THE dogs about the post yelped and quarreled throughout the night; and
the nearly full moon fell slowly through the northern heavens, showing
gray-white and metallic on everything. The north star was vividly bright
and twinkled ceaselessly. All was still about the post so far as human
beings were concerned. Oft in the steel-blue distances wolves howled,
and the sounds of their voices came softly across the intervening cold
wastes; the dogs stopped and listened, then broke forth in louder
clamourings.
The night passed, and then a growing light brightened the eastern skies;
little by little they turned from deep blue-black to light green, then a
faint rose-colour appeared and broadened; it changed into darting beams
of golden light that spread over the heavens, fading to pale yellow in
the west. A few clouds drifted slowly across the path of the rising sun
and were bathed in its warm glow. One by one figures came from the
tepees and buildings in the post; the smoke from many fires curled
upward slowly in the still, crisp air.
Jules and Cuchoise came out into the yard together. “Ah mus’ get hax,”
said Jules.
“M-m,” the other answered, went back to the tepee, and brought Verbaux a
bright new axe. “Voilà!” he said as he gave it to him.
“Merci, Jean, Ah go maintenant get des poils; au revoir!”
Verbaux, snow-shoes on his feet, went out of the yard and struck off
northwest across the white country. His ankles were stiff and lame, but
he travelled at a good pace. He crossed a large river, frozen solid and
three feet of snow over the ice. The land on both sides was level and
sunken for many miles back. “Rivière du Grand Marais,” Jules said to
himself, and shifted his course to west. The sun was three-quarters low
when he reached the timber-lands. After an hour’s tramp he stopped,
threw off the fur tote-bag that contained his food, and in a short time
built a little lean-to of bark and branches; then he cut some fire-wood,
and went off into the deep forest to make and set his traps. When the
work was finished he had twenty traps ready, and he went back to the
lean-to and built a roaring fire.
The evening was a beautiful one; the stars came out one by one and
glimmered with their cold gray, celestial light. The water in the
pannikin on the fire bubbled, and Jules dropped some cherry-tree tea in
it, then munched chunks of pemmican slowly, staring at the flames before
him. The meal over, he lay down in his blanket by the heat, his head
resting on one hand.
The red flames sprang fiercely in the air, subsided, sprang again, while
the embers underneath glowed white-hot, pink, and dull-red. The gray
eyes filled with great tears. “Marie! Marie!” The strong head was buried
between the arms, and here, in the silence and solitude of the deep
black forest, Jules gave way for the first time, and rasping, choking
sobs came. The changing, shifting, glancing light played over the
prostrate figure that heaved. The giant trees about were motionless,
their high peaks silhouetted against the dark heavens, like teeth of an
uneven saw. At last the long figure lay quiet, the fire lessened slowly,
then smoke came instead of flames and twisted its way through the
intervening branches into the free air and was lost. A dark, lithe thing
edged gingerly from the shadows toward the sleeping man, sniffing the
air delicately and moving without sound; it came close, then scented the
human body and scurried away, flitting ghost-like between the black
trunks until it disappeared. A marten, its curiosity aroused, scampered
swiftly hither and thither about the lean-to, searching, smelling,
stopping, then scampering off again with its queer long little jumps,
and it too went away.
The fire was out completely, but a few tiny wreaths of haze came from
the ashes. Jules slept, his head on his arms, the long limbs resting in
graceful repose on the blanket.
The silence, the infinite silence, was deep and wonderful; not a breath
of wind moved the weakest branch on the trees, not a light breeze even
disturbed the ashes. The cold moon sailed up and across and down again
over the noiseless landscape. Then the stars faded and their twinkling
lights were gone. The air grew warm and a blackness settled over
everything where the steel light had been. Clouds, black, gray, lowering
clouds, came, and soon the patter of thousands of raindrops sounded.
These lasted but a few minutes, then changed to big white flakes that
fell silently. Jules turned in his sleep.
“Ma femme, Marie!” he muttered, and tossed restlessly.
A whispering came sibilant and faint through the forest.
“La petite! la petite! she call!”
The big figure rose in the falling snow, the eyes were wide open and
set; straight ahead Jules went till he stumbled over a log and fell,
awaking. “Bon Dieu, Ah see la petite dat taime!” he groaned aloud. The
dull black depths of the branches overhead choked the sound of his
voice, and he stood, half awake, dreaming and wondering.
The snow had ceased, but the wind grew stronger, and it whistled and
moaned about him. The air cooled and became bitter with the sting of
frost. Jules shivered and found his way back to the lean-to, crawled in
it with his blanket, and tried to sleep. He tried in vain; always his
dream was lifelike before his eyes, and he turned and twisted over and
over under the fur covering. Then his sharp ears caught a faint cracking
sound; he sat up and listened. A gaunt white form came and stood
motionless before him, then it lifted its head, yowled dismally, and was
gone. “Loup blanc! Dat bad signe!” Jules spoke dully—lay down and closed
his eyes, striving to forget. Sleep, deep sleep, came again, and the
figure under the blanket was still.
It was gray dawn when Verbaux woke. After the morning meal he went down
through the woods to his traps, and found six sable, a cross-fox, and a
marten in them. “Dat pay for mon h’eat!” he said as he skinned out the
dead forms. Then he took up his axe and food-bag and started for the
post again. The wind was strong; it dashed the loose snow over the
barrens; its bitter edge made Jules draw his muffler close and compress
his lips to keep his teeth from aching with the cold. “Ah lak’ see dees
territoire,” he thought, and worked his way steadily along to the
south-east. After crossing the wide, desolate stretches of level waste
he came into the timber-lands again. The trees stood very thickly and
the leaden skies cast but little light beneath their branches. There
were many tracks of the inhabitants of the forest on the snow.
Here the short leaps of the sable, there the shuffling trail of a
marten, and beyond the dainty footprints of a fox—faint, soft lines
showing that he was care-free as he dragged his heavy brush. The tall
hemlock and spruce swayed and bowed gracefully with a caressing,
monotonous sound, and Jules felt the soothing influence of the great
wilderness as he strode on, his snow-shoes stirring the loose white that
rested on the light rain-crust. Overhead the sun shone coldly,
mystically, through flying scud and hurrying thin clouds. The forest
ended again, and straight ahead loomed the endless cold distances; the
snow-line and the gray-white horizon came together and blended into one.
Jules stopped and looked about him: everywhere white, everything white
and still. The greatness of the wastes and the depth of nature came over
him.
“Ah am notting,” he whispered, and went on. The miles came, were passed
over, and fell behind the tall, gaunt form that hurried on tirelessly.
Jules crossed Lac au Loups and changed his course to east; going over a
hill he saw a herd of caribou; the fleet animals sped on across the wind
and disappeared like wraiths in the harmonious white desert. Late in the
afternoon Fond du Lac appeared as a black dot, then grew into the
buildings and the stockade as he went toward it. Entering the yard, he
crossed to Cuchoise’s tepee and went in. It was empty. He lighted his
pipe and lay down on the boughs, his eyes roaming wistfully over the
Indian girl’s clothes and the children’s rag dolls. He turned his back
and lay there thinking, dreaming the day-dreams of waking hours.
The flap was softly pushed aside and the girl came in alone. She started
a little at the sight of the strong form stretched at her feet, then sat
down quietly and began to sew with caribou-sinews on some of Cuchoise’s
moccasins. Jules listened and watched with half-opened eyes.
“Ma-shca-wis-sie! [He is strong!]” she whispered, looking at him.
“Ki-wa-bi-min In-nin-ee sak-ar-te-win [I look at you, big man, with
love],” she murmured softly. Jules closed his eyes; a shadow of pain
flitted over his face. “Bon Dieu, no dat!” he prayed, and lay still. The
girl moved little by little toward him. “Ki-non-don-no-ne? [Do you
hear?]” she asked. He feigned heavy sleep. Her black eyes played over
him and he felt their glow; his soul rebelled, and he sat up quickly;
the girl uttered a little cry, holding her hands, delicate and thin,
toward him. “Ne-na-bhai-m! [My true husband!]” she whispered. Jules
stood up slowly. The gray eyes were sad, and a weariness seemed to come
over his body.
“In-din-ne-ga-wwe-go-in-dum-m [I am sorry],” he said in low tones, and
passed out of the tepee, taking the food-bag and the light axe. He went
to the store and threw the pelts he had at the factor’s feet. “Dat
good?” he asked. Nelson looked at the skins. “Yes, but ye ’re not awa’,
mon?” he asked. Jules nodded and went out of the store, across the yard,
through the gate, and away into the wilderness once more.
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