“SOMME T’ING FOR HEEM”
LE GRAND, Dumois, Hibou, and Bossu were camped fifty miles beyond
Rivière Noire. They had their trap-lines set out like spokes of a wheel
from the main camp, and were having great luck. Fur was plenty, and bait
easy to get because of the numerous herds of caribou.
It was night, and the four men sat about a roaring-hot fire. The dogs
had a shed for themselves, and the sledges were pushed under the bough
cover.
“Ah vould lak’ to know ’Ow Verbaux he ees!” said Dumois. “Ah vant t’ank
heem for dat las’ taime!”
The others stared thoughtfully at the leaping, dancing flames, that
crackled and snapped, casting a warm red sheen over each figure.
“Lavalle he say dat Verbaux he gone Ouest!” finally said Bossu.
“He ees très beeg hear-rt, dat Jules,” Hibou said quietly, and his black
eyes softened and shone suspiciously in the reflected light.
“Ai-hai!” answered the rest, nodding solemnly.
Le Grand brought more wood for the fire; as he threw it on, piece by
piece, showers of scintillating sparks were born and scurried up to
their brief existence in the cold air, gleamed brightly for a moment,
then disappeared. The fresh logs sang merrily, and their rough bark
curled and reddened in the fierce heat of the glowing embers underneath.
“De fairées!” said Dumois, smiling, when a loud _pop_, then a shrill
_pi-i-ing_, came from a flaming log.
“She ees gone h’up dere!” suggested Bossu, looking up at the
star-brightened heavens.
“Oui, she gone leave h’on star!” Hibou answered gravely, and a far-away
expression came to his eyes.
The group were quiet, watching the swift changes that took place in the
position of the wood and coals.
“Un loup-cervier!” said Le Grand, pointing to a shape, visible to him,
formed by three blackened sticks and some dull coals.
It was a cold night, and the steam from their wet trousers and moccasins
rose in gray-white clouds and drifted away among the dark branches. A
little wind breathed gently through the spruce, and curled the tops of
the long flames as they shot up into nothingness.
Bossu slowly pulled out his pipe, and as slowly cut tobacco from a
dirt-begrimed plug. He rolled and crushed the pieces between his hands
and filled the bowl, carefully pushing them down with a stubby
forefinger. Then he caught up a red-hot coal, dropped it on the tobacco,
and puffed silently. The others watched the familiar operation with that
unconscious attention which is born of a lack of anything of real
interest to look at. “V’ere ees dat oglee Tritou dese taimes?” asked
Hibou.
“Bah! Tritou he look, look h’all taime for Verbaux hees track!” said Le
Grand.
“He ver’ beeg fool; Verbaux he keel Tritou somme taime certainement!”
announced Bossu, speaking with slow precision, and with pauses between
each word. The others nodded, and the conversation ceased.
Then, weirdly and noiselessly, a tall gaunt figure stepped into the edge
of the firelight behind them, and stood there in silence, surveying the
group in front of him. His snow-shoes were slung over his back, and the
woollen muffler was tied loosely around the strong neck; the swarthy
face was shining with sweat, and the massive chest rose and fell
rapidly, as though in distress. He moved forward quietly, limping as he
walked; when he was close to the four trappers he spoke softly, “Bon
soi’!”
They leaped to their feet and stared at him. “Verbaux!” they said then.
“Ah’m hur-rt!” Jules spoke slowly and pointed to his left leg. The rough
trouser and heavy moccasin were soggy with blood, which had congealed on
them in a black mass. As Jules finished speaking he swayed a little and
passed his big hand wearily over his forehead. Dumois jumped to his
side.
“How you woun’?” he asked, a deep sympathy in his voice.
“Hax,” answered Jules, simply; then he added, “Ah cut moi par h’accident
dees morn’n’; no can go h’on snow-shoe’; have had notting for heat; you
can geeve me leetle, hein?” He looked at the others with pain-dulled
eyes. “Ah see your trap’ and comme for help,” he continued.
“By gar! dat too dam’ bad!” said Hibou, loudly, to hide the lump in his
throat that threatened to break his voice.
Tenderly and carefully the men supported Verbaux and laid him gently on
a blanket before the fire. The gray eyes flashed their gratitude; then
they closed and Verbaux fainted from hunger and pain. The trappers
looked at the long, powerful form stretched helpless at their feet, and
no one spoke.
“Bon! queeck!” said Bossu then, “ve mus’ feex dat woun’!” He knelt, and
quickly split the trouser and cut away the top of the moccasin. A long,
deep gash in the calf of the leg showed black and ugly; Bossu shook his
head. “Ver’ bad dat!” he said. Water was heated and the wound thoroughly
cleansed. It was a clean cut; the axe had bitten deep, but the lips of
the gash were smooth and even. Bossu drew them together, and tied the
leg up tightly, first with cloth, then with wide caribou-thongs.
Jules stirred. “Dat good, merci!” he whispered. Le Grand had been
preparing tea and food, and he fed Jules like a child. Then the four
lifted the big figure and carried it into the camp, and placed Jules on
a fresh heap of boughs, covered him with blankets, and left him asleep.
Hibou threw more wood on the fire, and they squatted about it again.
“Ah’m ver’ content; Ah can do somme t’ing for heem!” said Le Grand.
“Nous aussi,” quickly answered the others, then silence came over the
group.
The wind sighed through the trees. “Leesten!” Bossu held up his hand.
Far off in the forest a scratching and faint pattering could be heard on
the hard crust. The trappers listened intently; the sound grew, and then
they heard a long “Who-ee-e!” They looked at one another.
“Tritou, by diable!” said Dumois. “Vat he comme for, hein?” He looked at
the camp as he spoke, nodding toward it. The others perceived his
meaning and growled, “Nevaire!”
“Ho-o-o-p!” shouted Bossu. An answering call sounded near by, and in a
few minutes six dogs drawing a light sledge ran into the firelight and
stopped, panting. Behind them Tritou’s squat figure appeared, rifle on
his arm.
“Bon soi’!” answered Bossu. “Vat you do here, Tritou?”
“Ah come f’om Petites Colignes las’ night et to-day; Ah go to Hautes
Terres to-mor’. ’Ow many here?” he asked.
“Five!” said Le Grand. The three other Indians’ eyes gleamed for a
moment, but they made no comment.
“Who ees de hoddaire mans?” asked Tritou, looking about for the fifth
member of the party.
“Clement! ’Sleep!” answered Le Grand, jerking his thumb toward the camp
as he named an Indian who, he knew, was away from the post, trapping to
the southward.
Tritou unharnessed his team and fed them. Then he drew his blankets from
the sledge and, with a nod to the others, went in the camp.
Bossu walked in quietly after him, his knife in his hand.
Tritou had wrapped himself up and lain down next to Verbaux on the fresh
boughs. There was only a dim, shadowed light, that came from the fire,
in the interior, and Bossu chuckled softly as he saw where Tritou had
chosen to sleep. He sneaked out and beckoned to the others; they came,
saw, and laughed softly. Then they brought in their own covers and
stretched out in the camp for the night—all but Le Grand, who arranged
his blankets in the angle of the walls, and sat there through the long
winter darkness, his eyes fixed on the corner where Tritou and Verbaux
slept side by side. Sometimes he would take out his pipe, and the
_cheep-cheep-cheep_ of the sharp knife-edge cutting through the tobacco
would break the breathing stillness of the camp.
At last daylight filtered through the trees, and in its dark interior
objects took shape, and grew in distinctness. Tritou moved and sat up.
Le Grand quickly slipped to the floor and watched. The short figure
rose, glanced over the sleeping companions, and went outside, taking his
blankets. Le Grand heard him splitting wood, and then the cheery
crackling of the morning fire sounded on the quiet of dawn. Then he
heard the rattle of a pannikin and the frying of meat, then silence.
Tritou finished his lonely breakfast, and harnessed his dogs. He stuck
his head in the camp door. “Au revoir, h’all; Ah go now!” and his shouts
of “Musha! Mush!” rang loudly between the log walls. The dogs yelped and
went on, Tritou following. In a few minutes his voice died away to the
eastward and all was quiet.
Le Grand breathed a sigh of relief and put away the long knife that had
not left his hands since Tritou came. He went over to Jules; he was
awake, and the big eyes looked inquiringly at him. “Ah t’ought Ah hear
Tritou hees talk!” he said.
Le Grand laughed. “Tritou he slep’ ici las’ night, near to you!” and he
pointed to the crushed boughs beside Jules. The latter struggled up and
looked first at Le Grand, then at the empty green bed. He growled, and
his hand felt under his wide belt. “Sacré!” he murmured, “Ah no know
dat; but Ah’m no ver’ strong!” Then he stood up, limped to the door, and
listened. “Ah bien!” he said, turning to Le Grand, “dat nev’ mind! Somme
taime Ah show to heem! ’Ow he not know Jules be here?”
Le Grand told him how Tritou had been fooled, and Jules laughed softly,
but the gray eyes looked in the forests searching for something.
The others were awake, and they chuckled again and again at their luck
in avoiding a fight. After breakfast the four took their teams and went
off to the traps, leaving Jules in camp. He walked about in the snow a
little; his leg was stronger, it still ached, but the tight bandages
supported the muscles and he could move quite easily.
“Ah mus’ go,” he said to himself; “mes dog notting h’eat t’ree day, poor
beas’!” He took a small piece of caribou-meat and a little bread and put
them in his pocket for himself on his trip. He sewed the rough
trouser-leg together, and patched the cut moccasin. Then he peeled a
square of thin bark from a small timber, and using a charred stick as a
pencil he traced roughly, “Merci.—V.,” and put it on the boughs in the
camp, then slung the snow-shoes over his back, and limped off in the
deep timber.
In the evening the trappers returned, and Hibou called, “Verbaux!” No
answer; they were frightened. Then Le Grand found the tracing in the
camp, and showed it to the others. They were silent for a minute, when
Bossu spoke huskily. “Ah, bien, ve do somme t’ing for heem! Bonne
chance, Verbaux!” he said as he looked at the darkening forests.
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