He stood aside from the hut entrance as he finished speaking. The Indian stared at him as in a trance.
“Verbaux,” he said in a husky voice, “you vone beeg, beeg hearrt. Ah go to mes petits; mais before Ah go Ah tell you dis: Le facteur he sen’ t’irt’ mans for to catch you. Au revoir.” He dropped the rifle into the hollow of his arm, and went off, with bowed head, into the forest.
Jules crossed his body devoutly, and muttered an Ave Maria. “Le facteur sen’ t’irt’ mans? C’est impossible. Dere ten mans on line seex, h’eight mans on Haut Bois, t’ree mans au Rivière Noire; dat mak’ twenty-vone. Den feeft’-t’ree en all h’at la poste! T’irt come for me; by gar, on’ly two lef’ au poste!” he finished, adding on his fingers as he tallied up the Indians of the entire post. “Ah don’ t’ink Le Grand he tell to me vone lie. Bon! Ah go an’ Ah mak’ vone leet’ conversation avec M’sieu’ le Facteur,” he decided.
Then he hurried about the hut, removing all signs of recent habitation; he stowed away the blankets in his tote-bag, pulled the little bark door from its wooden hinges, tore down a corner of the roof and let in a quantity of snow, and kicked the moss bed to pieces; then he took his snow-shoes outside, adjusted them, and went off at a brisk pace to the westward.
All that day he travelled, and all night, guided by his unerring knowledge of the country and of the stars. At daybreak he stopped and built a small fire, carefully selecting the driest wood he could find for it, so that no tale-bearing smoke should rise above the trees. He ate a frugal breakfast, and started on again. The sun was in mid-heaven when he approached the post; the snow was liberally tracked, and other signs of habitation were plenty.
Jules advanced more warily now; he came to the big clearing, and saw the post buildings before him. He watched long and carefully. The smoke from the long chimneys rose lazily in the still air, and the company flag drooped listlessly at its mast. A few children played and romped in and out of the stockade gate, which stood wide open. Outside the yard was a group of Indian tepees, picturesque and silent. At intervals he heard the sound of women’s voices coming from the buildings, but the place was deserted of men and dogs.
Jules watched some time longer; then he advanced boldly across the open, entered the yard, took off his snow-shoes, went up the steps of the store, opened the door, and walked in. An old Indian was arranging some blankets on the counter with shaking hands; hearing the door open, he looked up, then started back in dismay. “Ju-ules Ver-baux!” he whispered.
“Bon jou’, Maquette,” said Jules, quietly. “Le facteur, où est-il?”
The old man nodded to a door in the rear. “Là-bas.” He followed Jules with frightened eyes as the latter rapped on the indicated door.
“Coom in, Maquette. Whut the divil ails ye now, ye dodderin’ old—Verbaux!” The factor ended with a snarl as Jules stepped in, closing the door after him.