Outside the bright afternoon passed slowly; the shadows grew deeper and the skies changed from blue to yellow-green; then a long streak of crimson stretched across the west, the sun sank below the narrow horizon of the woods, and the northern twilight began. The stars shone tiny bright at first, then grew and grew, seeming to approach the earth, until the dark-blue heavens were scintillating with their number, all twinkling, flickering, gleaming. Jules slept on, the long, gaunt figure stretched in rough grace on the dark green bed, the big chest rising and falling regularly, and the massive hands loose in rest by his side. The dogs were quiet, the breeze had died away, the two huge trees were motionless, only a faint haze came from the chimney.
From out the darkness of the black forests came a sound, faintly at first, then it grew into footsteps on the soft snow. They stopped, and then advanced carefully. There was dim starlight in the clearing before the hut; a dark figure loomed up in it, stopping as it saw the peaked shape between the big trees. It stood and looked, crept to the door, listened, and went in.
The footfalls, gentle as they were, wakened Jules. “Qui ees dere?” he asked suddenly, leaping to his feet. Absolute stillness was his answer. He held his breath and listened, motionless, while the gray eyes searched the darkness of the interior.
“Ah t’ink Ah hear somme t’ing,” he muttered as he walked to the door. He looked out—nothing. He made the round of the hut outside—nothing. He listened again, but there was no sound of any kind.
“Ah rêve!” he said. “Ees cold; mus’ mak’ fire!” He went back, and drew a match-stick sharply over the table surface; it flared, then the wood burned dimly between his fingers. A strange feeling came to him. He turned quickly and held the dying match over his head. By its uncertain light he saw a man standing near the door; the new-comer’s eyes shone black in the yellow light.
“By gar! Qu’est-ce?” growled Jules, bounding forward. The match went out, and the red bits dropped to the floor; his hands closed on empty air. He felt round the walls, then listened out in the night—silence!
“Dat ver’ drôle! Ah see man here certainement!” At that instant another light flashed in the blackness; Jules stared at it eagerly. The man he had seen held it, and the stranger now stood by the bed.
“Candelle,” he said gutturally. Verbaux felt on a little shelf, found the caribou-fat candle, and gave it to the man. He lighted it and set it on the table. The two looked at each other.
“Vat you do ici, an’ vat your name?” asked Jules.
“Mon nom Le Pendu; Ah go nord, Fond du Lac,” answered the other, while his black eyes shifted hither and thither restlessly.