“She couldn’t ever have lived in such a country,” he told himself, with perhaps a tinge of regret. “Poor little thing, I wonder what’s to become of her? The whole thing’s a shame––a ghastly shame. Wait till Stefan and I find out all about it. Somebody’s got to get hurt, that’s all!”
Maigan had already hauled the toboggan to the door of the big shack, and the other animals had come near to renew assurances of armed neutrality. The good woman of the house appeared just as Hugo came up. She must have been rather staggered by his appearance, for she drew back, staring at him and shaking her head in decided disapproval.
“’Ow many mile you call heem to de depot at Carcajou,” she asked him, with hands on her hips and a severe look on her face.
“Why, it’s twelve miles to my shack and one more to this place,” he answered, dully. “You know that just as well as I. Don’t you remember the county surveyors told us so last year?”
“An’ you tink you goin’ pull dat toboggan all way back wid you h’arm all bad an’ you seek, lookin’ lak’ one ghosts! Excuse me, Monsieur Hugo, but you one beeg fool. My man Papineau ’e come back from de traps to-morrow an’ heem pull de young lady ’ome 170 wid de dogs. You no fit to go. I tink you go to bed right now, bes’ place for you, sure.”
She pulled him inside, holding on to his uninjured arm as if he had been under arrest. She was a masterful woman, to be sure. Madge had arisen from a chair and Mrs. Papineau addressed her. A glance at the man’s countenance had left the girl appalled. His features were drawn, the brown tint of his face had changed to a characterless gray, his eyes looked sunken and brighter, as if some fever brought a flame into them.
“Sure you no in h’awful beeg ’urry for to go ’ome, Mees?” asked the hostess. “Dis man heem real seek. Heem no fit for valk all vay back to Carcajou now. To-morrow my man take you. Papineau he no forgif me if I let Monsieur Hugo go aff an’ heem so seek.”
“Why, of course! I’m not in any special hurry. To-morrow will do just as well. He––he mustn’t think of going to-day and––and it doesn’t matter in the least. It––it makes no difference at all.”
“Do you really think that you can manage to stay here for another day?” the young man asked her, as he dropped rather heavily on a bench by the table. “I don’t think there ’s really much the matter with me, really, and 171 I’m sure I could manage it if you’re anxious to get away. But perhaps to-morrow....”