“It’s all right, old man. You needed it and there was nothing you could do,” Bob assured him, giving him a good hug.
It was evident that Jean had nearly recovered his strength and would soon be as good as ever.
“It takes a lot to kill one of those fellows,” Bob whispered to Jack as they were washing the dishes.
With a few strips of rawhide which Bob found, Jean soon had the broken snow-shoe repaired temporarily and by eleven o’clock they were ready to start for the camp.
“But you haven’t told us how you came to get lost,” Bob said as he pulled on his mackinaw.
“I go Nor’East Carry yes’day mornin’. Come back, she ver’ hard goin’, geet ver’ tired, then shoe she bust, no can mak’ mooch go. See light in here, then yell, then no more,” Jean explained in his broken English. “You save life, me ver’ mooch tank, no ought. Me no goot, trow ax on purpose, ver’ sorry now. You no forgive, non?”
“Surest thing you know, old man. Forget it. We’ll be great friends from now on. How about it?” and Bob held out his hand, a kindly smile on his face.
The Frenchman had held his eyes steadily on the floor as he stammered out the confession, and it took some time for Bob’s eager words of forgiveness to penetrate his understanding. “An eye for an eye” has always been his creed and he was slow to grasp any other. But as he glanced up and saw the outstretched hand and the smile which accompanied it, the true meaning of forgiveness entered his mind for the first time in all his life. Tears glistened in his eyes as he grasped the proffered hand and stammered:
“Oui, we friends, you let me.”
“All right, that’s settled,” Bob declared joyfully, as Jack in turn held out his hand.