Between the tops of the spruce, as he went along, he could see the glowing sky dim shade by shade; at last just their own gray-black colour remained. Then he heard voices coming through the dark woods; he stepped swiftly to one side and crouched behind a big log. Shadowy forms passed him, many of them in single file; some carried heavy loads, and he heard a woman’s stifled crying. One of the party spoke. “Mis-ta-bou-tah-kse! [Very good work!]”
“Ah-ha,” answered another figure.
“Bon t’ing, dat; ha-ree-no-os-kit-chip! [I am glad!]” some one else said.
“Annaotaha h’aga’n!” Jules growled softly to himself. He counted forty-two men. They had all gone by, but Verbaux waited a little while, then started on fast. He came to the ruins of the post, and his eyes hardened at what they saw. Not a building remained standing; bright masses of coals marked their places, and the black, pungent smoke floated off heavily and noiselessly, laden with tiny sparks. The falling snow showed very white against it.
Jules listened, but there was no sound of living thing; the coals hissed and spluttered, and the dull crashes of the charred logs sounded thickly as they fell in on one another. There was a grim feeling of solitude over it all, and Verbaux’s face was stern as he moved forward carefully. A little light, given out by a few feeble spurts of flame, intensified the desolate and mournful scene.
Parts of the stockade were standing, but every log house, fur and supply-shed was gone. Verbaux took off his show-shoes and walked slowly towards the remains of the factor’s house; suddenly he stumbled over something; he looked down, and felt of the obstruction. It was a body, still warm. He listened a moment, then got a small flaming brand from one of the fires and held it over the face. It was one of the voyageurs, hacked and disfigured.
“Ah vondaire ’Ow many get sauf ’vay?” and Jules sighed as he rose and hunted further. At the ruin of the voyageurs’ house were the scorched forms of three men resting on the hot coals beneath; the odour of burning flesh was sickening, but Verbaux turned all the bodies over, trying to identify them.
“Non, pas MaacTaveesh!” He prodded and searched among the ruins for two hours, and found the bodies of eleven men and seven women; all were mutilated. “Bien!” Jules said when he had finished the gruesome search; “le facteur no keel; maintenant did he get ’vay sauf, ou était il capture?” He went out to the edge of the ruins. “Notting to h’eat; Jules have to go queeck deux jours hongree for arriver home!” he said to himself. Accordingly, he started out of the stockade to the northeast; he had gone but a little way, and was kneeling, putting on his snow-shoes, when a bigger blaze than the others caught his eye; he looked, and saw a figure pass between him and it.
“Dat somme vone. Vat he vant là-bas, hein?” Jules asked himself.
He worked his way back closer and closer to the now brightly burning fire; keeping under cover of the upright portion of the stockade, he approached to within twenty yards of the flames, and peered through a chink between the logs. He could see the dark form moving rapidly among the ruins, searching here, there, everywhere. Verbaux felt for his knife and loosened it in its caribou-hide sheath, then he stepped forward noiselessly and went to the fire. The stranger was back toward him, and Jules waited silently; the man turned. “Verbaux!” he said, with awe in his voice. Jules’s face brightened, and a faint smile drew up the corners of the mouth. “Le Grand!” he said. The two stared at each other; the light of the leaping flames between them played over their figures, and still both were silent. The wind was coming, and it whirled the snow and cold ashes hither and thither; then Le Grand came forward, a step at a time.