Inside the hut Jules crept noiselessly to the bed.
“Go now! ve be keel ici! Dubat go nord! Crevier go sud! Ah go ouest!” he said in almost inaudible tones.
Carefully the two others followed him to the door, and they sprang through the clearing into the blackness of the forests.
“Trois mans, by diable!” screamed Annaotaha as he saw the three flit like shadows from the camp. The Indians’ rifles barked again, and the bullets pludd-ed among the tree trunks. Wild cries and shouts arose, and Jules heard some one running after him. He increased his speed and went on swiftly through the deep woods, his pursuer cursing aloud and losing ground fast. Soon Jules could hear nothing of the man behind him, and he stopped. Everything was still; then far to the rear the faint pang of a rifle jarred the crisp silence.
Verbaux started again and travelled steadily to the southwest. Hour after hour passed; daylight came, then broad day swept over the land, and still Jules kept on. At last the timber-land ended; he crossed out on the great barrens. The morning wind created living things of the loose drift. Round, oblong snow-clouds whirled and twisted along, their under sides blue, their tops dazzling white in the sun. Many delicate tones of gray-blue and dark gray mingled and blended into one another as the wind scud passed over the face of the sun and cast fast-changing shadows. The wind was cold; it had come for thousands of miles over chilled countries, endless barrens, black lakes and rivers frozen in fantastic shapes, and was always laden with the ice particles, that hummed and rustled monotonously, caught up by one gust, dropped, taken by another and hurried through miles of space. Verbaux covered his face with his muffler. “Ah had for leave dat chappette,”[[8]] he said sadly. He looked back. The timber fringe of the barrens was far away; only the giant trees lifted their peaked tops above the solid line of dark green. Then Verbaux slowed his pace, hesitating. “Ah lak’ go back for dat,” he thought, and the gray eyes were wistful. “Non! Ah mus’ fin’—Le Grand, oui, Le Grand!” Not the slightest admission of his heart’s wish came from his lips.
[8]. Little cap.
“Ha! dere track!” he muttered as a little farther on his keen eyes saw many snow-shoe marks; he bent over them, but the drift had almost obliterated the indentations, and he was not able to recognise any of the trails. There was one long, narrow track that turned in at the heel instead of at the toe. “Ah nevaire see dat befor’!” Verbaux said as he walked along slowly, watching the peculiar marks. As he proceeded his interest grew strangely, and soon he was following the trail backward at a rapid pace; the other snow-shoes had crossed and recrossed it, but the long scratches and slidings on the crust showed clearly by comparison. “Comme f’om Poste Reliance, Ah t’ink!” Jules raised his head, then stopped suddenly. A few yards ahead of him lay a body thinly covered with white; dark stains in the snow around the head told the story. He brushed the form clear; it was that of a squaw; the eyes were fixed and glaring stonily into his own as he turned the figure over. A deep gash in the throat had given the outlet to the life-blood that coated the freezing surface about it red and brown. “Diables, dose mans!” Jules growled. The long track traced in and out near the body, and he puzzled out where the maker of that trail had stood and bent over the dying woman. She was not very old, and not ugly. “Eet ees near to t’irt’ mile’ to Reliance,” Jules thought. “Ah no can tak’ dat femme là-bas, an’ Ah have notting to mak’ de trou ici!” He straightened up. “B’en, Jules have to go! Pauv’e femme!” he said aloud and travelled on. Shortly afterward he came upon a snow hill. Rising black from the white before him was the forest again, a few miles on. He turned his head on the back trail and shuddered. Specks were moving hither and thither, now dark and sharp, then blurred and dim as drift puffs partially hid them. They gathered together in a certain spot on the barren and seemed motionless. “De loups dey have fin’ dat corps’! Bon Dieu, Jules Verbaux he t’ink dat somme taime he have to mak’ la guerre on dat Hodson Baie Compagnie an’ keel lak’ dose Indiens dey keel!” His voice was low and savage. He went on again.
Late in the afternoon the buildings of the Northwest Post of Lac la Pluie (Rainy Lake) showed up ahead, and in an hour he entered the yard.
“Et toi, Verbaux!” one of the group of voyageurs called to him laughingly; “vat you do so far ’way de Lac des Sables?”
“Ah go Poste Reliance in vone, two day’!” Jules answered as he joined the group. Picturesque men they were and rough in their tanned-skin shirts that hung outside of the broad caribou-hide trousers; fringes of hair adorned the ends of their shirts, and choice bits of ermine were cleverly stitched in various designs here and there on the brown skins. Beaver, otter, and fox caps were predominant on the men’s heads, and tassels of picked fur dangled gracefully over the sides of their faces. Long moccasins with coloured beads were on their feet, and bright handkerchiefs knotted loosely about many of their throats showed their childlike love of bright colours. They offered Jules tobacco; he filled his pipe and lighted it. “Ah see dat Annaotaha an’ les Crees!” he said then. “Quand?” “V’ere?” “V’en?” The questions came eagerly. “Las’ nuit dey h’attack Crevier, Dubat, an’ moi, an’ comme near feenesh nous aussi!” and Jules laughed silently. The crowd were clamorous for details. Jules told them the story of the night attack, and how he and the two others had fled, and of his success in getting away; he told of finding the woman’s body, and deep curses showed the feeling of these men of the wilderness. When he had finished his story, there was a silence.