Day was just beginning to lighten the sky when he was up and, after a hasty, cold breakfast, went on again. The trail turned a little to the northeast as he went, and then he came to the remnants of a fire, and saw where Jules had slept, and where the dogs had dug holes for themselves in the snow. The signs were not very old; indeed, Tritou fancied that he could still feel heat in the ashes. With renewed vigour he pushed on and on. The course lay through heavy timber now, and he had to stop and puzzle out the faint snow-shoe scratches in several places. He came to another lake, but this was covered with snow, and the tracks showed clear upon it. Half-way across he stopped; to the northeast of him, in the woods, a thin blue haze indicated smoke. Tritou breathed faster, and followed the tracks to the edge of the woods. There he left the team and, rifle in hand, sneaked along the snow-shoe marks. “At las’!” he whispered, as he saw the smoke ascending through the trees two hundred yards in front of him. He loosened the knife in his belt, and made sure that the rifle was ready. Then he crept forward warily.
Jules was skinning some marten in front of a little shed hut; a fire burned brightly near him, and he sang merrily as he peeled the sleek fur from the little stiff body in his hands.
“La boule elle roule,
Laridon-dè, laridon-da!”
Crang! His ear stung and he drew his hand away from it bloody. Crang! His cap twitched as he flung the marten to one side and dashed behind a big pine. All was silent. He wondered who it was that had fired at him. Then he took off his cap and saw the bullet-hole in it, near the fur tassel. “C’est près, ça! Dat close!” he said. He stuck the cap on a twig and pushed it carefully from behind the trunk. Cran-ng! and the cap fell to the crust. “He shoot good!” muttered Jules, as he kept perfectly still behind his tree.
A soft crunch broke the silence; Verbaux stuck his head in and out from the tree trunk quickly.
“Tritou!” His voice quivered ominously, and his hands clenched. He had seen Tritou as the latter, knowing that Jules had no gun, went from one tree to another, to get a near shot when opportunity offered.
“Bon! you tak’ care!” shouted Jules.
A mocking laugh from the other was the only answer.
Round and round Verbaux worked about his tree, keeping its protecting trunk between him and Tritou. The latter did not dare approach too close, as he feared that Jules might rush him if he did. The long afternoon passed thus, each man seeking an opportunity that would not come. The shadows grew deeper, and the skies turned a dark green-blue; still the two watched and waited. Darkness came and the forest was plunged in black. Verbaux listened intently. Everything was absolutely still, except for the hoot of an owl in the distance. Slowly, very slowly he stepped out from behind his tree and listened again. No sound! Inch by inch he worked his way in Tritou’s direction. It was wonderful; he moved over the crust and made not the tiniest crackle. Swish—crunch! came from the darkness beyond, very softly, but Jules heard it and sneaked on. “Diable!” he thought, as an unseen stick crackled under him; he stopped. Tritou had heard it, too, and was fleeing through the woods, his snow-shoes clicking loudly. He had not dreamed that Jules was so near. Verbaux started after him. Tritou’s snow-shoes gave him a decided advantage, because Jules slipped and slid on the crust. He did not have on his moccasins with caribou-hair soles. Cran-ng! sounded the rifle, and the bullet pi-i-nged viciously over Jules’s head. He made no answer, but ran on at full speed. Cran-ng! again, and the bullet thudded into a tree near by. Tritou was firing toward the sound of Jules’s leaps on the crust! Cran-ng! The leaden missile zi-i-i-ped at Jules’s feet. He dodged to the right and listened. Tritou stopped, too, and the woods were deathlike in their stillness.