“Ah’m hur-rt!” Jules spoke slowly and pointed to his left leg. The rough trouser and heavy moccasin were soggy with blood, which had congealed on them in a black mass. As Jules finished speaking he swayed a little and passed his big hand wearily over his forehead. Dumois jumped to his side.
“How you woun’?” he asked, a deep sympathy in his voice.
“Hax,” answered Jules, simply; then he added, “Ah cut moi par h’accident dees morn’n’; no can go h’on snow-shoe’; have had notting for heat; you can geeve me leetle, hein?” He looked at the others with pain-dulled eyes. “Ah see your trap’ and comme for help,” he continued.
“By gar! dat too dam’ bad!” said Hibou, loudly, to hide the lump in his throat that threatened to break his voice.
Tenderly and carefully the men supported Verbaux and laid him gently on a blanket before the fire. The gray eyes flashed their gratitude; then they closed and Verbaux fainted from hunger and pain. The trappers looked at the long, powerful form stretched helpless at their feet, and no one spoke.
“Bon! queeck!” said Bossu then, “ve mus’ feex dat woun’!” He knelt, and quickly split the trouser and cut away the top of the moccasin. A long, deep gash in the calf of the leg showed black and ugly; Bossu shook his head. “Ver’ bad dat!” he said. Water was heated and the wound thoroughly cleansed. It was a clean cut; the axe had bitten deep, but the lips of the gash were smooth and even. Bossu drew them together, and tied the leg up tightly, first with cloth, then with wide caribou-thongs.
Jules stirred. “Dat good, merci!” he whispered. Le Grand had been preparing tea and food, and he fed Jules like a child. Then the four lifted the big figure and carried it into the camp, and placed Jules on a fresh heap of boughs, covered him with blankets, and left him asleep.
Hibou threw more wood on the fire, and they squatted about it again.
“Ah’m ver’ content; Ah can do somme t’ing for heem!” said Le Grand.
“Nous aussi,” quickly answered the others, then silence came over the group.