The snow had ceased, but the wind grew stronger, and it whistled and moaned about him. The air cooled and became bitter with the sting of frost. Jules shivered and found his way back to the lean-to, crawled in it with his blanket, and tried to sleep. He tried in vain; always his dream was lifelike before his eyes, and he turned and twisted over and over under the fur covering. Then his sharp ears caught a faint cracking sound; he sat up and listened. A gaunt white form came and stood motionless before him, then it lifted its head, yowled dismally, and was gone. “Loup blanc! Dat bad signe!” Jules spoke dully—lay down and closed his eyes, striving to forget. Sleep, deep sleep, came again, and the figure under the blanket was still.
It was gray dawn when Verbaux woke. After the morning meal he went down through the woods to his traps, and found six sable, a cross-fox, and a marten in them. “Dat pay for mon h’eat!” he said as he skinned out the dead forms. Then he took up his axe and food-bag and started for the post again. The wind was strong; it dashed the loose snow over the barrens; its bitter edge made Jules draw his muffler close and compress his lips to keep his teeth from aching with the cold. “Ah lak’ see dees territoire,” he thought, and worked his way steadily along to the south-east. After crossing the wide, desolate stretches of level waste he came into the timber-lands again. The trees stood very thickly and the leaden skies cast but little light beneath their branches. There were many tracks of the inhabitants of the forest on the snow.
Here the short leaps of the sable, there the shuffling trail of a marten, and beyond the dainty footprints of a fox—faint, soft lines showing that he was care-free as he dragged his heavy brush. The tall hemlock and spruce swayed and bowed gracefully with a caressing, monotonous sound, and Jules felt the soothing influence of the great wilderness as he strode on, his snow-shoes stirring the loose white that rested on the light rain-crust. Overhead the sun shone coldly, mystically, through flying scud and hurrying thin clouds. The forest ended again, and straight ahead loomed the endless cold distances; the snow-line and the gray-white horizon came together and blended into one. Jules stopped and looked about him: everywhere white, everything white and still. The greatness of the wastes and the depth of nature came over him.
“Ah am notting,” he whispered, and went on. The miles came, were passed over, and fell behind the tall, gaunt form that hurried on tirelessly. Jules crossed Lac au Loups and changed his course to east; going over a hill he saw a herd of caribou; the fleet animals sped on across the wind and disappeared like wraiths in the harmonious white desert. Late in the afternoon Fond du Lac appeared as a black dot, then grew into the buildings and the stockade as he went toward it. Entering the yard, he crossed to Cuchoise’s tepee and went in. It was empty. He lighted his pipe and lay down on the boughs, his eyes roaming wistfully over the Indian girl’s clothes and the children’s rag dolls. He turned his back and lay there thinking, dreaming the day-dreams of waking hours.
The flap was softly pushed aside and the girl came in alone. She started a little at the sight of the strong form stretched at her feet, then sat down quietly and began to sew with caribou-sinews on some of Cuchoise’s moccasins. Jules listened and watched with half-opened eyes.
“Ma-shca-wis-sie! [He is strong!]” she whispered, looking at him. “Ki-wa-bi-min In-nin-ee sak-ar-te-win [I look at you, big man, with love],” she murmured softly. Jules closed his eyes; a shadow of pain flitted over his face. “Bon Dieu, no dat!” he prayed, and lay still. The girl moved little by little toward him. “Ki-non-don-no-ne? [Do you hear?]” she asked. He feigned heavy sleep. Her black eyes played over him and he felt their glow; his soul rebelled, and he sat up quickly; the girl uttered a little cry, holding her hands, delicate and thin, toward him. “Ne-na-bhai-m! [My true husband!]” she whispered. Jules stood up slowly. The gray eyes were sad, and a weariness seemed to come over his body.
“In-din-ne-ga-wwe-go-in-dum-m [I am sorry],” he said in low tones, and passed out of the tepee, taking the food-bag and the light axe. He went to the store and threw the pelts he had at the factor’s feet. “Dat good?” he asked. Nelson looked at the skins. “Yes, but ye ’re not awa’, mon?” he asked. Jules nodded and went out of the store, across the yard, through the gate, and away into the wilderness once more.
XIV
LIGHT OF THE EVENING
Onawguishin (Light of the Evening) jumped to her feet, ran swiftly to the gate, and watched him go. The finely chiselled face quivered, then she turned and went to the store. Silently pushing her way through the Indians gathered there, she found the factor. “Wa-ymit-te-go-osh, Weer-baux [Frenchman gone, Verbaux],” she told him abruptly, and went quickly as she had come. The black eyes gleamed fiercely, as she went back to the tepee and sat down to the sewing of the moccasins. Everything was turmoil in the yard; the Indians and voyageurs ran about shouting, the factor yelled furious orders from the store; then a dozen men on snow-shoes sped out of the post, took Verbaux’s trail swiftly, and disappeared on it. Evening Star sewed on quietly. Steps approached the tepee and Cuchoise came, threw down his load of fur, and looked around the interior. “Verbaux ta-nin-dai? [Where is Verbaux?]” The girl looked up at him steadily. “Ma-tche-ma-ni-tou [Evil Spirit],” she answered. He stared at her without understanding.