XVII
THE DREAM OF MORNING STAR
Jules trod with care until he was out of hearing of the camp; then, with the keenness natural to a born woodsman’s eyes, he hurried on through the dense blackness, rarely making a sound except the soft crunch of his moccasins on the crust. After two hours’ swift travelling he came out on a barren, and stopped in the open and listened—silence—greater than death which is laden with sorrow, that silence of the great and boundless wilderness of the North which is unfathomable, indescribable. Straight away from him lay the long, rolling waste, at his feet white, farther on gray, and beyond that void of colour. He looked up at the heavens, and as he watched the glinting stars he saw one appear from behind the others and rush across the sky to the south-east, leaving yet drawing a long fiery tail behind it. It arc-ed, sailed below the tree-tops, and disappeared.
The gray eyes looked into the dim distance, then behind him at the woods. “Dat étoile say go back.” He retraced his noiseless way through the black timber to the hut. As he went in Crevier, who was smoking by the heap of glowing embers, said slowly, “Ah know dat you comme back.” “Vat for mans!” Verbaux muttered; then he sat near the heat in silence. It was so absolutely still that the soft little burning hiss of the tobacco at each breath Crevier drew on the pipe was audible. The light of the coal created on the walls vague shadows that grew more and more shapeless. Then only a dim dark red shone on the men’s faces; everything else was black. The two sat on, silent. Then, crisply, rifle-shots rang out on the bitter-cold air, and silence again. Crevier leaped to the door and listened. Nothing at first; then, “Verbaux!” he called softly. Jules was behind him. “Leesten!” he said.
Far off in front of them they could just hear the crunching and light crackling of the crust as something ran over it; then a snapping of branches. “Somme vone comme fas’!” Jules said. The steps approached rapidly; then they heard heavy, laboured breathing that sounded hoarsely out there under the thick hemlock and pine. The thing that hurried and ran came close, and was passing the camp when it stopped and coughed—a rasping, harsh cough. “Trappé!” A man’s voice groaned with agony and fear in the tones. As one, Crevier and Verbaux ran swiftly out among the black trunks; the man heard them coming and started on. “Qu’est-ce?” called Crevier in a low, penetrating voice. The man stopped, turned, and came toward them. The three stood close but could not distinguish one another. “Pierre Du—bat, moi, Compagnie Nor’ouest,” said the stranger, brokenly, and breathing hard, “chassé par les Indiens du Hodson Baie Compagnie; dey comme h’aftaire moi ver’ queeck aussi.”
Crevier and Verbaux heard the man stagger in the darkness as he finished speaking. They caught hold of an arm each and rushed him to the hut. He sat weakly on the bed, and Verbaux began to build up the fire. “Non! Non!” said Pierre hastily, “dey see le feu and comme ici. Non!” Then he faltered to the door to listen. The two others were motionless. “Ah-h!” Pierre whispered. The patter of dogs’ feet could be heard coming swiftly, then the light creaking of sledges, eerie and mysterious in the depths of trees. The three men stood in the little doorway. “Mes dog!” Jules said very softly. “Dose Indiens go pas’ eef dose dog’ no mak’ barrrk!” They waited. On came the sledges; one was approaching the clearing: they could hear a voice swearing at the darkness. Then a team came into the scarce light.
“Bash!” shouted the man on the sledge. The dogs stopped.
“Hache!” breathed Crevier as the three fell back silently in the hut. Verbaux reached behind the door and handed him the axe. “Ho-o-e’o-o-ooe!” called this new arrival. Answering shouts came from near by, echoing back and forth dully. The man came up to the hut, then stopped, listened. The three kept still. He advanced to the door and looked in. The dogs in the shed smelled their kind outside and howled loudly. The man stepped in; Crevier swung the axe viciously at the figure that showed against the dim light of the outside. It dropped without a groan. Then all was still again in the little interior.
“Chies! Chies!” a voice called harshly close by.
“Annaotaha!” muttered Jules.