Carmody smiled into the serious dark eyes. "Go on, Jeanne," he said, "tell us what you would do."
"It is simple—only to build a big fire upon the spot where the logs were piled, and when Moncrossen finds the ashes he will seek no farther for his logs."
"Great!" cried Bill, in undisguised admiration and, with the help of the others, proceeded to carry the plan into effect. All night they piled fuel upon the fire, and in the morning their efforts were rewarded by a pile of ashes that would easily be mistaken for the ruins of the bird's-eye rollway.
With the passing of the long, hot days of summer, Bill Carmody regained his strength, and yet he lingered in the camp of the Lacombies.
Creed was seen no more upon Blood River, and Bill assumed the responsibility of guarding the log camp, making for the purpose almost daily excursions with Jeanne or Jacques.
August mellowed into smoky September—September gave place to the red and gold of October, and the blood of the forest folk quickened to the tang of the North.
At the conclusion of one of these tours of inspection, Bill came suddenly upon the girl standing in awe before the skin of Diablesse, which remained where he and Fallon had nailed it on the wall of the bunk-house. Bill carefully removed the nails and laid the dry pelt at the feet of the girl.
"See," he said, "the skin of the werwolf—it is yours."
"Mine!" she cried, with shining eyes. "You would give me this!"
Bill smiled. "Yes, that is all I have, here in the woods. But when I return I will bring you many things from the land of the white men."