“Becaus’ Verbaux no go ’way an’ leave dat souvenir of enfant ici!”
Crevier looked at Jules through drooping lids. The stooped figure swayed a little, stopped, swayed again, then shivered very slightly, and was still.
Crevier stood up and went to the door. Outside, it was a fine, clear night. The straggler clouds of the storm hurried in little groups across the light faces of the stars to catch up with the main body. The cold, penetrating air was fresh-smelling of the pine and laden with ozone of the wind and snow. He turned.
“To-mor’ ve go back to Poste Reliance!” he said quietly, then stepped out into the shadowless gloom.
Verbaux raised his head and listened; everything was still but the snapping fire at his feet.
“Pauvre Le Grand,” he murmured. “Ah mus’ go an’ see heem, mais Ah go seul’ment for dat, seul’ment for dat!” he repeated rapidly, as though trying to choke down the other thoughts that craved expression in different words from those that he had just spoken. Alternately a pale, wan face, then a rugged, kindly one, came before his eyes. “Ah not go for to see dat femme!” he almost shouted, because he feared to trust himself in the silence.
“Toi ver’ beeg fool!”
Crevier stood in the door; his arms held a pile of fire-wood, and jets of freezing moisture streamed from his nostrils as he came in out of the night and closed the bark door. He threw his load down in the corner, the dry sticks breaking sharply above the crackle of the hearth fire. He got out a light blanket from his carry-bag and laid it over some skins that were on the floor. “À demain, Verbaux,” he said as he stretched himself on it; he turned over, and was asleep in a moment. Jules stood looking down at the still form for long minutes.
“Ah go ’way for leetle taime. Ah no can go weet heem!” he whispered to himself; then silently and quickly he took his snow-shoes, reached up for the little cap and put it in his shirt, took some food, and went away into the darkness.
For a long time after he had gone nothing stirred. The trees were resting after their long turmoil, and stood as though carved from green-black marble. Crevier slept on quietly.