"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you remember passing a policeman on the road. He was watching for a Yankee spirit cart, contraband of course. He will have caught it by this time, and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law. Go back in the sledge—you will meet him returning—and bring him here. If he rides into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe. As for me, I must keep watch here. No one can leave the house without me seeing him, the night is so clear. A dark figure against the white ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the back of the homestead. Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian."
Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh horse. This was easily managed. Bowkett was delighted to think the travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest.
The sledge went round to Forgill's hut. Gaspé wrapped himself in the bearskin and departed. No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De Brunier was left behind. He built up the fire and reconnoitred his ground. In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel.
"I must anticipate your owner's permission and adopt you," he said, as he gave it a flourish to try its weight. Then he looked to the revolver in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking backwards, with it still in sight—a self-appointed sentry, ready to challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diomé. He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally. There was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of consequences. He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the Indian mind. Revenge is the justice of the savage. It was Maxica's retaliation that he feared. Diomé had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count. It was clear he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage. "The moral force will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he said to himself. "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants. I shall find some to second me." He heard the scrape of the fiddle and the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the dancers' footsteps.
Hour succeeded hour. The fire in the hut burned low. De Brunier left his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs. He returned to his watch. The house-door opened. Out came Diomé and crossed to the cattle-sheds. Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner's horse. He changed his position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a few yards of the house. The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave him an elevation. He was looking down into the court, where the snow had been partially cleared.
Diomé was walking the horse up and down before the door. It was not a night in which any one could stand still. His impatient stamping to warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others. The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the doorway.
"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can count on his neutrality; and Diomé must know that a word from me would bring about his dismissal from his new master."
Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter could ride.
"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be speeding on his errand. The hour draws near."
As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diomé walked rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's hut. With cautious steps De Brunier followed.