Part 5

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 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, 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.

“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, 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.

VIII

“SOMME T’ING FOR HEEM”

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 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 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 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 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.

“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, 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.

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 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 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.

IX

MAN AGAINST MAN

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 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 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 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. 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.

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 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 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.