“Faugh!” he burst out. “There are no Policemen. That was as much a bluff as my hundred well-armed Indians. Le Noir is a poser. Do you think I’d ever have gotten outside that stockade if there had been a redcoat at his call? Oh, no! That would have been the very chance for him—one that he would have been slow to overlook. I know him. He’s well named the Black Factor. His heart is as black as his whiskers and the truth is not in him—when a lie can make or save a dollar for his god—which is the Company. We have not quite done with him yet, I imagine. Hup there, you huskies—the trail is long and we are two days behind!”
[CHAPTER XVIII—THE LONG ARM OF THE COMPANY]
The fourth day out, at a noon camp by a spring that still defied the frost, Barreau straightened up suddenly from his stooping over the frying-pan.
“Listen,” he said.
His ears were but little keener than mine, for even as he spoke I caught a sound that was becoming familiar from daily hearing: the soft pluff, pluff of snowshoes. In the thick woods, where no sweeping winds could swirl it here and there and pile it in hard smooth banks, the snow was spread evenly, a loose, three-foot layer, as yet uncrusted. Upon this the foot of man gave but little sound, even where there was a semblance of trail. So that almost in the instant that we heard and turned our heads we could see those who came toward us. Three men and two women—facing back upon the trail we followed.
The men I recognized at once. One was Cullen, the bookkeeping automaton; the other two were half-breed packers. They halted at sight of us, and from their actions I believe they would have turned tail if Barreau had not called to them. Then they came up to the fire.
“Where now?” Barreau demanded.
“We go back on ze pos’, M’sieu,” one of the breeds declared.
“What of the others?” Barreau asked sharply. “And why do you turn back?”
“Because Ah’m not weesh for follow ze fat trader an’ die een som’ snowbank, me,” the breed retorted sullenly. “M’sieu Barreau knows zat ze Companie has taken ze pos’, eh?”