The other spoke then quietly. “Non, Verbaux; Le Grand ees ol’ man maintenant; he no vant mak’ du travaille pour toi. Non, you an’ Marie mus’ be content togeddaire, h’alon’. Toi ’ave beeg cœur, mais Ah can no h’accep’. Ah go avec toi an’ see Marie encore vone taime, den Le Grand he go to Poste Determination an’ travailler so long he can.”
The old man puffed stoically on. Jules sighed deeply, but said no more. He knew the iron will that lived in this body worn of years, bent with pain, but strong yet. They sat awhile before the fire, then crawled in on the fresh aromatic bed of green.
A distant grumbling broke the silence.
“Tonnerre, by dam’!” Le Grand ejaculated. “Bes’ put h’on de branches.” He and Jules hurriedly gathered more thick boughs and laid them, thatch-wise, over their heads, end to end across the forked limbs that served as supports.
“Dat h’anough,” Verbaux said, and they got inside and waited. The approaching thunder muttered louder and louder, and tines of ragged lightning darted from the black skies.
“By gar! dat goin’ be grand tempête!” said Jules.
The air was heavy and silent; the forest motionless.
“La voilà!” Le Grand shouted as the wind came suddenly, bending the dark trees and whistling shrilly through their impeding arms.
The thunder pealed, roar on roar, the vicious bolts jaggedly seared the air all round them, and then the rain fell in soaking torrents. It beat its way through the men’s shelter and dripped steadily on them.
“Bah! Phu-i-i-a!” Jules grunted as a stream of water poured on his face; his companion laughed and drew his skin jacket over his eyes.