“Qui va la? Who is it?” she asked.
“Ba’tiste Caron,” was the reply in English, in a faint voice. She was beside him in an instant.
“What has happened? Why are you off the trail?” she said, and supported him.
“My Injun stoled my dogs and run off,” he replied. “I run after. Then, when I am to come to the trail”—he paused to find the English word, and could not—“encore to this trail I no can. So. Ah, bon Dieu, it has so awful!” He swayed and would have fallen, but she caught him, bore him up. She was so strong, and he was as slight as a girl, though tall.
“When was that?” she asked.
“Two nights ago,” he answered, and swayed. “Wait,” she said, and pulled a flask from her pocket. “Drink this-quick.”
He raised it to his lips, but her hand was still on it, and she only let him take a little. Then she drew it away, though she had almost to use force, he was so eager for it. Now she took a biscuit from her pocket.
“Eat; then some more brandy after,” she urged. “Come on; it’s not far. See, there’s the light,” she added cheerily, raising her head towards the hut.
“I saw it just when I have fall down—it safe me. I sit down to die—like that! But it safe me, that light—so. Ah, bon Dieu, it was so far, and I want eat so!” Already he had swallowed the biscuit.
“When did you eat last?” she asked, as she urged him on.