Manou stopped on a snow hill, and looked back over the way he had come; then, steadying himself against the heavy northwest wind, he took off his snow-shoes. The little steel-like particles of crust, eddying about with the force of the gale, stung and bit him, and his six “huskies”^[1] crept under the lee of the sledge and huddled together.

He chafed and pounded his aching feet, untying the thongs that bound the moccasins, his face drawn with pain; then he sat down beside the dogs and shoved his feet among their warm furry bodies. They growled and snarled, as if resenting this attempt to take some of their precious heat from them, but he paid no attention. Continually his head turned to the back trail, and he watched eagerly in that direction. Nothing but snowy wastes met his eye, undulating on and on into the distance; not a sound could his ears catch but the crisp rustle-rustle of the frozen snow as it scurried over the ice-bound surface. The cold was metallic in its fierceness; drops of ice clustered under the edges of his fur cap, where sweat had congealed as fast as it appeared, and his breath froze on his lips as it came into contact with the bitter wind. He looked again at the back trail. “Ah-h-h!” he muttered. A black dot was coming over a distant ice ridge; it seemed strangely distorted in the snow-haze, now looming up to the full figure of a man, now dwindling to a dark speck against the whiteness of everything.

He drew on his over-moccasins and fastened his snow-shoes. “Mush! Mush!”^[2] he shouted to the dogs, cracking the long whip with pistol-like effect. Away they went, the bone runners of the sledge creaking sharply over the uneven surface as he strode beside it. He did not stop to look back now, but urged his team to top speed with whip and voice: “Musha! Ar-r-rr! Musha!”^[3] Obediently the leader swung into an ice ravine. It was down hill, so the man threw himself on the sledge. His weight added to its momentum, and the dogs seemed not to touch the ground as they raced ahead, striving to keep the traces taut. “Musha! Ar-r-ha!” The leader turned sharply to the left, and the man hung far out on the flying sledge to keep it from upsetting. At a steep decline now, he used the braking-stick, as the hind feet of the nearest dogs were rattling on the curved runners, though they were doing their best.

Back on the hill where Manou had rested was another man, keenly examining the scratches of the dogs’ nails on the crust. He was tall and gaunt, but with sinuous strength showing in every limb. At his feet were three dogs and a light sledge. He stood up, and, shading his eyes from the sun-glare, looked ahead and saw Manou hurrying onward.

“Ah-h-h!” he growled, “seex dog, hein? SacrÉ dam’! He t’ink he goin’ get mes skins sauf to de compagnie, an’ dat me, Jules Verbaux, let heem do heet sans bataille? We see! Mush! Allez!” The dogs leaped to their work, and he followed swiftly after, his snow-shoes sliding in long, easy strides.

Jules Verbaux was a “free” trapper in the Hudson Bay Company’s territory. He was a thorn in the factor’s side, as he stole fur from the traps of the Company’s Indians, and they could never catch him to send him over the “long trail.” Manou, a half-breed Indian, had heard of Jules’s cache,^[4] where there was a lot of fur, and he had taken his dogs and sneaked off, hoping, for his own profit, to break the cache and get into one of the Company’s posts, where he would be safe to sell the skins.

Jules came up on a drift and saw Manou going, going. “Ah, diable,” he muttered; “he goin’ win avec seex dog! Vat you t’ink me do? Jules, Ah have vone leet’ plan; dat miserab’ he not know exactement la place; Ah goin’ fool heem! Musha! ai-i-i-ii!” His voice trailed off in a nasal whine, and the dogs whirled about to the right and raced on.

Manou was so far ahead that he thought it safe to stop again; he put his dogs under the shelter of an ice clump while he climbed up on it. He could not find his pursuer on the back trail, and he chuckled for a moment. “Toi, Verbaux! Manou goin’ show to toi ’Ow to mush.” Then he caught sight of Jules working off to the right. “Qu’est Ça?” he muttered, and after fumbling about in his pockets he brought out a soiled and crumpled piece of paper. “Nor’ouest to ze hol’ trail, den directement nor’ to ligne two, den sud’est; cache marrke, cross hon piece of wood. V’y for he go dat chemin?” he asked himself, and looked again.

Sure enough, Jules was now far off to the right, and going on fast. “Zat dam’ femme! She no tell to Manou correctement! Ah go now cut heem hoff zis chemin.” He slid and tumbled down the clump. “Mush! ai-i-i-i!” and away he went in the direction calculated to bring him across the other’s trail. As he travelled he pulled out an old pistol and examined the cartridges carefully. “Ah feex dat Verbaux, den le facteur he mak’ me vone big gif’—mabbe five dollaires—eef Ah breeng hees head cut hoff to la poste!”

Meanwhile Jules passed over snow-barrens with tireless speed. Regularly his snow-shoes clicked as he lifted them, and unceasingly he plied the lash. “Allez—allez! Ho-o-o-p!” He shook his fist at the other when he saw that Manou had fallen into the trap and was trying to head him off. “Viens, scÉlÉrat! Ah goin’ lead you in la territoire du diable!” He shouted aloud. The sound of his voice was whisked away even as his lips moved; he shook his fist again. “You know, garÇon, zat Jules he have no gun; mais he have somme t’ing for you, Manou!” And he felt for the knife that rested in his belt. “Now, Ah go fas’ et leeve ze beeg trail. You come, Manou, hein? You come!” And he darted on at even greater speed.

An hour later Manou came to Verbaux’s trail. “C’est bien Ça. Ah go fas’ now; an’ to-night, v’en he stop, Ah get heem.” He caressed the pistol. “Mush! mush!” he screamed to the dogs, and twined the lash about their heads. “Musha!”

Manou had forgotten his aching feet, forgotten his direction, forgotten everything but the lust of gain and his hatred of the man he was now pursuing.

On and on he went, cursing the dogs, and lashing them till the blood oozed through their fur. Over ridges and across drifts, down gullies and through ice ravines, following Jules’s broad trail, like a bloodhound he flew, now and again getting a glimpse of his man ahead. Sometimes Jules slowed up and breathed his dogs, and Manou’s eyes would snap when he saw him so close at hand; again Jules would put on an extra burst of speed, and Manou would curse horribly as he appreciated that the distance between them had increased.

The arctic day began to wane; the sun was pale and orange-coloured as it sank toward the snow-bound horizon. Jules sped on through the long twilight; finally he stopped. “Now, Ah goin’ feenesh you, diable! Ah, Jules Verbaux, goin’ do eet!”

He took off the dogs’ harness and lashed the biggest of the team firmly about the body with the broad back-thongs; this done, he fastened the light sledge strongly on his back, and then slung the wriggling, snarling animal between the runners; he took off his snow-shoes and hung them over his shoulder, and then pounded the remaining two dogs into a semblance of docility and picked one up under each arm. “Viens donc, Manou! Ah see you to-mor’, mabbe.” Shod only in his light moccasins, he turned to the left and disappeared like a shadow, leaving not the slightest track on the hard crust.

Manou came to the end of Jules’s trail; it was almost dark, but he got down on his hands and knees, and, with his face close to the snow, searched for the continuation of it. Finally he stood up.

“Night—dam’!—she protec’ you, Jules Verbaux; but to-mor’ Ah fin’ ze track, an’ den Ah come!” And he cursed again.

His dogs were nearly finished; they stood with drooping heads and half-closed eyes before the sledge, their hollow sides working like bellows as they panted hoarsely. Manou kicked and dragged them into a semicircle, then he turned the sledge sidewise for a windbreak, and pulling out a blanket, curled up among the tired brutes. He was too frenzied by disappointment to eat anything, nor did he give the dogs any food. The sleep of utter exhaustion soon stopped his mutterings, and the huskies lay inert about him.

The stars twinkled and blinked in the dark-blue heavens; the wind had died away; everything was still. Manou slept, and the dogs did not move. The stars suddenly seemed to lose their lustre; a little breeze sprang up, eddied about, and sank again. Another came—this time a stronger one; it ruffled the bushy tails of the huskies; it stirred the fur on the blanket; then it, too, sank. The stars seemed to recede into the farthest heavens, grow dim there, and disappear. The breeze grew into a steady wind, the snow particles rustled again on the crust, and still neither the man nor the dogs moved.

The wind strengthened into a strong blow, and the particles began to huddle about the sleeping forms, covering them with a thin white sheet. One of the huskies lifted its head, sniffed a moment, and then whined—a long-drawn whine. Manou slept on. The blow increased to a gale, droning over the sharp ice-edges on the hills; the drift came fast and thick, threatening to cover man and dogs completely. Another husky awoke, sprang to its feet, and howled dismally; Manou stirred, cursed the brute, and went to sleep again. The gale grew into the awful Northern hurricane; it shrieked through the ravines, and hissed away among the sharp peaks; it grew wilder and stronger, and, dragging the fur blanket from the sleeping man, drew it to itself and carried it over the snow hills out of sight. The dogs were huddled in a solid mass, yelping and howling. Manou felt the cold and heard the raging of the wind. “Dieu! la tempÊte du Nord!” he cried in terror, and groped for the blanket; and, when he could not find it, began to sob and to scream curses at God and the storm.

He rose to his feet; the wind upset him; he rose again, and again the gale threw him. Then he started on his hands and knees to find the blanket. He crawled up the slope of the hill near by, thinking that it would have lodged on the side, but it was not there. He crawled farther on to the top. Here the wind was doubly strong; it seemed to shriek: “I got the blanket out of the valley! I have you here!” It buffeted and beat him along ahead of it, turning him over and over, Manou fighting and cursing all the way. He could not get back to the dogs; he dug his fingers into the crust until the blood ran and their ends were split. In vain! Inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard, the wind pushed and hurtled him along. The frightful cold ate into his heart, his liver, the nerve-centres of his spine; he gave up fighting, and the wind rolled his body to a little precipice. He fell over its edge, down, down, until, with a soft thud, he struck a deep drift, and sank in. The white mass closed over his body like water, and filled his nose and his ears, choking him into insensibility.

Overhead the storm raged on for hours, until finally it sank as gradually as it had come, the gale dying to a strong blow, the strong blow into a steady wind, the steady wind into a breeze, and the breeze into little drafts that also died away. The sun rose from the snow-haze, and marvelled not; it was used to these things—used to going down at night, and, on rising the next morning, to seeing the barrens changed, a hill here where it was flat yesterday, a ravine there where yesterday stood a hill.

About noon a figure appeared in the distance; it grew, and as it approached the tall, gaunt form of Jules Verbaux was recognisable. He came directly, unerringly to the spot where he had broken his trail the night before, and he laughed as he looked on the changes that had been wrought.

“Ma foi, garÇon! La tempÊte du Nord she get you, hein?”

He prodded about in the drifts with his sledge-stick, and struck something hard; he dug in, and found Manou’s sledge. He prodded farther, and found the bodies of the dogs buried deep.

“Seex chiens, poor beas’! Mais Manou, Ah vondaire v’ere ees he?”

He searched round, and dug in several places, but with no success. “Ah, b’en, he ees feenesh. Ah no have to faire dis!” and he drew out the long knife that glittered in the sunlight. He pried the bone runners from the other’s sledge, and fastened them to his own, on top of the load of fur it now carried, where yesterday it had been empty.

“Mush! Allez! Mush!” and the dogs scampered on.

“Manou!”—and he shook his fist at the four quarters of the horizon,—“you took my wife, you vant steal my skins, and now le diable he have you! Je suis content!”

And he followed on after the sledge with the same old easy stride.