CHAPTER XXIII
THE STRANGE STORY
Jean's fervent declaration that he prayed never to be obliged to use his rifle against a human being may have acted as a potent charm against evil. At any rate, the welcome light of a gray October morning saw the little company still undisturbed by any unpleasant intruder. It had been a strenuous night for the three men, yet daylight found them signally cheerful and alert. The long weary vigil that David and Jean had kept, the greater part of it standing on their feet, was a watch of pure affection. The object of their solicitude had been hardly more comfortable. The cold, rain-beaten rock on which Jean had spread his own and David's blankets was a poor couch at best. But to Tom it represented the freedom he had despaired of ever again attaining, and he was more than satisfied with his makeshift bed. Worn out by his recent exertion, he had fallen asleep directly after they had eaten supper. He awakened at daybreak declaring that he felt refreshed and much stronger.
As soon as the first indications of dawn appeared in the still-cloudy sky, Jean was about and stirring. As they devoured the few sandwiches they had left, he gravely urged the necessity of starting at once for the spot where he had cachéd their supplies. Among these supplies was a coil of thin, tough rope which Jean proposed should serve in the construction of a litter on which to carry Tom. Once that important detail had been attended to, they would be able to proceed much faster toward Mr. Mackenzie's camp.
Again old Jean had insisted that Tom must postpone the telling of his story until they were well on the way to camp. "You talk now, you get tire', M'sieu' Tom," he said with a solemn wagging of his gray head. "We know wil' man have shut you up an' keep you hid for long time. It is enough to know. We are satisfy." Privately Jean was alive with curiosity regarding the mysterious "wil' man," yet his duty to Tom came first and he did not intend to slight it in any particular.
The hike to the cachéd supplies was painful for Tom Gray, yet he limped along uncomplainingly, part of the time supported by Jean's ready arm; then again helped over the rough spots by David. Though they had set forth with the dawn, it was after mid-day when they reached their goal. Almost immediately after they arrived, Jean scoured the vicinity for enough dry wood to build a fire. Once a blaze was well started David prepared the simple meal, while the intrepid old man turned his attention to the construction of the litter. Armed with a hatchet he hacked sufficient boughs from the trees with which to make it, and went at his task with a will.
He left his task only long enough to snatch a hasty bite, then returned to it, his wiry fingers fairly flying as he worked. When completed, the litter would be a rude affair at best, made somewhat more comfortable by the folded blankets which covered it. Tom, meanwhile, was rejoicing openly over his coffee and crisp fried bacon. "It's the first square meal I've had for over a week," he declared. "If you only knew—but I'll have to wait to tell you. Won't I, Jean?" He called this last to Jean, who was putting the finishing touches to the litter.
"It is for M'sieu' Tom's own good that I mak' the reques'," replied Jean. "But for this, that you min' what ol' Jean tell you, I will give you the rewar'." His shrewd black eyes very tender, Jean fumbled in an inner pocket of his rough coat. Drawing forth Grace's letter he rose and tendered it to the astonished young man.
"Now him is done," Jean referred, not to Tom, but to the finished means for Tom's transportation. "I go, put 'way the t'ings till we com' after, som' day." With this pointed assertion, Jean promptly made good his word. David followed him with alacrity, leaving Tom alone with his unexpected treasure. Despite Jean's frequent admonitions that they "mus' 'urry," it was fully fifteen minutes before either he or David returned to the wan, but happy-faced figure by the fire. Man-like, not one of the three made any allusion to the letter which was now tucked away in one of Tom's coat pockets. Jean and David had seen the light of a great joy flame up in their comrade's gray eyes, and in the old hunter's vernacular, they were "satisfy."
Having again cachéd their few effects, with the exception of Jean's trusty rifle, Tom was soon established on the litter and the hike was again renewed. Difficult as it had been for David and Jean to make their way to the point in the woods which they had just left, the return was a trebly laborious journey. The approach of night found them not yet halfway to the lumber camp. They had calculated that the increased supplies in David's knapsack would furnish them with supper, leaving a comfortable allowance for breakfast the next day. By starting again at daylight the following morning they hoped to reach camp before the middle of the next afternoon. As they drew nearer to the camp they knew they would find the road less difficult.