Part 6

The sun shone over the glare-crust with dazzling brilliancy, and he could not look on it long. “Mush!” he shouted to the dogs, and went on. The trail kept its northern course, straight over the barrens and down through the deep timber on the far side; always a day old it seemed to Tritou, fast as he went. The dogs were lagging; he stopped to feed them, and ate some cold food himself. He did not dare to light a fire for fear of warning the man he was after. In an hour he started on again. The landscape changed. He came to a big lake, where ice was black and deep, and where the cutting wind made him shiver and draw his muffler close. He lost the trail here, but remembering Jules’s old tricks, he went across the ice in a northern direction and found that the tracks began again on the other side.

It was coming twilight; the sun was sinking; it grew colder, and Tritou saw that he should not get up on Verbaux that night. He travelled as long as he could see the tracks before him; then he lay down among the dogs, and slept.

Day was just beginning to lighten the sky when he was up and, after a hasty, cold breakfast, went on again. The trail turned a little to the northeast as he went, and then he came to the remnants of a fire, and saw where Jules had slept, and where the dogs had dug holes for themselves in the snow. The signs were not very old; indeed, Tritou fancied that he could still feel heat in the ashes. With renewed vigour he pushed on and on. The course lay through heavy timber now, and he had to stop and puzzle out the faint snow-shoe scratches in several places. He came to another lake, but this was covered with snow, and the tracks showed clear upon it. Half-way across he stopped; to the northeast of him, in the woods, a thin blue haze indicated smoke. Tritou breathed faster, and followed the tracks to the edge of the woods. There he left the team and, rifle in hand, sneaked along the snow-shoe marks. “At las’!” he whispered, as he saw the smoke ascending through the trees two hundred yards in front of him. He loosened the knife in his belt, and made sure that the rifle was ready. Then he crept forward warily.

Jules was skinning some marten in front of a little shed hut; a fire burned brightly near him, and he sang merrily as he peeled the sleek fur from the little stiff body in his hands.

“La boule elle roule, Laridon-dè, laridon-da!”

_Crang!_ His ear stung and he drew his hand away from it bloody. _Crang!_ His cap twitched as he flung the marten to one side and dashed behind a big pine. All was silent. He wondered who it was that had fired at him. Then he took off his cap and saw the bullet-hole in it, near the fur tassel. “C’est près, ça! Dat close!” he said. He stuck the cap on a twig and pushed it carefully from behind the trunk. _Cran-ng!_ and the cap fell to the crust. “He shoot good!” muttered Jules, as he kept perfectly still behind his tree.

A soft crunch broke the silence; Verbaux stuck his head in and out from the tree trunk quickly.

“Tritou!” His voice quivered ominously, and his hands clenched. He had seen Tritou as the latter, knowing that Jules had no gun, went from one tree to another, to get a near shot when opportunity offered.

“Bon! you tak’ care!” shouted Jules.

A mocking laugh from the other was the only answer.

Round and round Verbaux worked about his tree, keeping its protecting trunk between him and Tritou. The latter did not dare approach too close, as he feared that Jules might rush him if he did. The long afternoon passed thus, each man seeking an opportunity that would not come. The shadows grew deeper, and the skies turned a dark green-blue; still the two watched and waited. Darkness came and the forest was plunged in black. Verbaux listened intently. Everything was absolutely still, except for the hoot of an owl in the distance. Slowly, very slowly he stepped out from behind his tree and listened again. No sound! Inch by inch he worked his way in Tritou’s direction. It was wonderful; he moved over the crust and made not the tiniest crackle. _Swish—crunch_! came from the darkness beyond, very softly, but Jules heard it and sneaked on. “Diable!” he thought, as an unseen stick crackled under him; he stopped. Tritou had heard it, too, and was fleeing through the woods, his snow-shoes clicking loudly. He had not dreamed that Jules was so near. Verbaux started after him. Tritou’s snow-shoes gave him a decided advantage, because Jules slipped and slid on the crust. He did not have on his moccasins with caribou-hair soles. _Cran-ng_! sounded the rifle, and the bullet pi-i-nged viciously over Jules’s head. He made no answer, but ran on at full speed. _Cran-ng!_ again, and the bullet thudded into a tree near by. Tritou was firing toward the sound of Jules’s leaps on the crust! _Cran-ng!_ The leaden missile _zi-i-i-ped_ at Jules’s feet. He dodged to the right and listened. Tritou stopped, too, and the woods were deathlike in their stillness.

“You, Tri—” _Cran-ng!_ Jules did not hear the bullet this time. “Tritou!” he called again; no answer. “Tritou! tak’ care!” _Whe-e-e_! the bullet whined from a tree close by. Jules said no more, but knelt down and took off his moccasins; then he stole forward in his coarse stockings. “Dat bettaire,” he muttered, as the woollen material stuck well to the slippery surface.

Tritou had not moved, and Jules edged noiselessly forward, listening between each step. He put his hand on a big pine to lighten his weight, and stopped again. _Swsht_! a light rustle came from behind it. Jules drew his knife softly from his shirt and put it between his teeth, then sprang like lightning round the trunk. “Ha-rgh-rr!” he growled as his hands felt a warm, living body. “Tu diable!” screamed Tritou and fired the rifle. The bullet went wild and the two men fell, rolling over and over on the crust. Jules felt Tritou trying to draw his knife, and he used both hands to prevent him. His own knife was still clenched in his jaws. “Ah tear ze eyes h’out of your tête!” screamed Tritou, crazed with rage. “Ah cut ze hearrt’ f’om your corps!” and he struggled again for his knife. Jules made no answer. The two men writhed and tumbled over the snow, one snarling like an animal, the other silent. Jules held on grimly, waiting his chance. The struggle grew fiercer instead of less; now both men breathed in loud gasps, and grunted as one or the other came underneath in their rolling.

All this time Jules was silent, fighting strongly; of a sudden the animal sprang up in him, something snapped in his brain, his strength redoubled, and dropping the knife from his teeth, he threw his head forward, and down to Tritou’s throat, and opened his mouth as he felt the hot, sweating flesh on his lips; his teeth closed tighter and tighter, cutting through skin, blood-vessels, and muscle. “Arh! Arh! Arh! Arh!” screeched Tritou, kicking and writhing; he felt the teeth crunching and chewing, mouthing his life away. Jules bit deeper and deeper; his teeth sank into the gums, he held them there, then with a supreme effort he twisted his head sidewise, wrenching Tritou’s throat apart. The body under him relaxed, quivered, and jerked spasmodically, then lay still. The hot blood covered Jules’s face; it was up his nose, and had gone down his open throat. He got up slowly and looked at the limp body he could just see in the darkness at his feet. Then he sank to his knees and crossed himself.

“Oh, bon Dieu! Leesten vat Jules say! Zis Tritou, he follow me ev’ place, he try for to keel me so h’often, an’ now, bon Dieu, Ah have keel heem! Pardon, bon Dieu! Grâce for me, miserabl’ dat Ah am!”

He rose, dull-eyed and trembling, and went away, leaving the dead man stretched out and stiffening on the snow.

X

INTO THE NORTH

IT was twilight on an early spring day in the far North. The snows had melted a great deal, and the giant spruce and pine were clean of their winter clothes of heavy white. The forest was absolutely still. Jules stood beside a crushed and wrecked heap of bark that had been a hut, and his home; his big sledge and five dogs were near; on it was piled a load of fur, well fastened; the old frying-pan hung out behind, and the familiar tote-bag lay on top of the heap; the blankets were rolled up and thonged to the curve of the sledge-runners in front, and a worn axe-handle stuck out at one side. Jules took off the fur cap. “Adieu, hol’ place, forhevaire! Ah had many pain’, many joy’ here! Le facteur an’ hees Indians destroi mes trap, mes hut, ev’t’ing! Jules go far ’way, v’ere he can be h’alone. Adieu!” He looked sorrowfully at the ruins of his home, and waved his hand to the tall, silent trees about, who had been his only friends for so long. “Allez!” he said to the dogs, and with them vanished in the darkening forest.

It was a fine evening; overhead the stars appeared dimly in the pale-green skies, then brightened as their background grew dark. There was enough crust to hold up the sledge and team, but Jules sank in, and his snow-shoes crunched loudly in the silence of the black timber. Straight into the North he travelled, until he came to an open place among the tree trunks. At one side, faintly visible in the dim light, stood a little rough-hewn cross; Jules stopped the dogs, went to it, and knelt. “Adieu, petite; your faddaire he go far ’way, but he t’ink hall taime of toi. Adieu!” He bowed, and kissed the cold snow at the foot of the little cross; the tears trickled over the bronzed cheeks, and fell unheeded from the square chin. He rose, hoarsely ordered the team on, and left the white cross glimmering, faithfully watched by the tall, sombre pines.

Steadily and speedily he and the dogs coursed on over hills; across wide barrens, where the starlight shone mystically on the white surface; through ravines, where the heavy woods cast dark shadows; in deep timber, where the blackness of everything was intense; on and on and on. The country changed; it became flat and bare; the barrens were miles in length, and forest-land was scarce. The north star gleamed white, blue, pink, then white again in the far, far distant heavens; and ever toward it Jules travelled on ceaselessly.

Daylight paled the eastern skies; at first gray-rose, then purple, slate, and yellow, and at last the orange-red of sunrise spread and washed the few clouds in the heavens with golden splendour. The gleaming sphere appeared, grew, broadened, and shone brilliant over the desolate whiteness of the lonely northern wastes. Jules still hurried on. The dogs were tiring; he himself was wearied after the ceaseless swift pace of the night. He stopped, and at the edge of the forest island built a tiny fire; he boiled some tea; and fed the brutes who worked so strongly for him. Then, standing up, he gazed long over the back trail.

“Bon Dieu, Ah loove dat countree wit’ all mon cœur, but Jules he ees driven h’out lak’ a wolf, lak’ a chien; he go een straing’ territoire forhevaire. Puneesh dose Indiens, bon Dieu, an’ le facteur!”

It was broad, light day and glorious when Jules started the dogs on again, he following the sledge with even strides and the _click-click-click_ of his wide snow-shoes. The sun warmed the little snow that was left over the earth, and the going was hard for the team. At noon Jules halted again, climbed a tree, and from its top he looked over the white barrens far and wide.

“Dey comme, bon Dieu!” he muttered as he saw many specks on his trail in the distance. “Dey goin’ track Jules to de las’! Vat Ah do?” He looked ahead, and saw a small lake at his feet; the soft ice was almost gone under its cover of thin snow, as the long cracks in it showed. Jules’s eyes gleamed. “Dat’s good! Vous autres,” he called to the oncoming sledges, “for de las’ taime, Ah’m goin’ show to you h’all dat Jules Verbaux ees inconquerable!”

He slid rapidly down the tree, its rough bark tearing his caribou jacket and scratching his hands. “Mush! Mush! Allez!” he shouted, and the dogs hurried on till they came to the lake edge beyond. Here Jules stopped them, and tested the white surface with his foot; it crackled and groaned, and, when he put his whole weight on it, split into fragments and showed the green, cold waters beneath. “Allez! Ho-o-o-o-pp!” he cried, and the team scampered across, their speed and light weight saving them from breaking through, though the ice crackled with muffled reports as they raced over it. Verbaux watched them reach the other side; then he laughed. “You Indiens! Follow de track, hein?” He took off his snow-shoes and sneaked, as of old, in his moccasins, on the back trail for a little distance; then he leaped strongly from it, far out to the left, put on the thonged hoops again, and travelled swiftly around the lake. The team had stopped when they reached the far side, and he found them there, curled up asleep. He drove the outfit over the rise, and sat down on the sledge where he could see below him.

Soon sounds of gruff voices broke the noon stillness, and Jules watched eagerly. They came—ten men, ten sledges, and many dogs. Their calls echoed vaguely across to him, as they came to the lake at different places along the bank. “Voici le track direct!” shouted one of the Indians, and the whole crowd rushed on, pell-mell, over the treacherous surface.

_Crack! Cra-a-a-a-a-ck! Crunk!_ The thin ice crumbled to bits under the heavy weight of ten men, ten sledges, and many dogs.

“Oh, Dieu! Sacré-é! Dam’! Furies!” screamed the men, as they floundered in the icy water; the sledges had upset and their loads were thoroughly soaked. Slowly the crowd fought their way to the shore near by through the rotten snow-ice, swearing with hoarse voices. The dogs had twisted and chewed their way out of harness, and had crawled to the bank, but the sledges drifted tantalisingly among the floes, their loads totally ruined.

Jules’s big shoulders heaved and shook, and the swarthy face was wrinkled with hearty laughter, as he watched the half-frozen men gather together on the other side and gesticulate wildly.

“Diable! Diable! Diable misère!” screamed one of them in frantic rage, “ce dam’ Verbaux he ees drown, an’ dat ver’ good jus’ so!”

Jules stepped to the edge of the hill. “Holla, là-bas!” he called loudly, “long chemin to la poste!”

The Indians looked up, startled, and saw the tall, gaunt figure silhouetted against the glorious azure sky. It spoke again. “Jules Verbaux he speet on you! Adieu!” The figure laughed mockingly, waved its hand in derision, and disappeared.

XI

THE NEW COUNTRY

SPRING came and went. The summer months passed, finding Verbaux sometimes at one post for a few days, and again travelling into the North steadily, now by canoe, then on foot, carrying his food, blankets, and the axe. At last he reached a wild and desolate stretch of territory between Bear Lake and Lac des Sables.

He built a little home and stayed there, thinking that he was to be alone and free. He came to know his new country, and to love it for its utter solitude, for its breadth and depth, and because fur was plenty. The gray eyes were ever sad, but they had a look of freedom in them, and did not always watch on every side.

Winter had come again; the greens were browns in the forests, and the browns were now covered with white. Verbaux was in the deep timber-lands; before him stood a comfortable log hut, with a dog-shed behind it. A pile of wood neatly stacked was at one side; two giant pines stood by the little home, their great branches reaching out and meeting over the roof, and the smoke from the tiny chimney filtered away through their needles in graceful plumes.

He turned the dogs loose from the sledge at his feet, and went into the camp. The log walls were covered with skins, a raised bough bed was near the fireplace, and the frying-pan stood black in a corner by the rough but even table. At the head of the bed hung a child’s woollen cap, surrounded by a wreath of moss.

“Dose Cree-e Indians, Ah see deir track to-day; Ah lak’ know vat for dey comme so far au Nord,” said Jules aloud as he built up the fire and brushed the cold ashes in a mound about it. He cooked a frugal meal of caribou-meat and warmed some heavy bread in the hot pan.

The door stood open, and the light breeze waved the hair of the skins on the walls. Verbaux lighted his old pipe and threw himself on the boughs; little by little the clouds of tobacco smoke lessened, then the strong jaw dropped, the pipe fell, and Jules slept.

Outside the bright afternoon passed slowly; the shadows grew deeper and the skies changed from blue to yellow-green; then a long streak of crimson stretched across the west, the sun sank below the narrow horizon of the woods, and the northern twilight began. The stars shone tiny bright at first, then grew and grew, seeming to approach the earth, until the dark-blue heavens were scintillating with their number, all twinkling, flickering, gleaming. Jules slept on, the long, gaunt figure stretched in rough grace on the dark green bed, the big chest rising and falling regularly, and the massive hands loose in rest by his side. The dogs were quiet, the breeze had died away, the two huge trees were motionless, only a faint haze came from the chimney.

From out the darkness of the black forests came a sound, faintly at first, then it grew into footsteps on the soft snow. They stopped, and then advanced carefully. There was dim starlight in the clearing before the hut; a dark figure loomed up in it, stopping as it saw the peaked shape between the big trees. It stood and looked, crept to the door, listened, and went in.

The footfalls, gentle as they were, wakened Jules. “Qui ees dere?” he asked suddenly, leaping to his feet. Absolute stillness was his answer. He held his breath and listened, motionless, while the gray eyes searched the darkness of the interior.

“Ah t’ink Ah hear somme t’ing,” he muttered as he walked to the door. He looked out—nothing. He made the round of the hut outside—nothing. He listened again, but there was no sound of any kind.

“Ah rêve!” he said. “Ees cold; mus’ mak’ fire!” He went back, and drew a match-stick sharply over the table surface; it flared, then the wood burned dimly between his fingers. A strange feeling came to him. He turned quickly and held the dying match over his head. By its uncertain light he saw a man standing near the door; the new-comer’s eyes shone black in the yellow light.

“By gar! Qu’est-ce?” growled Jules, bounding forward. The match went out, and the red bits dropped to the floor; his hands closed on empty air. He felt round the walls, then listened out in the night—silence!

“Dat ver’ drôle! Ah see man here certainement!” At that instant another light flashed in the blackness; Jules stared at it eagerly. The man he had seen held it, and the stranger now stood by the bed.

“Candelle,” he said gutturally. Verbaux felt on a little shelf, found the caribou-fat candle, and gave it to the man. He lighted it and set it on the table. The two looked at each other.

“Vat you do ici, an’ vat your name?” asked Jules.

“Mon nom Le Pendu; Ah go nord, Fond du Lac,” answered the other, while his black eyes shifted hither and thither restlessly.

“Vat for?” Jules asked again.

“Porter hordaires to les Indians là-bas h’of de war; hordaires to keel dose mans of odder Compagnie!”

“Mak’ fight?” Verbaux questioningly repeated, and the other continued, “Dat Compagnie du Nor’ouest she t’ink she have ever’t’ing for hersel’; she t’ink dat h’all dis territoire ees to elle, an’ dat nous autres, ve can go hongree! Ve goin’ mak’ bataille, an’ den you, Verbaux, go wid nous, hein?” The man leaned forward slightly as he finished.

Jules was silent; the candle-flame guttered and flickered between them.

“Non,” Verbaux said gravely, “Ah no tak’ life h’of mans v’en Ah no have to.” His voice was decisive and strong. Le Pendu rose, turned to the door, and disappeared. Jules sat still. Then, with a slight whirring sound, something flashed past his eyes and thudded on the logs; he looked up and saw a knife quivering there, buried deep in the wood. With one puff he blew out the light and crouched low; then he stole out to the cold air. Le Pendu was gone. Jules watched and listened a long time, but heard nothing.

“Dat traître!” he ejaculated, “Ah see heem trois month’ h’ago h’at Lac la Pluie. Somme taime Ah see heem haga’n, mabbe!”

He relighted the candle and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the hafted blade that stuck viciously from the logs.

“Ah vondaire vat eet ees wid Compagnie Nor’ouest? Ah mus’ go to-mor’ fin’ h’out.” He got up, took his blankets from the boughs, and went out into the deep shadows, leaving the candle glimmering on the table. Some distance away from the hut he curled up between the rough, gnarled roots of a spruce and slept.

The long night passed; then the light grays of dawn stole through the woods. Verbaux woke, listened a minute, and went back to the hut. Everything was as he had left it. The candle was a lump of grease on the table, and the early morning wind disturbed the cold ashes on the hearth. He looked for the knife, but it was gone. “He comme back après,” Jules said; “he t’ink he catch me, hein?” then he laughed softly. He lighted the fire and had his breakfast; then he cleaned up the cabin, took down the wide snow-shoes, slung them over his back, and put the child’s cap in a pocket. “Maintenant Jules he go Isle la Crosse, warrn Facteur Maac Taveesh h’of dose Cree Indiens.” He filled his tote-bag with pemmican and bread, and struck off into the forests, travelling southwest.

It was a cold, dark day; the skies were dull, and the wind murmured restlessly through the tall spruce and pine. Jules went on steadily, swinging along with even strides. He came out on a small lake; there was a light covering of snow on the ice, and many tracks of moccasins led down to the river beyond (Petite Rivière la Biche). He stopped and examined them. “C’est bien Indiens!” he muttered as he moved ahead carefully. “Bon comme ça!” he thought as it began to snow. The flakes came thicker and thicker, deadening the sound of his steps, and hiding the landscape in a falling white shroud. There was little wind, and Verbaux went on faster, keeping his direction with unerring instinct. He followed the course of the river and reached the next lake; at the edge of the timber he stopped. Figures were moving to and fro, like shadows in the veiled light, just across from him; he saw the gleam of a fire, and every now and then he could faintly hear rough voices. He watched, but was not sure who the men were. “Ah mus’ see eef dose les Crees,” he whispered to himself. Taking the snow-shoes from his back, he hid them under a little thick spruce, and stole forward, crouching as he advanced, his eyes keen and bright. Yard by yard the distance lessened, and he stopped often, listening.

The gruff voices were very near, but the curtain of snow prevented his seeing the men. Closer he went till he heard the crackling of the flames; then he sat down under a tree to listen. His caribou clothes and fur cap matched its bark, and he was motionless there; only the sharp eyes, looking, watching, were alive.

The men squatted about the fire, and Verbaux scowled as he recognised Etienne Annaotaha, a renegade half-breed Canadian. “Dat Verbaux,” the man was saying, “he leeve Lac des Sables.”

“Mm-m-m, cle-ootz-tin-sale-oo-anno-we-koo-e-ya? [Maybe, will he go with us?]” asked an Indian.

“Ah don’ savoir eef tul-ul-um-oo-e-koo-e-ya [he will go with us]; mais eef non, den—” and Annaotaha laughed unpleasantly.

“Ah-ha [Yes],” answered the others.

“Ni-mi-na-hon-an [We kill] h’at Isle Crosse,” Etienne said, and he scanned the heavy faces around him.

“Ta-is-pi? [When?]” some one asked.