“Toujours vrais,” said the rest, solemnly. One by one they got up and went to their tepees.
Jules sat there, thinking, then a light tap on his shoulder roused him. “Dormir là-bas veet’ me,” Gregoire said, pointing to his home, and left the circle of light shed by the bright coals; the silence of rest was on the post.
Somewhere wolves voiced their doleful cry out in the wilderness; Jules disliked the sound strangely to-night and muttered angrily as the distant tones rose and fell, echoed, and died away. He got up and moved noiselessly from the fire, through the tepees, and out of the yard. The woods were there, grim, black, motionless. He listened; then he went slowly round the post, treading carefully, his gray eyes watching everywhere. Suddenly as he stood by the gates again the northern lights brightened. Their cold, pure gleam grew swiftly and things became shapes as by the light of day. A white form trotted out from the dark timber and came straight toward him; it drew close, then stopped, threw up its head, and a long howl came from its throat. Verbaux could see the shining fangs in the open jaws; he caught the glint in the eyes as they reflected the sky light, and he shuddered unconsciously when the dreary wail died away, its sound killed by the thick trees. A moment longer the form stood there, then it moved off silently and was gone. The brightness of the aurora faded; everything was star-dark again.
“Ah-bah! ’nodder loup blanc! Dat ver’ mauvais signe toujours!” He turned into the yard, closed and barred the gates, and went over to Gregoire’s home. It took but a moment to spread his blankets on the boughs, stretch himself on them, and he slept instantly.
The dogs were very restless; they trotted hither and thither in the yard, whining sometimes, and scratching at the foot of the stockade. The hours passed slowly, and daylight was coming faint rose over the tree-tops to the eastward when Jules sat up quickly. He listened, but everything was normal. He wondered what had wakened him; he felt a sense of alertness and got up. Then across the yard came a long howl; other dogs took up the cry and the air was full of sound. The brutes ceased all at once. Verbaux was already in the yard. “Dere ees somme t’ing dat mak’ dose chiens inquiet!” he muttered. Faint grumblings from some of the tepees showed that the dogs’ voices had disturbed the slumber of a few, otherwise everything was still.
The eastern skies glowed with the sunlight that crept up the horizon; it was bitterly cold at this hour between darkness and dawn, and Jules shivered as he watched.
A cracking of branches caught his ear, then a soft swishing and rubbing sound was audible, as of pine-needles brushing against something. Verbaux looked at the trees; they were motionless, except that a big branch on a pine swayed and trembled.
“Ha! dey loook for see!” and Jules crouched low.
The branch shook; then the next one above it trembled. Jules traced the spy working his way quietly upward. Then against the fast-brightening heavens a head appeared at the top of the tree, black and sharp. For a moment it was there motionless, then it disappeared; the branches quivered again one by one all the way down the pine. Jules ran swiftly to the gate, unbarred it softly and looked out. The shadows were still heavy under the trees, and he could just see a figure stealing away from the foot of the big pine; it was lost at once in the sombre light. Verbaux went out of the post, and hurried into the deep timber.
It took him but an instant to pick up the spy’s trail, and he hastened along it. Once or twice the keen gray eyes caught glimpses of the man ahead; Verbaux slowed up.