Once let him get upon the trail with the “stuff,” and Jean and his sister could go hang. They would never get him, he told himself. He had not lived in these latitudes for five and twenty years for nothing. But he ever came back to the pitiful admission that he was not yet on the trail, nor had he got the treasure. And time was passing.
Suddenly his eyes settled themselves upon a distant spot beyond the creek. Something had caught his attention, and that something was moving. The sounds of Jean’s lumbering movements continued. Victor no longer heeded them. His attention was fixed upon that movement on the distant slope.
And gradually his brow lightened and something akin to a smile spread over his features. Then he moved back to his counter, and, procuring a small calendar, glanced hastily at the date. His look of satisfaction deepened, and his smile became one of triumph. Surely the devil was with him. Here, in the blackest moment of his despair, was the means he had sought. Yonder moving object was the laden dog-train coming up from Edmonton, with his half-yearly supplies. Now he would see whose wits were the sharpest, his or those of the pig-headed Jean, the man who had dared to dictate to Victor Gagnon. The trader laughed silently.
Gagnon’s plan had come to him in a flash. The moment he had recognized that the company’s dog-train was approaching he had realized the timeliness of its coming. It would be at his door within an hour and a half.
Jean’s voice calling him broke in upon his meditations. He was about to pass the summons by unheeded. Then he altered his mind. Better not force his gaoler to seek him. His eyes might see what he had seen, and his suspicions might be aroused if he thought that he, Victor, had seen the dog-train coming and had said nothing. So he turned and obeyed the call with every appearance of reluctance.
Jean eyed his prisoner coldly as he drew up beside him.
“Wal, I’ve waited fer you to say as ye’ll marry Davi’, an’ ye ain’t had the savvee to wag yer tongue right, I’m goin’ to quit. The snow’s goin’ fast. They dogs o’ mine is gettin saft fer want o’ work. I’m goin’ to light right out o’ here, Victor, an’ the boodle’s goin’ wi’ me.”
Jean was the picture of strong, unimaginative purpose. But Victor had that in his mind which made him bold.
“Ye’ve held me prisoner, Jean. Ye’ve played the skunk. Guess you ain’t goin’ now. Neither is my share o’ the contents o’ that chest. Savvee? If ye think o’ moving that wad we’re goin’ to scrap. I ain’t no coyote.”
Jean thought for awhile. His lean face displayed no emotion. His giant figure dwarfed the trader almost to nothing, but he seemed to weigh the situation well before he committed himself.