Part 2

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.

“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 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.

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.

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 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.

III

JULES OF THE GREAT HEART

“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 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?”

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 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, 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 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:

“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 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, 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 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 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!”

IV

JULES TO THE RESCUE

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 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?”

“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 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.

“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 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.