The wind sighed through the trees. “Leesten!” Bossu held up his hand.
Far off in the forest a scratching and faint pattering could be heard on the hard crust. The trappers listened intently; the sound grew, and then they heard a long “Who-ee-e!” They looked at one another.
“Tritou, by diable!” said Dumois. “Vat he comme for, hein?” He looked at the camp as he spoke, nodding toward it. The others perceived his meaning and growled, “Nevaire!”
“Ho-o-o-p!” shouted Bossu. An answering call sounded near by, and in a few minutes six dogs drawing a light sledge ran into the firelight and stopped, panting. Behind them Tritou’s squat figure appeared, rifle on his arm.
“Bon soi’!” answered Bossu. “Vat you do here, Tritou?”
“Ah come f’om Petites Colignes las’ night et to-day; Ah go to Hautes Terres to-mor’. ’Ow many here?” he asked.
“Five!” said Le Grand. The three other Indians’ eyes gleamed for a moment, but they made no comment.
“Who ees de hoddaire mans?” asked Tritou, looking about for the fifth member of the party.
“Clement! ’Sleep!” answered Le Grand, jerking his thumb toward the camp as he named an Indian who, he knew, was away from the post, trapping to the southward.
Tritou unharnessed his team and fed them. Then he drew his blankets from the sledge and, with a nod to the others, went in the camp.