“Two hundred and twenty miles, mon?” The factor was incredulous.
“Oui,” came the steady answer.
“Did ye pass à la Crosse?”
“Oui, heet destroy!” Jules said quietly, looking at the big Scotchman.
“Ah-ha! that’s fine; we’ll show that Nor’west Company that we can push ’em out. Did ye see any pairson gettin’ awa’?” he asked then.
“Non, M’sieu’ le Facteur.”
“Weel, tell me, did ye know aught o’ a mon somewhaire downe in that deestrict called—Let me see; Le Pendu was here last week and told me his name—Verbox, Verbax, something like that?”
“Oui, Ah know heem; he leeve au sud long way h’off,” Jules answered, and the gray eyes snapped.
“Weel, ye go an’ get ye summat to eat, but ye’ll have to pay me in furs!” The factor looked keenly at the big French-Canadian before him.
“Certainement!” Jules answered, and went out of the store. A voyageur showed him to the supply-house, and he got some pemmican, tea and bread, and a blanket. Then he cooked himself a meal at one of the tepee fires and ate long, but slowly and carefully. When he had finished, he went over and squatted silently with a group of Indian trappers and Canadian voyageurs. He was tired out, but his long sufferings seemed dulled; he rested and listened to the low, monotonous hum of the rough voices about him, rarely speaking himself. A French trapper took pity on the haggard face, and when one by one the crowd turned in, he touched Jules on the arm.