JULES trod with care until he was out of hearing of the camp; then, with
the keenness natural to a born woodsman’s eyes, he hurried on through
the dense blackness, rarely making a sound except the soft crunch of his
moccasins on the crust. After two hours’ swift travelling he came out on
a barren, and stopped in the open and listened—silence—greater than
death which is laden with sorrow, that silence of the great and
boundless wilderness of the North which is unfathomable, indescribable.
Straight away from him lay the long, rolling waste, at his feet white,
farther on gray, and beyond that void of colour. He looked up at the
heavens, and as he watched the glinting stars he saw one appear from
behind the others and rush across the sky to the south-east, leaving yet
drawing a long fiery tail behind it. It arc-ed, sailed below the
tree-tops, and disappeared.
The gray eyes looked into the dim distance, then behind him at the
woods. “Dat étoile say go back.” He retraced his noiseless way through
the black timber to the hut. As he went in Crevier, who was smoking by
the heap of glowing embers, said slowly, “Ah know dat you comme back.”
“Vat for mans!” Verbaux muttered; then he sat near the heat in silence.
It was so absolutely still that the soft little burning hiss of the
tobacco at each breath Crevier drew on the pipe was audible. The light
of the coal created on the walls vague shadows that grew more and more
shapeless. Then only a dim dark red shone on the men’s faces; everything
else was black. The two sat on, silent. Then, crisply, rifle-shots rang
out on the bitter-cold air, and silence again. Crevier leaped to the
door and listened. Nothing at first; then, “Verbaux!” he called softly.
Jules was behind him. “Leesten!” he said.
Far off in front of them they could just hear the crunching and light
crackling of the crust as something ran over it; then a snapping of
branches. “Somme vone comme fas’!” Jules said. The steps approached
rapidly; then they heard heavy, laboured breathing that sounded hoarsely
out there under the thick hemlock and pine. The thing that hurried and
ran came close, and was passing the camp when it stopped and coughed—a
rasping, harsh cough. “Trappé!” A man’s voice groaned with agony and
fear in the tones. As one, Crevier and Verbaux ran swiftly out among the
black trunks; the man heard them coming and started on. “Qu’est-ce?”
called Crevier in a low, penetrating voice. The man stopped, turned, and
came toward them. The three stood close but could not distinguish one
another. “Pierre Du—bat, moi, Compagnie Nor’ouest,” said the stranger,
brokenly, and breathing hard, “chassé par les Indiens du Hodson Baie
Compagnie; dey comme h’aftaire moi ver’ queeck aussi.”
Crevier and Verbaux heard the man stagger in the darkness as he finished
speaking. They caught hold of an arm each and rushed him to the hut. He
sat weakly on the bed, and Verbaux began to build up the fire. “Non!
Non!” said Pierre hastily, “dey see le feu and comme ici. Non!” Then he
faltered to the door to listen. The two others were motionless. “Ah-h!”
Pierre whispered. The patter of dogs’ feet could be heard coming
swiftly, then the light creaking of sledges, eerie and mysterious in the
depths of trees. The three men stood in the little doorway. “Mes dog!”
Jules said very softly. “Dose Indiens go pas’ eef dose dog’ no mak’
barrrk!” They waited. On came the sledges; one was approaching the
clearing: they could hear a voice swearing at the darkness. Then a team
came into the scarce light.
“Bash!” shouted the man on the sledge. The dogs stopped.
“Hache!” breathed Crevier as the three fell back silently in the hut.
Verbaux reached behind the door and handed him the axe.
“Ho-o-e’o-o-ooe!” called this new arrival. Answering shouts came from
near by, echoing back and forth dully. The man came up to the hut, then
stopped, listened. The three kept still. He advanced to the door and
looked in. The dogs in the shed smelled their kind outside and howled
loudly. The man stepped in; Crevier swung the axe viciously at the
figure that showed against the dim light of the outside. It dropped
without a groan. Then all was still again in the little interior.
“Chies! Chies!” a voice called harshly close by.
“Annaotaha!” muttered Jules.
“Diable! v’ere he go?” said the voice again. The shouts and cries of
other men were closing in. “Choo-ee! [Come here!]” called the voice
hurriedly.
“He ’ave see la hutte; vat ve do?” whispered Dubat.
“Sssssh!” warned Jules.
Somebody was approaching the camp from behind; the steps came round, and
then another figure darkened the door. Pierre swung the axe again, but
missed, and the sharp tool struck heavily in the logs.
“Dam’!” The figure spoke and jumped back. “Pierre Dubat, ve ’ave toi! La
mort dees taime!” and it laughed.
“Pas encore, Etienne Annaotaha!” Dubat answered savagely, the two others
were silent. Dim forms moved to and fro in the little clearing.
“She-se-eemont, Dubat? [Are you hungry and tired?]” called Annaotaha,
mockingly; coarse laughs sounded here and there. _Crang!_—a spit of
straight flame. The rough bullet whizzed through the door against the
logs of the back wall. The three flattened against the side of the hut.
“Sacré-é-é!” growled Pierre, “dey goin’ shoot!” In answer to his words
sounded the _crang!_ _crack!_ _crang-crang!_ _crang-crang!_
_crang-crang!_ _crack!_ of rifles. The bullets hurtled and droned, they
thudded in the logs, caromed and _pi-in-inged_ shrilly in the interior.
Jules stood close by the door, behind the upright timber. Dubat was flat
on the bed and Crevier under it. And still the rifles spouted flame and
the leaden missiles sang and _whinged_ through the hut. Then they ceased
suddenly. After the furious noise all was deathlike in stillness.
Everyone listened.
“Tha-la-il [Dead!]” said Annaotaha to his companions after several
minutes of the intense silence. An indistinct form came and stood in the
door, listening with gun ready. It heard no sound, for the three were
silent and holding their breath.
“Tha-la-il! [Dead!]” he said it again, and entered the camp fearlessly.
A heavy fall, that sounded but thick and muffled, and the figure
sprawled in death on the ground motionless. “C’est bon!” said Etienne
approaching. He came to the entrance, stumbled over the two limp
figures, and sprang back, screaming in fear, then his voice died away.
Inside the hut Jules crept noiselessly to the bed.
“Go now! ve be keel ici! Dubat go nord! Crevier go sud! Ah go ouest!” he
said in almost inaudible tones.
Carefully the two others followed him to the door, and they sprang
through the clearing into the blackness of the forests.
“Trois mans, by diable!” screamed Annaotaha as he saw the three flit
like shadows from the camp. The Indians’ rifles barked again, and the
bullets _pludd-ed_ among the tree trunks. Wild cries and shouts arose,
and Jules heard some one running after him. He increased his speed and
went on swiftly through the deep woods, his pursuer cursing aloud and
losing ground fast. Soon Jules could hear nothing of the man behind him,
and he stopped. Everything was still; then far to the rear the faint
_pang_ of a rifle jarred the crisp silence.
Verbaux started again and travelled steadily to the southwest. Hour
after hour passed; daylight came, then broad day swept over the land,
and still Jules kept on. At last the timber-land ended; he crossed out
on the great barrens. The morning wind created living things of the
loose drift. Round, oblong snow-clouds whirled and twisted along, their
under sides blue, their tops dazzling white in the sun. Many delicate
tones of gray-blue and dark gray mingled and blended into one another as
the wind scud passed over the face of the sun and cast fast-changing
shadows. The wind was cold; it had come for thousands of miles over
chilled countries, endless barrens, black lakes and rivers frozen in
fantastic shapes, and was always laden with the ice particles, that
hummed and rustled monotonously, caught up by one gust, dropped, taken
by another and hurried through miles of space. Verbaux covered his face
with his muffler. “Ah had for leave dat _chappette_,”[8] he said sadly.
He looked back. The timber fringe of the barrens was far away; only the
giant trees lifted their peaked tops above the solid line of dark green.
Then Verbaux slowed his pace, hesitating. “Ah lak’ go back for dat,” he
thought, and the gray eyes were wistful. “Non! Ah mus’ fin’—Le Grand,
oui, Le Grand!” Not the slightest admission of his heart’s wish came
from his lips.
Footnote 8:
Little cap.
“Ha! dere track!” he muttered as a little farther on his keen eyes saw
many snow-shoe marks; he bent over them, but the drift had almost
obliterated the indentations, and he was not able to recognise any of
the trails. There was one long, narrow track that turned in at the heel
instead of at the toe. “Ah nevaire see dat befor’!” Verbaux said as he
walked along slowly, watching the peculiar marks. As he proceeded his
interest grew strangely, and soon he was following the trail backward at
a rapid pace; the other snow-shoes had crossed and recrossed it, but the
long scratches and slidings on the crust showed clearly by comparison.
“Comme f’om Poste Reliance, Ah t’ink!” Jules raised his head, then
stopped suddenly. A few yards ahead of him lay a body thinly covered
with white; dark stains in the snow around the head told the story. He
brushed the form clear; it was that of a squaw; the eyes were fixed and
glaring stonily into his own as he turned the figure over. A deep gash
in the throat had given the outlet to the life-blood that coated the
freezing surface about it red and brown. “Diables, dose mans!” Jules
growled. The long track traced in and out near the body, and he puzzled
out where the maker of that trail had stood and bent over the dying
woman. She was not very old, and not ugly. “Eet ees near to t’irt’ mile’
to Reliance,” Jules thought. “Ah no can tak’ dat femme là-bas, an’ Ah
have notting to mak’ de trou ici!” He straightened up. “B’en, Jules have
to go! Pauv’e femme!” he said aloud and travelled on. Shortly afterward
he came upon a snow hill. Rising black from the white before him was the
forest again, a few miles on. He turned his head on the back trail and
shuddered. Specks were moving hither and thither, now dark and sharp,
then blurred and dim as drift puffs partially hid them. They gathered
together in a certain spot on the barren and seemed motionless. “De
loups dey have fin’ dat corps’! Bon Dieu, Jules Verbaux he t’ink dat
somme taime he have to mak’ la guerre on dat Hodson Baie Compagnie an’
keel lak’ dose Indiens dey keel!” His voice was low and savage. He went
on again.
Late in the afternoon the buildings of the Northwest Post of Lac la
Pluie (Rainy Lake) showed up ahead, and in an hour he entered the yard.
“Et toi, Verbaux!” one of the group of voyageurs called to him
laughingly; “vat you do so far ’way de Lac des Sables?”
“Ah go Poste Reliance in vone, two day’!” Jules answered as he joined
the group. Picturesque men they were and rough in their tanned-skin
shirts that hung outside of the broad caribou-hide trousers; fringes of
hair adorned the ends of their shirts, and choice bits of ermine were
cleverly stitched in various designs here and there on the brown skins.
Beaver, otter, and fox caps were predominant on the men’s heads, and
tassels of picked fur dangled gracefully over the sides of their faces.
Long moccasins with coloured beads were on their feet, and bright
handkerchiefs knotted loosely about many of their throats showed their
childlike love of bright colours. They offered Jules tobacco; he filled
his pipe and lighted it. “Ah see dat Annaotaha an’ les Crees!” he said
then. “Quand?” “V’ere?” “V’en?” The questions came eagerly. “Las’ nuit
dey h’attack Crevier, Dubat, an’ moi, an’ comme near feenesh nous
aussi!” and Jules laughed silently. The crowd were clamorous for
details. Jules told them the story of the night attack, and how he and
the two others had fled, and of his success in getting away; he told of
finding the woman’s body, and deep curses showed the feeling of these
men of the wilderness. When he had finished his story, there was a
silence.
“Verbaux, you somme taime go avec nous feex dat Hodson Baie Compagnie?”
a square-shouldered, deep-chested voyageur asked. Jules looked at him
for a moment. “Oui,” he answered, “somme taime.” He left the group and
went over to the supply-house and found the factor; to him he told his
story, and asked to be “trusted for skins” for a blanket and some food.
“Aye, Verbaux lad, ye ’re welcome!” Factor McNeil answered. “But wull ye
gie us a leeft with these deevils when the time coomes?”
“Mabbe!” Jules answered gravely, got his “stuff” from the clerk, and
went out among the trappers and tepees.
“Tell, mon frère, you been Fond du Lac deese taime gon’,” a genial
Frenchman, named Gregoire, asked.
“Vas dere trois day’ gon’; dey fin’ h’out Ah vas no’ goin’ avec dem, an’
dey try for to catch moi, but Ah arrivé Lac des Sables ver’ queeck jus’
sam’!” and Jules chuckled.
“Ah t’ink dat dose Hodson Baie mans dey mak’ du trouble for nous. Las’
Mercredi Ah vas comme f’om Rivière Folle Avoine an’ see dose canaille
Crees et des Piegans veet’ dem; Ah mak’ le détour an’ comme sauf, mais
dose bad, ver’ bad!” Gregoire looked troubled as he spoke.
A tall, wiry half-breed Canadian joined in the conversation. “Vone mont’
’go Ah fin’ vone compagnie of dose Plats Côtes de Chiens [Dog Rib
Indians], par là, au nor’e’st, an’ dey had fusils, an’ mak’ lot beeg
talk, tell h’all taime mooch vat dey goin’ do à nous touts du Compagnie
Nor’ouest.”
And so the late afternoon passed, the men laughing and talking together.
The blue skies darkened, then shone with myriads of bright points as the
stars crept into view. Fires gleamed more and more warmly, and groups of
light-hearted voyageurs, singing and jesting, sat about some of them;
around others serious Indians squatted and smoked, watching their squaws
get supper. Twilight died away; then came the clear, sharp night of the
ice-bound latitudes. Overhead the northern lights drifted slowly,
sometimes fading to misty white shafts, then blazing out in brilliant
lights that brought every log house and tepee into deep relief against
the surrounding forests. Faint reports, sometimes distant crashes like
far-off thunder, came from the ever-changing aurora, and great nebulous
rings appeared, disappeared, narrowed, broadened, always shifting,
moving. Dogs wandered among the men, snuffing here and there restlessly.
The strong, tanned faces were lighted by the yellow tongues of the
fires, and the deep voices harmonised with the animated scene.
Verbaux ate his supper with his friends, and afterwards they lighted
their pipes and silence came over the little group. As they sat there,
these typical men of the woods and wastes, an Indian approached and sank
on his knees by the fire. He was handsome; dark eyes, quantities of
straight hair, a strong aquiline nose, high cheek-bones, long sinewy
arms, light hands with tapering fingers; dressed in a fancy skin shirt
on which coloured beads glittered as he moved, with high moccasins on
his feet and legs, and wolf-hide trousers. He smoked a long pipe slowly,
meditating between puffs; then he spoke in his own language, and
everyone listened.
“My friends and brothers: to me, Morning Star, the great Manitou sent a
dream on the last night, and I come to tell that dream to you.” He began
swaying back and forth gently, and his voice sank into a musical
monotone. No one moved.
“A spirit of my forefathers came and stood before my eyes, and it spoke
to me. ‘Morning Star, Chief of the Chippewyans, war, death, hunger,
fire, and cold are coming on you,’ the spirit said. ‘You will be
overwhelmed, crushed, beaten, and thrown to the wolves unless there
comes to aid you a big man. So that you and your brothers may know this
man, I say to you that he has gray eyes, that he is tall, but short in
many things, that he comes to you but to leave you, that he wants what
he does not want, and that he fears no one but himself. When this man
comes, tell him what I say, and tell him that the justice of the Manitou
and the cause of the Indian demand that he stay for the hour that
approaches!’”
Morning Star’s eyes were closed as he finished speaking, and his swaying
ceased.
Jules’s face had paled under the deep brown as the chief told his dream,
and now all eyes were on him. He leaned forward, his eyes glittering
with awe and excitement, for he had never seen Morning Star and knew of
him only by name.
“Étoile du Matin! call h’on le Manitou an h’ask de Marie an’ Le Grand,”
he said, with powerful emotion in his voice.
The Indian’s eyes remained closed. “Who speaks?” he asked.
“Ah, Jules Verbaux!”
The lights of the fires were dim and cast fitful shadows; voices about
them were hushed and a throbbing silence was over everything. Then the
Indian rose to his feet, an inch at a time, yet without seeming motion;
he stood upright, his left arm pointing to the heavens, where blinked
the stars. He remained thus for several minutes, then he spoke again,
his voice low and vibrating:
“Jules Verbaux, the great Manitou bids me say that the woman you seek is
safe, that she waits for you, that she can wait in safety and in plenty,
that the white man cares for her, that the man she came with is sick of
a wound, but that it may be so that all will be well with him if the big
man obeys the orders of Our Father, the great Manitou!”
The chief turned abruptly and left the fireside. Jules shivered to
himself and groaned.
Antoine Clement spoke quietly. “Dat Étoile du Matin he have des rêves,
mais dey comme h’alway’ trrue!”
“Toujours vrais,” said the rest, solemnly. One by one they got up and
went to their tepees.
Jules sat there, thinking, then a light tap on his shoulder roused him.
“Dormir là-bas veet’ me,” Gregoire said, pointing to his home, and left
the circle of light shed by the bright coals; the silence of rest was on
the post.
Somewhere wolves voiced their doleful cry out in the wilderness; Jules
disliked the sound strangely to-night and muttered angrily as the
distant tones rose and fell, echoed, and died away. He got up and moved
noiselessly from the fire, through the tepees, and out of the yard. The
woods were there, grim, black, motionless. He listened; then he went
slowly round the post, treading carefully, his gray eyes watching
everywhere. Suddenly as he stood by the gates again the northern lights
brightened. Their cold, pure gleam grew swiftly and things became shapes
as by the light of day. A white form trotted out from the dark timber
and came straight toward him; it drew close, then stopped, threw up its
head, and a long howl came from its throat. Verbaux could see the
shining fangs in the open jaws; he caught the glint in the eyes as they
reflected the sky light, and he shuddered unconsciously when the dreary
wail died away, its sound killed by the thick trees. A moment longer the
form stood there, then it moved off silently and was gone. The
brightness of the aurora faded; everything was star-dark again.
“Ah-bah! ’nodder loup blanc! Dat ver’ mauvais signe toujours!” He turned
into the yard, closed and barred the gates, and went over to Gregoire’s
home. It took but a moment to spread his blankets on the boughs, stretch
himself on them, and he slept instantly.
The dogs were very restless; they trotted hither and thither in the
yard, whining sometimes, and scratching at the foot of the stockade. The
hours passed slowly, and daylight was coming faint rose over the
tree-tops to the eastward when Jules sat up quickly. He listened, but
everything was normal. He wondered what had wakened him; he felt a sense
of alertness and got up. Then across the yard came a long howl; other
dogs took up the cry and the air was full of sound. The brutes ceased
all at once. Verbaux was already in the yard. “Dere ees somme t’ing dat
mak’ dose chiens inquiet!” he muttered. Faint grumblings from some of
the tepees showed that the dogs’ voices had disturbed the slumber of a
few, otherwise everything was still.
The eastern skies glowed with the sunlight that crept up the horizon; it
was bitterly cold at this hour between darkness and dawn, and Jules
shivered as he watched.
A cracking of branches caught his ear, then a soft swishing and rubbing
sound was audible, as of pine-needles brushing against something.
Verbaux looked at the trees; they were motionless, except that a big
branch on a pine swayed and trembled.
“Ha! dey loook for see!” and Jules crouched low.
The branch shook; then the next one above it trembled. Jules traced the
spy working his way quietly upward. Then against the fast-brightening
heavens a head appeared at the top of the tree, black and sharp. For a
moment it was there motionless, then it disappeared; the branches
quivered again one by one all the way down the pine. Jules ran swiftly
to the gate, unbarred it softly and looked out. The shadows were still
heavy under the trees, and he could just see a figure stealing away from
the foot of the big pine; it was lost at once in the sombre light.
Verbaux went out of the post, and hurried into the deep timber.
It took him but an instant to pick up the spy’s trail, and he hastened
along it. Once or twice the keen gray eyes caught glimpses of the man
ahead; Verbaux slowed up.
“Ah vant fin’ h’out, no catch!” he whispered to himself. The figure
before him travelled on fast, never looking round, entirely
unsuspicious. Then it turned to the left, and Jules stopped. He heard
voices not far away, and went on carefully. The light was strong now in
the woods, and he dodged warily from tree to tree till he was close to
the party. There were about seventy men—Indians, half-breeds, and
voyageurs—all belonging to the Hudson Bay Company.
“Bien, Ah see de poste!” said one of the group.
“Le Pendu!” Jules whispered, “dat traître, hein? Bon!”
The men all began talking at once, and he could not understand anything
he heard.
“Silence, mans!” an authoritative voice spoke, and the crowd were still.
“Ve go dees midi h’at sun-’igh to feenesh dat poste!”
“Bravo!” “Bon!” “Magnifique!” said the rest.
Verbaux had heard enough; he turned back and sped as fast as he could to
the post.
It was breakfast-time when he reached it. The morning breeze played with
the smoke of the fires, twisting it into long curves and spirals, then
wafting it away into the wilderness.
“Gregoire! Gregoire!” Jules called as he went among the trappers.
“Ici; qu’est-ce?” answered he.
Verbaux told him what he had heard.
“Ah-h-h, at las’!” growled Gregoire, brutally. “Ve show dose mans vat ve
do, hein?”
Jules did not answer at once; then Morning Star’s dream came to him,
powerful and compelling. He again saw the white wolf in memory.
“Ve goin’ try!” he said in solemn tones.
“Bon! Ah go fin’ le facteur; toi tell to de oddaires la bataille come
maintenant!” Gregoire said and ran off.
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