Part 13

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.

“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’ 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 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.

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 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 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.

XXII

ETIENNE ANNAOTAHA

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!” 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 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 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.

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.

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 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; 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.

“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.

“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.

“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 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.

XXIII

THE CROSS ON THE MOUNTAIN

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 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.

XXIV

“JE SUIS CONTENT!”

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.

“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 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 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.