“Ah vant fin’ h’out, no catch!” he whispered to himself. The figure before him travelled on fast, never looking round, entirely unsuspicious. Then it turned to the left, and Jules stopped. He heard voices not far away, and went on carefully. The light was strong now in the woods, and he dodged warily from tree to tree till he was close to the party. There were about seventy men—Indians, half-breeds, and voyageurs—all belonging to the Hudson Bay Company.
“Bien, Ah see de poste!” said one of the group.
“Le Pendu!” Jules whispered, “dat traître, hein? Bon!”
The men all began talking at once, and he could not understand anything he heard.
“Silence, mans!” an authoritative voice spoke, and the crowd were still.
“Ve go dees midi h’at sun-’igh to feenesh dat poste!”
“Bravo!” “Bon!” “Magnifique!” said the rest.
Verbaux had heard enough; he turned back and sped as fast as he could to the post.
It was breakfast-time when he reached it. The morning breeze played with the smoke of the fires, twisting it into long curves and spirals, then wafting it away into the wilderness.
“Gregoire! Gregoire!” Jules called as he went among the trappers.