THE Montaignis came down to the post on one of their trading
expeditions, and they told weird tales of seeing a tall figure on
strange wide snow-shoes up among the hills, two hundred miles away. This
figure, they said, had been seen by many of the tribe, but no one had
been able to get close enough to speak to him.
Tritou, since the time of his wounding Verbaux, had been always on the
watch for the familiar tracks, but had never found anything, so he
listened eagerly to the mountaineers’ stories.
“C’est Verbaux, Ah know,” he said afterward to one of his cronies; “he
no comme back ici!” and he nodded wisely. Dumois overheard this
affirmation. “V’y for Verbaux he no comme back?” he asked, and Tritou
became silent. He had not told any one of his misfortune—how Verbaux had
borrowed his dog-team and left it, eighty miles away, at Rivière Noire;
but revenge burned fiercely in his thoughts, and he would mutter curses
when Verbaux’s name was mentioned.
Thus it was that Tritou, to follow up the blood price he promised
himself day by day, got permission from the factor to take a trip with
the Montaignis, when they returned to their hill country. He did not
tell his true reason for wishing to go, but whispered in the factor’s
ear, that “mabbe un gran’ territoire pour la chasse là-bas, an’ ve sen’
mans from la poste, hein?”
The factor saw the force of this argument, and agreed that Tritou should
go.
The Montaignis waited about the post, camped outside the stockade, until
the weather should be good for the start. The snow-storms in their
territory were much more to be feared than they were here, about the
post. The Athabascan country is treacherous in the snow months, January
and March, and no Indian sets out long trap-lines then.
One evening, Washook, the Montaignis leader, said that they would leave
the next morning at daylight. Tritou’s eyes gleamed when he heard this,
but he said nothing. He was alone in his tepee, getting his blankets and
supplies ready, when the flap was pushed aside, and Le Grand came in.
“Bon soi’, Tritou!” he said.
Tritou was not overfond of Le Grand, because he felt that in some way
Verbaux and he were friends. It was strange that no one could say a word
against Verbaux without Le Grand contradicting him quietly and firmly.
When asked his reasons for this, he would refuse to explain, saying
always, “Ah know of vat Ah say!” So Tritou was suspicious of the visit,
feeling uncomfortable in Le Grand’s presence, as though the latter knew
that revenge was his object for going away into the Montaignis country.
Le Grand opened the conversation. “You goin’ get des skeens, hein,
Tritou?”
“’Ope so!” the latter answered shortly, and went on folding up his
blankets in small bundles, tying them with caribou-thongs.
“Ah see Verbaux hees track yes’day!” announced Le Grand suddenly,
watching Tritou closely. This was a lie, but Le Grand wanted to know how
much of Tritou’s desire for the long, hard trip with the Montaignis was
actuated by his madness to find Verbaux.
Tritou looked up quickly, and his breath came faster. “Vat figure, den,
dose Montaignis dey talk h’about?” he asked.
Le Grand did not answer at once, but stared fixedly at his host. Then he
spoke. “Tritou, you goin’ h’aftaire Verbaux; Ah know eet, an’ Ah goin’
warn you, Tritou, dat you veel be keel, keel! Ond’stan’, Tritou?”
Tritou’s face was ugly to see: the black eyes gleamed dully, and the
broad nostrils quivered; the lips were drawn back in a half-snarl, and
the tobacco-stained teeth looked like the fangs of a wolf.
“An’ Ah tell to you, Le Grand, dat eet ees no you’ affaire. You lak’
Verbaux, Ah t’ink, an’ Ah goin’ breeng back Verbaux hees head cut hoff,
to show to la poste, tu comprends ça?” and he leered horribly.
“You veel t’ink somme taime of Le Grand, vat he tol’ to you! Bon soi’,
Tritou!” With these words Le Grand left the tepee.
Tritou chuckled. “Ah ça, you no can sauf Verbaux!” he said to himself.
Then, his preparations completed, he rolled up in his blankets and
slept.
The next morning was a beautiful one, and amid laughter, cheers and au
r’voirs the Montaignis left the post, bound for home, two hundred and
thirty miles away to the northwest. Tritou accompanied them with his big
sledge and ten dogs. As he went out of the gate Le Grand called to him,
“Gare Jules Verbaux!” and Tritou scowled.
Day after day the party travelled on across miles of deep timber and
long stretches of barrens where the wind bit fiercely and the frost
patched their faces with gray. Night after night they camped, built big
fires, and curled up round them in their blankets, and all the time
Tritou was sullen and spoke rarely to his companions. One day, when
travelling over soft crust in single file, the man’s sled just in front
of Tritou’s upset, and the load scattered over the snow. Tritou never
offered to help him reload, but made a detour to avoid the accident, and
kept on in silence. These things were noticed by the Montaignis, and
they began to wonder what sort of man was this who wouldn’t talk, who
wouldn’t even smoke with them by the fire in the evenings. Mutterings
were frequent among the Indians about it, and at last suspicion was
openly talked of in their own language, which Tritou did not understand.
They suspected him of being a Company spy, and one of them went so far
as to tell him so in halting, broken French. Tritou made no answer, and
the Indians grew uglier toward him.
On the sixth day out from the post, the chief, who was in the lead,
suddenly stopped and examined some tracks which crossed their course;
the others gathered about and jabbered excitedly. Tritou noticed the
unusual commotion from his place in the rear, and came up to find out
the cause. He saw the strange, wide snow-shoe trail, and his eyes
glistened venomously; but still he said nothing. That night, when the
party made camp, he was missing. No one had seen him leave, and
conjectures were many and loud.
The chief listened to them all, and decided that they had better not do
anything about it; that Tritou had gone of his own volition, and that it
was his affair, not theirs. “He has probably turned back to the post,”
he said; so the next day the Montaignis went on without him.
Tritou had at once recognised the snow-shoe trail as that of Verbaux,
and when he dropped back to his position in the line, he determined to
leave the Montaignis secretly at the first opportunity, go back, pick up
the trail and follow it to its maker. The Indians’ course took them
through a wooded ravine; Tritou saw it a long way off, and he dropped
back little by little, intending to leave the others when they turned
the ravine corner at the upper end. It happened as he planned; the
others kept on steadily, and he slowed up until there was five hundred
yards between him and the last of his travelling companions.
When the ravine was reached they all went up through it, turned the
corner, and Tritou stopped his team, threw himself on the sledge and
lashed the dogs. They bounded forward, and he was soon out of hearing of
the Indians’ voices, going back to his enemy’s trail. It was only five
miles off, and Tritou soon covered that distance, for he was going very
fast.
“Ah-ha-a-a! at las’, Verbaux!” he said hoarsely when he came to the
tracks again, “Ah goin’ keel you dees taime!”
Before starting on the chase he lashed the load firmly on the sledge,
filled his rifle with cartridges, and looked to the dogs’ harness; then,
with everything secured he started on the trail. The country was
entirely strange to him, as this was two hundred and ten miles from the
post, and he had never hunted in this direction. It was all hills and
valleys; the timber was thick, and the hillsides steep; his advance,
therefore, was slow. The wide tracks led due north; over hill and
through valley, up ravines and across barrens it went, straight as a
compass course. It was at least a day old, Tritou decided; and he coaxed
the dogs to their best efforts. The tracks led over a high, bare hill,
and he stopped to look about. He could see a long, long way ahead, but
as far as his eyes could reach were barrens on barrens, white and
desolate; not a living thing in sight on the snow or in the air.
The sun shone over the glare-crust with dazzling brilliancy, and he
could not look on it long. “Mush!” he shouted to the dogs, and went on.
The trail kept its northern course, straight over the barrens and down
through the deep timber on the far side; always a day old it seemed to
Tritou, fast as he went. The dogs were lagging; he stopped to feed them,
and ate some cold food himself. He did not dare to light a fire for fear
of warning the man he was after. In an hour he started on again. The
landscape changed. He came to a big lake, where ice was black and deep,
and where the cutting wind made him shiver and draw his muffler close.
He lost the trail here, but remembering Jules’s old tricks, he went
across the ice in a northern direction and found that the tracks began
again on the other side.
It was coming twilight; the sun was sinking; it grew colder, and Tritou
saw that he should not get up on Verbaux that night. He travelled as
long as he could see the tracks before him; then he lay down among the
dogs, and slept.
Day was just beginning to lighten the sky when he was up and, after a
hasty, cold breakfast, went on again. The trail turned a little to the
northeast as he went, and then he came to the remnants of a fire, and
saw where Jules had slept, and where the dogs had dug holes for
themselves in the snow. The signs were not very old; indeed, Tritou
fancied that he could still feel heat in the ashes. With renewed vigour
he pushed on and on. The course lay through heavy timber now, and he had
to stop and puzzle out the faint snow-shoe scratches in several places.
He came to another lake, but this was covered with snow, and the tracks
showed clear upon it. Half-way across he stopped; to the northeast of
him, in the woods, a thin blue haze indicated smoke. Tritou breathed
faster, and followed the tracks to the edge of the woods. There he left
the team and, rifle in hand, sneaked along the snow-shoe marks. “At
las’!” he whispered, as he saw the smoke ascending through the trees two
hundred yards in front of him. He loosened the knife in his belt, and
made sure that the rifle was ready. Then he crept forward warily.
Jules was skinning some marten in front of a little shed hut; a fire
burned brightly near him, and he sang merrily as he peeled the sleek fur
from the little stiff body in his hands.
“La boule elle roule,
Laridon-dè, laridon-da!”
_Crang!_ His ear stung and he drew his hand away from it bloody.
_Crang!_ His cap twitched as he flung the marten to one side and dashed
behind a big pine. All was silent. He wondered who it was that had fired
at him. Then he took off his cap and saw the bullet-hole in it, near the
fur tassel. “C’est près, ça! Dat close!” he said. He stuck the cap on a
twig and pushed it carefully from behind the trunk. _Cran-ng!_ and the
cap fell to the crust. “He shoot good!” muttered Jules, as he kept
perfectly still behind his tree.
A soft crunch broke the silence; Verbaux stuck his head in and out from
the tree trunk quickly.
“Tritou!” His voice quivered ominously, and his hands clenched. He had
seen Tritou as the latter, knowing that Jules had no gun, went from one
tree to another, to get a near shot when opportunity offered.
“Bon! you tak’ care!” shouted Jules.
A mocking laugh from the other was the only answer.
Round and round Verbaux worked about his tree, keeping its protecting
trunk between him and Tritou. The latter did not dare approach too
close, as he feared that Jules might rush him if he did. The long
afternoon passed thus, each man seeking an opportunity that would not
come. The shadows grew deeper, and the skies turned a dark green-blue;
still the two watched and waited. Darkness came and the forest was
plunged in black. Verbaux listened intently. Everything was absolutely
still, except for the hoot of an owl in the distance. Slowly, very
slowly he stepped out from behind his tree and listened again. No sound!
Inch by inch he worked his way in Tritou’s direction. It was wonderful;
he moved over the crust and made not the tiniest crackle.
_Swish—crunch_! came from the darkness beyond, very softly, but Jules
heard it and sneaked on. “Diable!” he thought, as an unseen stick
crackled under him; he stopped. Tritou had heard it, too, and was
fleeing through the woods, his snow-shoes clicking loudly. He had not
dreamed that Jules was so near. Verbaux started after him. Tritou’s
snow-shoes gave him a decided advantage, because Jules slipped and slid
on the crust. He did not have on his moccasins with caribou-hair soles.
_Cran-ng_! sounded the rifle, and the bullet pi-i-nged viciously over
Jules’s head. He made no answer, but ran on at full speed. _Cran-ng!_
again, and the bullet thudded into a tree near by. Tritou was firing
toward the sound of Jules’s leaps on the crust! _Cran-ng!_ The leaden
missile _zi-i-i-ped_ at Jules’s feet. He dodged to the right and
listened. Tritou stopped, too, and the woods were deathlike in their
stillness.
“You, Tri—” _Cran-ng!_ Jules did not hear the bullet this time.
“Tritou!” he called again; no answer. “Tritou! tak’ care!” _Whe-e-e_!
the bullet whined from a tree close by. Jules said no more, but knelt
down and took off his moccasins; then he stole forward in his coarse
stockings. “Dat bettaire,” he muttered, as the woollen material stuck
well to the slippery surface.
Tritou had not moved, and Jules edged noiselessly forward, listening
between each step. He put his hand on a big pine to lighten his weight,
and stopped again. _Swsht_! a light rustle came from behind it. Jules
drew his knife softly from his shirt and put it between his teeth, then
sprang like lightning round the trunk. “Ha-rgh-rr!” he growled as his
hands felt a warm, living body. “Tu diable!” screamed Tritou and fired
the rifle. The bullet went wild and the two men fell, rolling over and
over on the crust. Jules felt Tritou trying to draw his knife, and he
used both hands to prevent him. His own knife was still clenched in his
jaws. “Ah tear ze eyes h’out of your tête!” screamed Tritou, crazed with
rage. “Ah cut ze hearrt’ f’om your corps!” and he struggled again for
his knife. Jules made no answer. The two men writhed and tumbled over
the snow, one snarling like an animal, the other silent. Jules held on
grimly, waiting his chance. The struggle grew fiercer instead of less;
now both men breathed in loud gasps, and grunted as one or the other
came underneath in their rolling.
All this time Jules was silent, fighting strongly; of a sudden the
animal sprang up in him, something snapped in his brain, his strength
redoubled, and dropping the knife from his teeth, he threw his head
forward, and down to Tritou’s throat, and opened his mouth as he felt
the hot, sweating flesh on his lips; his teeth closed tighter and
tighter, cutting through skin, blood-vessels, and muscle. “Arh! Arh!
Arh! Arh!” screeched Tritou, kicking and writhing; he felt the teeth
crunching and chewing, mouthing his life away. Jules bit deeper and
deeper; his teeth sank into the gums, he held them there, then with a
supreme effort he twisted his head sidewise, wrenching Tritou’s throat
apart. The body under him relaxed, quivered, and jerked spasmodically,
then lay still. The hot blood covered Jules’s face; it was up his nose,
and had gone down his open throat. He got up slowly and looked at the
limp body he could just see in the darkness at his feet. Then he sank to
his knees and crossed himself.
“Oh, bon Dieu! Leesten vat Jules say! Zis Tritou, he follow me ev’
place, he try for to keel me so h’often, an’ now, bon Dieu, Ah have keel
heem! Pardon, bon Dieu! Grâce for me, miserabl’ dat Ah am!”
He rose, dull-eyed and trembling, and went away, leaving the dead man
stretched out and stiffening on the snow.
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