Part 12

“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 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.

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 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.

XXI

ON THE HEIGHTS

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. 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?]”

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 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 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, 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; 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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. 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 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.

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.

“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.

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 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.