ll no be gangin’ awhile yit.
I want ye to bide and wait for the big
brigade that’ll coom now damn soon,” he
answered.
“Ah tak’ back ma promesse!” Jules said,
shrugging his shoulders as he left; but the
factor only laughed again incredulously.
Verbaux waited all day in his tepee; he
called his dogs and caressed them for the last
time. In the afternoon the rain ceased and
only the drip, drip from the soaking roofs remained
of the earlier splashing fall. The
trappers and Indians were in their tepees, some
asleep, others talking, their voices sounding
muffled and dead in the damp air.
Jules listened; no one moved. He took up
his meagre load, left the tepee, crossed the
yard, and went out of the gate unnoticed. His
team leader trotted up to him, and Verbaux
patted the big shaggy head kindly. The dark
mist rolled upon the bank and enshrouded the
trees; Jules disappeared into it, and soon a
light scratching sound was audible, then an
instant’s gurgle of disturbed water. That
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
slight sound was heard by a figure that appeared
dimly on the bank. It listened, then
ran back to the post and hurried to Jules’s
tepee, glanced in, saw that it was stripped of
everything, and rushed, calling loudly, to the
Store.
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch21
XXI || ON THE HEIGHTS
.sp 2
Verbaux put his bundle in the canoe and
carried it to the water; he stepped in, shoved
off into the dense opaqueness, and paddled
away to the south-east, and had gone but a
short distance when he heard shouts and cries
in the direction of the post. The sounds
penetrated eerily to him, and seemed first
behind, then to one side; a gun-shot vibrated
softly, the harsh edges of the sound smoothed
off by the motionless, lifeless fog. Jules smiled
grimly, laid his paddle across his knees while
he unfastened his shirt at the neck, turned up
the loose sleeves, and laid his cap on the
bottom of the canoe; then he knelt and braced
himself strongly with his knees, grasped the
paddle firmly in his big hands, and listened.
In a minute he heard the faint rolling of
shingle as canoes were pushed rapidly over it.
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
He thrust the paddle deep into the water and
swung the canoe sharply to the right, and then
worked noiselessly along. The thick atmosphere
was cleft by the bow and rolled visibly
to either side as his little craft cut through it
rapidly; he swung to the right again and
backed water when he saw the trees looming
up a few yards ahead. Then he drifted. Not
far along the shore he could hear the fast-fading
thumps of hastily wielded paddles, and
the advices shouted to his pursuers. He heard
the factor’s strident tones cursing and growling,
and he chuckled when the sounds of the canoes
had gone and the voices went back to the
post.
Then with silent, revolving strokes of the
long paddle he left the murky shadows of the
trees and moved in stillness out on the lake;
little eddying bubbles showed his track over the
calm surface. Soon he increased the speed of
the canoe, and long threads of wavelets parted
and fell away from the bow with liquid whisperings.
“Ha! dey aire là-bas!” he muttered as his
keen senses caught the distant clu-u-ck thump
of the paddles. He stopped to listen.
“Ki-mi-na-hon an-ootch-kee-je-gak. Pen-du-u-u?
[You kill to-day, Pendu?]”
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
Jules heard the words plainly, and they
seemed magnified by the wet denseness.
“Ah-ha!” answered a voice from somewhere
to the left. Nothing then but the regular
sounds of paddles again, going on.
“Dees bon!” Verbaux thought, and kept
on, paddling quietly and keeping within sound
of those ahead. Two hours passed, and then
the far-off roaring of rapids penetrated the gray
atmosphere; Jules lost the canoes ahead and
slowed up, drifting with the light wind that was
coming from the north. Nearer and nearer
sounded the quick water of the thoroughfare
between Lac des Rochers and the dead water
of Rivière du Renard.
“Ah go for dat an’ mabbe have bonne chance
an’ passer dose hoddaires!” he decided, and
paddled fast. In a few minutes he felt the
strength of the current, and he stood up in the
canoe as the turmoil of water rushing over
rocks and bars sounded straight ahead. The
north wind increased and the fog began to lift;
he was on the edge of the rapids; white water
gleamed here and there, but Verbaux guided
his craft with powerful strokes of his blade,
now to the right, then to the left, among the
jutting reefs and shifting sand ledges. The
crest of a furling water shoulder broke on the
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
gunwales, half filling the little craft, but Jules
laughed softly when he glided safe beyond the
wet jaws of the rapids, into the flat calm of
the next lake. He shoved ashore, drew his
canoe under the thickets, and watched.
Gradually the thick mist rose and disappeared,
and he could see everywhere. The falling
sun shone warm over the blue-green expanse;
beyond, the forests were gently moving and
the tiny wind ripples hurried along, rolling to
the shore, where they broke and lapped the
pebbles with a monotonous tinkling.
Voices came to him sharply, and from the
mouth of the thoroughfare came five canoes.
They drifted out in front of him.
“By sacré-é-é-é! Ah hear somme t’ing go
pas’ v’en ve vatch’ au commencement du
rapide!” the single occupant of a canoe growled
as he looked searchingly about the shores and
out on the watery distance. The other men
laughed, and Jules smiled. He waited motionless
under his green protection, while the canoes
sidled aimlessly along with the light wind.
The birch leaves quivered and rubbed against
one another; a little brown bird lighted on a
twig at his feet, cocked its head on one side,
and the black eyes peered merrily at him.
Satisfied with its examination, the little inhabitant
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
of the forest fluttered, cheeping, into a
bush, and sat in its nest.
Jules heard voices again; he crouched at
the water’s edge and looked out along the
rippling surface: the canoes were coming back
in single file, passing close along the bushes.
He crept away from the water and lay flat
behind a heap of last year’s leaves. He could
see the lake fringe plainly; soon the bow of
the first canoe came within range of his eyes;
it moved evenly and steadily, then Le Pendu’s
figure, kneeling in the stern and paddling
silently, showed dark. Jules could see him
watching, first the mouth of the stream, then
the woods. Le Pendu passed and the other
four, and they were gone noiselessly. Verbaux
kept still for some time. The sun set rayonning
in the west, while the purples and gold of its
good-night intensified, then paled and melted
away. The little wind, too, sank, and the
summer twilight was soft and mysterious; the
twinkling points of night appeared one by
one, and the moon gleamed in its blue-white
strength.
“Ah go, mabbe!” Jules whispered to himself,
and cautiously worked his way to the
canoe. He reached it and listened: the tiny
noises of the night, the shrill bzzzing of mosquitoes,
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
the distant murmur of the fast water,
were all that broke the lonely silence. With
a heave and a few quick steps Jules slid his
little canoe in the black waters, sat himself
quietly on its ribbed bottom, and started to
push out from the shadows of the trees. A
long black something appeared out in front of
him, moving very slowly. A branch caught
on the thwart of his canoe, it grated, creaked a
little, then snapped back, swishing. Jules sat
still, his paddle holding the bottom. The
something beyond stopped its motion; then it
swung inshore and came toward him without a
sound.
“Maintenant mak’ fight!” Jules thought,
and felt under his shirt for his knife, found it,
put it between his teeth, and sat waiting. The
something grew into the shape of a canoe with
a man. It came on slowly; then the man
stopped paddling, and Jules pictured him listening.
Nearer and nearer drifted the canoe;
only the drip-drip-drip of the drops from the
oncoming paddle-blade that rested across the
canoe. Right up to the bow of Jules’s craft it
came, then the man backed water, seeing the
woods ahead of him, and his canoe was motionless
while he listened, five feet from Verbaux.
Everything became still, it seemed to Jules;
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
even the insects ceased humming; his heart-beats
were heavy, a surely audible sound he
thought, as he gripped the knife closer with
his teeth. He could see the man perfectly
now: Le Pendu it was; the cold moonlight
brought his figure into clear relief with the dark
background. Le Pendu sat there listening,
scanning the woods.
“Diable, vat dat Ah hear?” he said, half
aloud, and listened again. A musquash swam
between the two canoes, and saw the strange
things; it dove at once with a noisy splash;
the ripples flowed away, sparkling in the night
light, and broke with a light curling on the
pebbles of the shore. In a moment the black
head reappeared beyond the stern of Le
Pendu’s canoe; it swam round and looked at
this unknown thing that invaded the sanctity
of the wild waters of the North. Le Pendu
moved his head, watching; instantly the
musquash saw and dove again loudly, and was
gone beneath the waters; its wake rolled
evenly away and was dispersed by the weight
of the lake. Jules sat in his canoe, watching
the man almost at his elbow. And so the two
were, when an indistinct thumping sounded
from beyond.
Le Pendu swung his canoe round with a
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
long stroke of his paddle; another canoe
loomed black and drew near.
“S-s-s-st!” its guide said softly.
“S-s-s-st!” Le Pendu answered, and moved
his craft to meet the other.
“Sa-win? [Do you hear anything?]” The
rough voice was toned low.
“Ah-ha,” Le Pendu answered, “mais eet vas
kil-ou-th [muskrat], Ah t’ink!”
“La-cha-ne-weet-chil-to-o? [Did you see
him?]”
“Non,” Le Pendu growled softly, and the
two canoes floated side by side.
Jules waited; the canoes near him watched,
and lay there, mirrored vaguely on the even
waters. An owl hooted from the black forests,
and its hoarse call echoed away among the
trees. Then Le Pendu’s canoe began to move
down the shore.
“Et-chin-oo-e? [Where are you going?]”
asked the man in the canoe. Le Pendu did
not answer.
“Et-chin—” began the man again.
“Se-eith-lint-ai! [I hear you!]” Le Pendu
answered savagely. “Qu-ar-a-koot cho-oe!
[You are a fool. Come!]” he added.
The two canoes moved away silently and
disappeared in the shadow gloom, following the
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
timber edge. Jules breathed a sigh of relief
and took his knife from his mouth.
“By diable, Ah t’ink dat taime bataille, sans
doute!” he muttered, and sat still. The
summer night passed on; the moon sank
slowly and everything was dark; Verbaux
pushed carefully out on the open water and
listened, but nothing stirred. Then he moved
off rapidly with scarce a ripple. Very soon the
forest behind shrank to a black line, then that
was gone and only the flat water stretched
away on all sides. He paddled faster, heading
to the south, his body swaying regularly
to and fro, to and fro as he plied the ash
blade.
“Ah mus’ arrive Rivière des Loups befor’
de sonne comme!” he said as he saw the faint
lightening of the eastern skies. The one word
“Marie” and the one thought to find her
thrummed in his mind. “Marie!” on the forward
stroke, “Marie!” on the back sway, he
whispered continuously.
“Enfin!” and he felt relieved as the distant
noise of running water came softly through
space; a little while more and trees grew up
before him, and then he reached them and
stopped to eat—but only drew himself under
some bushes, and did not leave the canoe. As
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
he ate and scooped up handfuls of water, the
heavens underwent their beautiful changes of
sunrise; a loon laughed from the bottom of a
cove, and the shrill cry echoed on the morning
air.
A marsh bottom was near Jules’s resting-place,
and something moving on it caught his
eyes; he looked at it, and distinguished the
black shape of a moose. The huge animal
walked to the water’s edge and splashed noisily
as it waded along, feeding on the pod roots and
tender water-grasses. It came toward Verbaux,
and as the light grew stronger he could see the
sprouting antlers and the long ears flopping
awkwardly. A gentle draft blew from him to
the moose; suddenly the animal stopped,
lifted its head, and stared in Verbaux’s direction.
“Who-offf!” A few lumbering strides,
then a crashing in the underbrush, and it was
gone. Jules watched towards the blue far-away
land that marked the place he had come
from in the night, but no pursuing canoe
appeared.
“By gar Jules get ’way good dat taime
certainement!” he said to himself, and started
on again.
He paddled on until the sun stood full high;
a strong wind was blowing, and little foam
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
crests raced after one another as far as his eyes
could reach across the shining waters. Billowy
clouds passed overhead, rolling on out of sight
beyond the far mountains. Soon the lake
waters narrowed and Jules pushed easily,
hurried on by the wind. He looked ahead
thoroughly; nothing moved. Then a sharp
bend in the lake outlet, and he was in calm
waters that flowed silently but strongly onward;
he stopped working and watched the banks
slide by as if by magic. Dull whirlpools and
huge eddies appeared here and there as the
current was headed by rocks on the bottom and
recoiled to the surface. Birds fluttered to and
fro over the stream, and gray and white moose-jays
floated on the air with open wings, calling
harshly. Silently Verbaux went on and down
with the waters. Suddenly he thrust his paddle
in the strong flow and brought the canoe to a
standstill with a giant heave. Splashings went
on round the next bend; they sounded plainly
on the drafty air. Then qu-a-a-ack.
“Bah! des canards!” laughed Jules, and
let himself glide on. The afternoon passed
thus; scenes shifted, and new ones, as green
and soothing, filled their places for an instant,
then they too changed, and evermore they came
in endless lines on both sides of the river,
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
motionless, soft and fragrant with the odours of
the wilderness. The water quickened, riffles
showed long and even, and then the dull
booming of a fall came heavily to Jules’s
ears.
“Ah stop là ce soir; dere ees place for
’slip!” he said aloud, and stood up to guide
the canoe hither and thither among the sharp
rock-heads that shone wet and glistening above
their wave-skirts. It continued white, then
evened again, and the flow was irresistible;
below him Verbaux could see the river line
finish, and beyond that the tops of tall pines
appeared on a level with him.
“La chute d’eau! go to lan’ maintenant.”
He swept the canoe to the bank on the right-hand
side and stepped ashore. Gratefully he
stretched his long body and bathed his sun-
and wind-burned skin. A good trail led away
into the sombering woods; he picked up the
canoe, threw it on his shoulders with a quick
heave, and went on down the path, half trotting,
with loose knees, to ease the weight. The open
path kept just in from the river, under the huge
trees whose branches met the fast water and
swayed as it carried them with it, then springing
back to be caught again.
“Personne comme dees vay encore!” Jules
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
muttered, watching the soft mosses and boggy
clays under his feet as he scuffled along.
“By gar mus’ soon arriver à la chute!” he
thought, and just then came out on the top of
the falls and put down the canoe.
At his feet the black water unrolled smoothly
over the edge, then broke into green and white
sheets with a deep roar that reverberated
hollowly from the cliff-circled pool below. Mist-spouts
and clouds of spray whirled into the air,
enwreathing the low branches of the forest.
Great masses of bubbles and froth that gleamed
coldly in the evening light were born before
his eyes, and carried swiftly off, to burst and
die. The chill scent of the mist rose invigoratingly
to him.
“Bon Dieu, dat fin’!” he whispered. Little
by little the long tree shadows crept athwart
the perpendicular waters, and the last rays of
the sun shone through their falling depths,
fringing each sheet with sparkling points. Then
the lights changed; slowly the waters turned
black, and the foam showed whiter than ever.
Still Jules watched the wonderful changes of
the wilds. In a few minutes he could not see
the pool, and the roar seemed deeper and more
powerful. Wild and glorious it sounded down
there, unseen, unfelt, mysterious, and grand.
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
And ever at his feet the flow passed on sullenly,
to be dashed to mist and foam beneath.
“Dat bon!” Verbaux said again, drawing a
deep breath. “Ah go heet maintenant an’
dormir. To-mor’ Ah mus’ arriver Lac des
Diables.” He left the brink, drew the canoe
into the bushes, and felt his way along the
trail in the darkness to a tumbled-down bark
lean-to.
Early the following morning he went up to
the falls for his canoe and lugged it down to
the pool. The drafts played with the flying
spume, twisting it into fantastic clouds that
eddied from cliff to cliff; the black shapes of
trout showed now and then as they rolled up
lazily in the froth under the fall. The air
dripped with its overload of moisture, and as
Jules stepped in the canoe and shoved off, he
brushed away the little beads of water that
clung to his hair and eyebrows.
The current, now fast, then slow, carried
him down-stream until noon, then the bank
widened again and Verbaux passed out on
another lake. The waters were unruffled and
reflected the skies accurately.
“Dere comme la brigade; mabbe Ah fin’
h’out somme t’ing de Marie, Dieu l’espère!”
Jules said aloud as he saw a convoy of canoes
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
coming toward him across the lake. He
waited, motionless, and his reflection grew
longer and shorter in the calm waters as the
canoe swung round idly, moved by the faint
strength of the current that flowed into the lake
behind him.
“Verbaux, mon Gar, bon Dieu, dat toi?”
shouted a voice from the canoes. Jules started
violently.
“Le Grand!” he whispered. “B’en, oui!”
he shouted back. Then a canoe separated from
the group and came on fast, the man paddling
hard while the others cheered and laughed.
The two canoes floated side by side and the
two men grasped each other’s hands.
“Marie?” Jules said hoarsely.
“Là-bas, h’all sauf!” smiled Le Grand, pointing
beyond the distant mountains.
“Dieu merci!” and Jules bowed his head;
Le Grand was silent. The rest came up.
“Bon, toi fin’ heem, hein?” said a big voyageur
laughingly to Le Grand. The latter
nodded gravely.
“’Ow toi comme ici?” asked the voyageur,
Maurice Lefèvrier, of Jules.
“Le facteur he sen’ moi for to go Lac Tonnerres
see eef dose Assiniboines tak’ de trap’!”
Verbaux answered.
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
Le Grand looked at him quickly, and Jules
narrowed his eyes; the other understood and
made no comment.
It grew late, and some one suggested stopping
for the night; the canoes were grounded
and their loads covered from the dew. After
supper Verbaux beckoned silently to Le Grand,
and the two walked out to a little bank that
overlooked the water, and sat down. A soft
wind surged from the lake, and overhead banks
of clouds drove on; sometimes their masses
split and the silver of the full moon streamed
through in a white flood, only to be dammed
again by the hurrying gloom. Above the two
stretched spreading branches, through whose
leaves the night wind blew, making them
breathe tremulously. The lulling song of curling
ripples overbore all other sound; even the
mosquitoes bit silently.
Jules and Le Grand filled their pipes; Le
Grand struck a light, and its sheen was bright
as he held it to the bowl; he passed it to Verbaux,
and the two smoked quietly, watching the
uncertain waters that merged into total darkness
out there beyond them.
“Vat for toi comme?” Le Grand asked then
slowly.
“To fin’ Marie!” Jules whispered.
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
“Bon!” and Le Grand nodded.
“She ees bien?” Verbaux breathed deeply
and looked at Le Grand hard.
The latter nodded again. “She vait for
toi, Verbaux! Ah tol’ Marie Ah comme for
to fin’ toi h’aga’n; mais,” and he chuckled
softly, “toi comme fin’ me! C’est bon!” he
repeated.
The two smoked on, silent both. The wind
fell away gradually, the leaves were still, the
clouds had gone, and the moon shone unrestrained
in all its power, creating black shadows
and distances, harshening outlines, softening
the vague shades that lay on the two men.
Insects hummed, and little animals seeking
their food travelled through the thick underbrush
with suggestive cracklings.
“Dam’!” Le Grand said as he slapped his
face, “dat mosquit’ he bit’ harrd!” And Verbaux
smiled.
“Le Grand, Ah vant h’ask toi somme t’ing
important!” he said.
“Qu’est?” asked the other, taking his pipe
from his mouth.
“Marie, she h’ask for moi?” A note of
eagerness, one of faint suspicion, but it was
the voice of Jules’s big heart that spoke, trembling
a little.
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
Le Grand laughed and put out his hand.
“She h’ask many, many taime for toi, Jules,
an’ Ah have comme to breeng toi to dat petite
fille!” he said.
Verbaux shuddered, and his eyes grew soft
and moist. “Ah go avec toi to-mor’!” he said
simply.
“Bon!” Le Grand replied, and they were
silent again, each thinking his own thoughts:
the thoughts of two men, but of one woman
whom each loved, but each in a different way.
The moon rose higher and higher until it
cast no shadows; fleeting stars shot hither and
thither, and were mirrored, flashing, in the
black water. Owls hooted, loons called shrilly,
things of the night stirred noisily, but the
thoughts of the two men were always of
one.
“Allons!” Le Grand spoke, “to-mor’ ve
mus’ go far! You ronne ’vay f’om Facteur
Donal’?”
“Oui.” Jules looked in surprise at his friend
that guessed so well. “Non!” he added,
“Ah no ronne ’vay; Ah tell to le facteur dat
Ah go ’vay, an’ den Ah ronne—en canot!”
and he laughed, so did Le Grand, and the two
went back to where the rest had made camp.
Most of the crowd were asleep in their
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
blankets by the big fire; some still sat there
talking.
“Dis Verbaux,” Le Grand said to Lefèvrier,
who rested in the warm light, his back against
a log, his feet to the heat. The big voyageur
and Jules shook hands. They talked awhile,
then slept with the rest.
A mink, drawn by the smell of pemmican,
sneaked up from the shore, its wet body glistening
in the dying firelight. It scuffled here
and there, nosing about the supper remains,
then vanished to the lake again with a bit
of the dried meat. All night everything
was silent, but when the birds began to
flutter in the brush and the kingfisher called
harshly on the shore, the men awakened and
got up, one by one, to the work of another
day.
“Toi go veet’ me to loook—see eef dose
trap’ aire dere?” Jules asked of Le Grand at
breakfast.
“Certainement Ah go, an’ den mus’ go back
to la poste,” Le Grand answered, with a swift
glance at the others.
“Au r’voir, Verbaux, Le Grand!” the crowd
shouted as Jules and the other paddled away
while the brigade went on toward the mouth of
the stream and the falls above.
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
“Adieu!” shouted the two, set their faces
to the south-east, and paddled fast.
They worked on for an hour, and neither
spoke; then Jules stopped paddling and rested
his long arms.
“Ve have to go fas’!” he said. “V’en dose
oddaires dey comme to la poste—alors!” and
he chuckled.
“Allons, den!” grunted his companion, and
plied his paddle the faster.
They crossed Lac Terrible and sped on
through the dead water of Les Cerfs. It took
them two days to reach Les Rapides du Diable
on Rivière de l’Échelle [River of Ladders].
When they came to the foaming rapids that
lay treacherous before them, white and menacing,
Le Grand spoke.
“Eef ve could onlee passé ça!”
“Dat be good!” Jules answered as he guided
the canoe ashore.
They ate a light lunch. “Maintenant,”
Jules said when they were ready to start on,
“ve go par la rivière an’ les lacs, ou tak’ le
canot an’ go ’cross de forêts an’ climb le Mont
d’Ours [Bear Mountain]. Vat toi t’ink, Le
Grand?”
His companion thought a minute. “Mor’
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
queeck go h’ovaire Mont d’Ours, mais harrd
travaille!” he said.
“Bah! dat notting; Ah have attend so long
taime for see Marie, Ah vant go so queeck
possible!”
Le Grand smiled. “Eef you had seulement
comme avec moi long h’ago h’at Isle la Crosse,
den ve have feenesh dat Annaotaha, et puis tu
vould have Marie maintenant.”
“Jules beeg fou dose taimes,” Verbaux answered,
and let his eyes roam over the forests
that rose hill on hill to mountain heights beyond;
for a second a hateful figure passed in
his brain and he shivered.
Le Grand saw and understood. “She h’ask
h’all taime for toi, Verbaux, dese sev’n mont’
passé,” he said softly.
The disagreeable thought was gone, and Jules
nodded gratefully to his friend.
“B’en go!” As he spoke Le Grand lifted
the canoe to throw it on his shoulders, but put
it down with a groan.
“Mon pauvre vieux, dat woun’ do dat,
hein?”
Jules threw the little craft on his own broad
back and led the way into the green thickets.
For a long time the woods were level and the
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
two picked their way among windfalls and
tangled masses of last year’s undergrowth.
Twice they put the canoe in little lakes and
paddled across their clear waters. Then they
began to rise; unnoticeably at first, the walking
sloped uphill, then it grew steeper and
steeper until they were climbing slowly up the
bouldered side of a mountain whose top looked
down at them through the trees from far above.
They came to a little brook that dashed refreshingly
among the rocks and mosses, and
Jules put down the canoe to rest. The forest
was hot and breathless, but the little stream
gave off a sense of coolness that was grateful
to the two men. They drank of its strengthening
flow and started on. Upward and onward
they toiled, Jules always carrying the canoe,
though Le Grand often attempted to get it, but
Verbaux would not give it up.
“Laissez faire,” he said, “Ah’m no fatigue’.”
So Le Grand followed, sometimes pushing
when a particularly steep place had to be got
over. At last the top was reached, and they
both were glad.
“By gar, dat magnifique!” Le Grand said
as they sat on the upturned canoe and looked
round them.
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
It was coming evening; as far as the eye
could reach, the lighter shades and deep greens
of the wilderness spread away in beautiful expanse;
still beyond, fifty miles or more, big
mountain ranges loomed blue and gray in the
afternoon haze, their bases clad in dark colours,
their heads touching the sunset clouds. Scattered
about, like jewels on a green cloth, were
quantities of lakes shimmering in the soft glare
of the sinking sun. Here they were bright
and silvered, there they were dull, some blue,
some colourless; all were still and like liquid
drops and blotches from a mighty pen on a
green background. One sheet of water that
lay in the sun’s rays shone like a body of mercury,
dazzling the eye. Lower and still lower
sank the fiery globe, turning from yellow to
orange; then deeper and grander shades came
and it changed to pink, then red, tingeing the
clouds with its hot colours. The upper winds
of the skies drove streaks and long groups of
feathery cloud across the sun’s face; these were
at once magnified and painted in brilliant hues—the
denser ones blue-black, the lighter ones
gray, green, yellow, and scarlet. Ever changing,
ever shifting, moving always, the ethereal
scenes bewildered the senses of the two that
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
sat there, spell-bound, watching: one dreaming,
the other happy, contented with his friend, his
quest ended, his hopes realised. Then but
half of the red circle showed above the distant
mountains; it cast far-reaching rays athwart
the now purpling heavens and gilded the peak
of Mont d’Ours with a mellow glow that softened
everything. The canoe was deep yellow,
the men were gently shadowed by its power.
Gradually the light of day sank, and the deep
shades of evening grew. The lakes and
streams lost their sparkle and became vague,
almost invisible. A deep sombreness spread
over everything, then white mists rose from
the waters as their surfaces condensed into
vapour and floated upward to join the drifting
clouds.
Dark it became and darker, and still the two
stayed; distance shortened until nothing but
the sides of their own mountain were to be
seen. The thousand night lights appeared
one by one till a new, cold glow showed
the forests black, the nearest lakes as indistinct
spots, the clouds as but dark quantities
that drifted evenly across the heavens. A
silence,—that silence of the mountains,—absolute,
fathomless, was over everything. No
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
sound, not the slightest breeze moved; only
their own thoughts were heard by the two.
The chill strength of the stars grew; all
objects became black in their light, and full
night had come.
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch22
XXII || ETIENNE ANNAOTAHA
.sp 2
Le Grand stood up. “Go dere an’ mak’
camp,” he said, pointing toward the woods that
lay enshrouded in gloom on the far side of the
mountain. Verbaux nodded, picked up the
canoe, and followed. They felt their way
through the impenetrable shades and found an
open spot with a little spring beside it.
“Ah stay ici two year’ gon’!” Le Grand said
as he broke some fire-wood and lighted the
evening blaze. Jules went off in the yellow
light that reached out among the trees, and
brought back long boughs and some forked
limbs; with these he quickly made a lean-to.
When he and Le Grand finished supper they
got out their pipes, and soon tobacco smoke
mingled with the fire fumes. “To-mor’ ve see
Marie.” Jules’s voice was soft, and his eyes
wandered into the darkness.
Le Grand bowed his head. “Dieu merci!”
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
he whispered, and the two were silent. After
a long time Verbaux moved over to Le Grand
and put his hand affectionately on the old
man’s shoulder.
“Le Grand, Ah desire dat toi leeve avec
Marie an’ moi; you’ leetle vones aire mort;
you have no place, no home, dat have do so
mooch for Marie an’ moi?”
Le Grand did not answer at once, but his
form shook, and Jules’s arm slid round the thin
neck. “Toi do dees for Jules?”
The other spoke then quietly. “Non, Verbaux;
Le Grand ees ol’ man maintenant; he
no vant mak’ du travaille pour toi. Non, you
an’ Marie mus’ be content togeddaire, h’alon’.
Toi ’ave beeg cœur, mais Ah can no h’accep’.
Ah go avec toi an’ see Marie encore vone taime,
den Le Grand he go to Poste Determination an’
travailler so long he can.”
The old man puffed stoically on. Jules
sighed deeply, but said no more. He knew the
iron will that lived in this body worn of years,
bent with pain, but strong yet. They sat
awhile before the fire, then crawled in on the
fresh aromatic bed of green.
A distant grumbling broke the silence.
“Tonnerre, by dam’!” Le Grand ejaculated.
“Bes’ put h’on de branches.” He and Jules
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
hurriedly gathered more thick boughs and laid
them, thatch-wise, over their heads, end to end
across the forked limbs that served as
supports.
“Dat h’anough,” Verbaux said, and they
got inside and waited. The approaching
thunder muttered louder and louder, and tines
of ragged lightning darted from the black
skies.
“By gar! dat goin’ be grand tempête!” said
Jules.
The air was heavy and silent; the forest
motionless.
“La voilà!” Le Grand shouted as the wind
came suddenly, bending the dark trees and
whistling shrilly through their impeding arms.
The thunder pealed, roar on roar, the vicious
bolts jaggedly seared the air all round them,
and then the rain fell in soaking torrents. It
beat its way through the men’s shelter and
dripped steadily on them.
“Bah! Phu-i-i-a!” Jules grunted as a stream
of water poured on his face; his companion
laughed and drew his skin jacket over his
eyes.
Boom! Crash! Cr-a-ckk! the lightning
hurled itself on the forest, and the earth vibrated
with the sharp rolls of voluminous sound. The
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
water came now in solid sheets, and the lean-to
was as a sieve over Jules and Le Grand. They
were wet to the skin, but they were happy.
Then quickly as it had come, the storm
passed by, the rain ceased, the air was still
again; only the trees dripped liquidly while the
hoarse mumblings and white flashes faded away
to the southward.
The two wrung out their saturated clothes
and slept.
Le Grand was the first to get up in the
morning.
“Eternellement diable!” he said aloud; his
voice wakened Jules.
“Somme t’ing de mattaire?” he asked, rubbing
his eyes.
“Sacré by dam’, oui! Ah lef’ mon couteau
dat toi geeve to me t’ree year’ h’ago à la rivière
yes’day! Ah no vant lose dat, non plus; mus’
go back an’ fin’ eet,” and Le Grand swore.
“Ah go pour toi,” Jules suggested.
“Non pas encore vieillard moi! No sooch
ol’ man dat Ah can no go à traverse les forêts
manny year’!” the other grunted, and the two
had breakfast.
“Vait for me ici; Ah comme back ver’
queeck!” Le Grand said, and disappeared
among the trees.
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
It was a warm, bright day, and Verbaux
ensconced himself in the sun’s heat while his
clothes dried, spread on bushes. He alternately
dozed and smoked for a long time, dreaming of
her he was soon to see. Noon passed; he
pulled on the dry apparel and walked to
the mountain-top, but no Le Grand was in
sight.
“Drôle! He should be back before dees
taime!” he said to himself, and looked up at the
sun; it was a quarter low and cast lengthening
shadow behind him.
“T’irt’ mile f’om ici to Marie; Ah go dere,
an’ Le Grand comme h’aftaire,” he thought
aloud, and turned to go to the post where his
wife awaited him thirty miles away; but as
he moved a fear came to him hard. He
stopped.
“Mabbe dat he hurrt; Jules mus’ fin’ h’out!
Ah go fas’, no tak’ long taime,” he said, with
anxiety in his voice, and he hurried away on
yesterday’s up-trail. As he travelled along he
kept a sharp watch for Le Grand, and expected
to meet him at any moment; but the distance
to the river lessened and he had seen no sign
of his friend. Then in a little while he caught a
glimpse of water flashing through the trees, and
still no Le Grand.
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
He was about to call, when he smelled a fire,
and heard a hateful voice; at once he became
alert and his eyes snapped, because he recognised
the tones as those of the renegade
Annaotaha. He crept forward warily with
noiseless speed, then stopped and looked.
A little blaze burned on the river-bank; tied
hand and foot and lashed to a young birch
was Le Grand; his feet were stripped. Before
him crouched Annaotaha, stirring the fire; his
rifle lay in a canoe that was half drawn on
the shore. Verbaux almost sprang out, but
the renegade began to speak, and he listened.
“V’ere ees dat traître Verbaux?” Etienne
asked his helpless prisoner. “Lefèvrier he
don’ tol’ moi dat Verbaux ees gone avec
toi.”
Le Grand did not answer; his head was bent
to one side and a little blood flowed from a cut
on his cheek.
“V’ere ees dat femme Marie?” asked Annaotaha,
savagely.
Again no answer.
“Dam’ toi, Ah mak’ toi tell!” The half-breed
cursed and pushed the now strongly
burning fire toward the naked feet.
With one bound Jules was in the open;
another, and he was but a few feet from the
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
treacherous, torturing devil. Annaotaha heard
the sound of feet and turned.
“Ha! Ah show to toi!” he shouted as he
leaped to Le Grand and swiftly plunged the
knife he held into the old man’s side.
Verbaux was on him then; the fiend stabbed
desperately at him, and they fell, growling and
snarling; by a quick twist Jules caught the
other’s knife hand in a fearful grip. Slowly he
bent it back—back until the wrist broke with a
loud snap, and the knife dropped. The wretch
screamed and writhed, biting at Verbaux’s shirt
and neck. Jules got a hold on the renegade’s
knees, drew himself up and with a mighty jerk
hurled Annaotaha against the stony ground with
stunning force. The half-breed lay there senseless.
Verbaux sprang to Le Grand and slashed
his bindings apart; the old man slid down
limply; Jules gathered him in his strong arms.
All this time the old man’s life was trickling
away, soaking into the earth.
“Ah, Dieu, mon ami, mon vieux!” Jules
groaned, trying to stop the red current. Le
Grand opened his eyes.
“Trop tard,” he murmured weakly and
coughed; then he gathered a little strength.
“He—catch—moi f’om arrière,—try—mak’—moi—tell—heem——h’about—toi—an’—an’—Marie;
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
mais—Ah-h-h——n-o——tell”; his
voice trailed off in a whisper. Verbaux laid
him flat, ripped open the blood-soaked shirt,
and tied his own long neckerchief tight about
the wound. Then he got water and bathed
Le Grand’s face and hands. The black eyes
opened again, but they were dulling fast; the
lips moved, and Verbaux bent to catch their
faint whisper.
“Tell—M’r-ie——dat——Ah—fin’——toi
h’—at——las’!——She——h’ask——p-ou-r——Verb—b—x.”
The dimming eyes looked
at Verbaux with mute appeal.
“Oui, oui, mon vieux, mon ami, Dieu te
bénit,” Jules answered hoarsely, and great tears
fell on the other’s hands. Le Grand must have
felt them, for he smiled wanly.
“Pau—vre——Ver—b—aux, al-lez——she-e——att-ends
pour—toi——adi——” and the
life was gone.
Verbaux felt for heart-beats, but in vain; he
listened at the motionless white lips for a faint
breath, but uselessly. Then he knelt beside his
lifelong friend and repeated the Ave Maria
softly; his voice was often choked, and the tears
rolled down unheeded. A long time he knelt,
still but for great heavings of his shoulders.
At last he rose.
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
“Mon ami, dat have do so mooch pour moi,
Ah revanche toi!” and he went over to where
Annaotaha lay.
He yanked the shirt from Etienne’s body,
tore it into strips, with which he tied the
unconscious man firmly; then he picked up
his cap, filled it with water at the river,
and dashed it over the renegade; again and
again he did this till Annaotaha stirred
slightly.
Jules waited till Etienne was fully conscious;
then he went to the bank and gathered long,
heavy stones; he brought these up one by
one and laid them beside the murderer. The
latter watched with growing fear in his shifting
eyes.
“Vat for dose?” he asked. Jules made
no reply. When he had collected about a
hundred pounds of these stones he sat down,
and carefully bound each one with a strip of
cloth, leaving some of the lashings to spare;
then he fastened one securely to Annaotaha’s
ankles. The coward screeched and begged as
he understood now what the stones were for.
Jules worked on, silent and relentless. At last
the weights were all made fast to the half-breed’s
form.
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
“Là!” Verbaux said with a quiet deadliness.
“Touts prêts!” and he stood up.
“No goin’ keel moi, Verbaux!” Annaotaha
shrilled.
Jules towered over him, his hands clenched,
his whole body quivering with fury. The
waters of the river murmured gently, with
lapping sounds; a little draft sported among
the trees, causing them to shudder faintly;
from far off came a long wail that rose and
died away.
Verbaux listened to the sound. In a moment
the lonely howl came from the forest, but it
was nearer. And once more the wild note
pierced the atmosphere of night, and sank;
Jules moved away from the stone-laden figure
at his feet and crouched in the thickets that
bordered on the clearing. A white shape came
into the starlight, shuffled up to the dark
thing that lay there, sniffed of it a moment and
then sent out a mystic, curdling yowl that
echoed and reëchoed over the steadily flowing
river.
The white thing faded eerily away, trotting
without sound, and disappeared in the shadows.
Verbaux stalked silently to the renegade, who
whispered and cried.
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
“Etienne Annaotaha, leesten vat Ah say:
dat loup blanc he mak’ bad signe for toi!
Long h’ago, long taime gone, you keel vone
femme near to Lac la Pluie.” The half-breed
winced. “Maintenant you have keel Le Grand,
mon ami! H’at Isle la Crosse you took ma
femme, an’ for dese t’ing’ toi goin’ be keel by le
bon Dieu!”
“Non! Non! Non!” the man shrieked,
and his voice carried far into the wilderness.
“Oui,” Jules answered; “an’ eef Ah could,
Ah vould torture toi leet’ piece by taime, mais
Le Grand an’ Marie no lak’ dat. So Ah
’m goin’ laisse’ les eaux du bon Dieu do
heet!”
He stopped and rolled the bound figure, with
its clinging stones that struck dully together, to
the canoe. He slit the light bark in several
places, then with a powerful heave he lifted
Annaotaha, stones and all, and dropped him
into the craft.
“Le diable he have you een five minute’!”
he said as he pushed the canoe with its burden
far out into the rushing current. It hung there
a moment, then gathering speed, dashed away
toward the rapids that shone white and ugly
below. Verbaux watched it and listened to the
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
renegade’s screams; the canoe settled lower
and lower, then it struck the first fast water; it
lurched and plunged soggily, cleared one big
wave, hovered staggering on the next crest,
disappeared in the hollow beyond, and came in
sight no more.
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch23
XXIII || THE CROSS ON THE MOUNTAIN
.sp 2
Jules turned from the water’s edge. The
night was clear with the light of the rising
moon.
“To-mor’ Ah tak’ toi sur la montagne, an’
mak’ de las’ camp pour toi là-bas,” he said
mournfully to the body of his friend, then lay
beside it on the cold ground; all night he lay
there, awake and bitterly saddened.
“Eef Ah had onlee comme back for dat
knife!” he muttered again and again.
At dawn he got up, hungry and aching, and
tenderly fastened carrying-straps, which he
made from his own shirt, about Le Grand’s
stiff body; he straightened out the cold limbs,
lifted the dead-weight form to his back, and
started on his last tramp with his friend. He
lingered over the places where Le Grand had
rested the day before, and smoothed the
mosses where his “ami” had sat, and finally
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
he reached the peak of Mont d’Ours again
with his burden.
The clouds hovered near, almost touching
the height. Jules gathered stones and built a
grave of smooth slabs; when it was finished he
reverently placed the body in it, straightening
out the arms and legs and crossing the toil-scarred
hands.
“Adieu, mon ami,” he whispered, and laid
stone on stone on and round the grave. He
made it thick and heavy, so that the winds of
heaven should not tear it apart, and on top of
all he roughly fashioned a big cross. When it
was done he prayed for a moment, then waved
his hand. “Somme taime, Le Grand, mabbe
Ah see toi h’aga’n,” he said gravely, and went
away.
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch24
XXIV || “JE SUIS CONTENT!”
.sp 2
At the little lean-to he gathered up his food
and the canoe and travelled on down the
mountain through the dense green forests. In
three hours he came to the bottom, and a long
lake stretched away, mirror-like and reflecting,
at his feet. He pushed in the canoe and
paddled out. From its centre he looked back.
High above him, and seemingly far away,
was the top of Mont d’Ours; he waved his
hand toward it again, and as he watched with
sorrow-laden eyes, a great white cloud rolled
down on the peak, hiding it from his sight; in
a moment it lifted again.
“Le Grand he gone au bon Dieu!” Jules
said solemnly and sadly, turned his back, and
paddled on round a bend that shut out the
mountain entirely.
He saw nothing of the forest scenes, and
worked on automatically.
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
“Mon vieux, mon pauvre Le Grand!” was
the only thought that faded the lustre of his
hopes to see Marie so soon.
When he reached the foot of the lake and the
last of his water trails he dragged the canoe
into the underbrush, then went back to the lake
edge and let his eyes wander over the green
distances and focus themselves on Mont
d’Ours, that lifted its heights proudly above its
timbered base. He imagined that he could see
a black dot which marked the grave of his
friend, and strained his eyes in vain, trying to
distinguish the cross.
“Au revoir, Le Grand!” he called loudly,
and entered the forest. The trail was good,
and he hastened on at a half-lope, hurrying to
Her. He forded a wide stream, leaping agilely
from rock to rock.
“Onlee feeft’en mile’ an’ den Ah see Marie!”
he murmured, and kept on.
The blazed path widened; here and there
were side tracks where the men from the post
came for wood. Then he reached Rivière des
Sauvages. Two trees lashed together in the
middle afforded the chance of a dry crossing,
and Jules ran along them nimbly; he was three-quarters
of the way over when he stumbled on
a knot that stuck sharp and tripping from the
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
trunk, and he fell. The water was shallow, as
he was near the shore, and he struck the bottom
heavily. He lay there an instant, shocked into
numbness, while the cold water rippled round
him.
“Oh, dat jambe!” he cried as he struggled
to stand up. A thrust of pain ran through his
body; he tried to rise again, but the violent
surge of physical suffering overcame him and
he tumbled back in the water, sickened and
weak.
The chill strength of the liquid flow restored
him somewhat in a few minutes. He felt of
his left leg and found that it was broken below
the knee.
“Par dam’, dat ver’ bad!” he moaned, dragged
himself ashore, and sat there suffering.
His leg was numb below the knee; but above,
it throbbed and caused him piercing pain.
“No stay ici lak’ dees!” he grunted stoically;
“mus’ see Marie!” Inch by inch he worked
his way to an alder clump and cut long sticks
from it; these, with cloth as bandages, he used
as rough splints and tied up the broken leg
securely.
“Ah go jus’ sam’!” he said, and started on
the trail again on his hands and one knee,
dragging the useless leg. It was slow, racking
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
work, but Jules forced himself, though the
maimed leg staggered him with its thrusts of
pain. In a little while the palms of his hands
were raw and his one good knee ached and
bled, but he kept on.
The darkness was still and hot; summer insects
burned his skin and tortured his face; the
unevenness of the trail made him slip and fall
flat often, forcing groans from him, but he
pushed ahead slowly and resolutely. He was
exhausted and throbbed from head to foot.
“Marie, Ah comme!” he whispered, spoke,
then called, and struggled forward on the dimly
visible trail.
All through the summer darkness he fought
on, finally but worming his way. The light of
day stole through the forest and found him
creeping on.
At sunrise he dropped on the edge of the
post clearing, and looked with half-opened eyes
that but vaguely saw the habitations before
them.
“Leetle furdaire,” he articulated, and dragged
himself ahead.
The post was awake; smoke curled from
the chimneys and floated off on the light
morning breeze; figures moved about at the
gates.
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
“Qu’est-ça?” a trapper asked as he saw the
low crooked shape creeping in the clearing.
A shrill cry, and a woman leaped past him
into the open.
“Jules! Jules!” she screamed in ecstasy,
and ran to the form that had fallen helpless.
“Marie—oh, Marie, dat toi h’at las’?” Verbaux
whispered as he felt warm arms about his
neck and saw the longed-for face, as in a dream,
looking into his.
“Mon Jules!” the woman sobbed, and pillowed
the weary head in her lap.
The others that had come out from the post
disappeared quietly, and the two were alone.
The sun rose glorious and bright, gilding
everything and casting warm lights over all;
the air was still, the silence was absolute.
Verbaux opened his eyes.
“C’est b’en toi, Marie?” He groped for
her hand.
The woman kissed his bleeding lips for
answer.
“Tu loove me encore?”
She sank her face against his and her tears
trickled over his shoulders.
“Ah attend so long pour toi!” she murmured softly.
Jules sighed.
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
“Le Grand, v’ere ees he?” Marie asked.
“Mort!” he answered huskily.
“An’ dat Annaotaha?” she asked again.
“Keel!” and his voice thrilled with anger.
“An’—an’ toi, Jules?” Her voice trembled,
and she gazed steadily into the deep gray eyes.
Verbaux smiled, and kissed the thin hand
that caressed his forehead.
“Moi? Je suis content!”
.sp 4
.nf c
THE END
.nf-
.sp 4
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited,
bread street hill, e.c., and
bungay, suffolk.
.nf-
.sp 4
.pb
.sp 4
\_
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant\
form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-