“Ah t’ink dat dose man no come back ici ver’ immédiatement,” he said.
Then came the work of clearing up. In two hours the dead were heaped by the gate to be taken out for burial, the tepees reset, fires started, and the badly hurt stretched as comfortably as possible in the back of the store. The widowed squaws sat by the heap of inanimate forms, their heads dishevelled, dresses torn and awry; they wept and sobbed as they kept up their ceaseless rocking.
Evening came; the shadows lengthened and blackened shade by shade. Verbaux sat by the fire with Gregoire, Charles Chartier, Jacques Pelisse, Jean Fainéant, Josèphe Hebert, Batiste Lafarge, and Morning Star. They ate their supper silently. Verbaux’s arm bothered him; it throbbed and pulsated painfully, and he moved it to and fro, as the motion alleviated the aching. The chief lighted his long pipe and passed it gravely to Jules, who puffed on it a few times and handed it back. Then Morning Star spoke:
“Ah-ta-tah-ke-bou-tis-in [Big man of the fight], the great Manitou is pleased. What are your orders?” The others looked at Jules curiously. Verbaux sat thinking, pondering, when one of the sentries came up hurriedly.
“Somme vone dey comme h’alon’!” he said. As he spoke a rapping was heard on the reinforced gates.
“Laissez entre!” Jules said.
A small Canadian ran in, panting. He stopped when he saw the dead piled near the gate, and his eyes widened at the sight of the burned building and the bandaged men.
“Ah comme so queeck Ah can for to tell dat you goin’ be h’attack h’aga’n von taime dam’ ver’ soon; Ah see vone hunder’ mans yes’day by Lac Plat. Ah sneeek an’ leesten; dey say dey comme ici!” He sat down wearily; a long silence ensued; every one looked at Jules. Morning Star puffed on stoically.
The faint night breeze swung the smoke here and there, wafting it across the men’s faces, that shone ruddy in the light. The lulling death-song of the squaws floated on the wind; the sniffing and querulous bickerings of the dogs came harshly on the night stillness. Bright spark-eyes from the coals hastened to their end in the cooling atmosphere, and beyond in the deep timber the trees sighed and their branches rubbed sibilantly together. Verbaux was silent; the rest waited.
“Étoile du Matin, vat you say to dees?” he asked, in a few minutes.