“Bon jou’, Verbaux!”

A hoarse voice spoke at the door of the little bark hut. Jules opened his eyes, and looked into the muzzle of a rifle in the hands of an Indian trapper.

“Ah-ha, mon gar! Ah track you t’ree day in la forÊt, an’ you aire prisonnier to me, Le Grand. Stan’ h’up, an’ comme À moi.”

Jules thought quickly, and realised that the slightest deviation from orders would mean instant death; he got up slowly and walked over to his captor, who watched him like an animal.

“C’est Ça; hol’ hout you’ han’s!”

Jules did so, but held them low in front of him; Le Grand, keeping the rifle cocked and pointed in one hand, drew a thong with a noose in it from his belt with the other hand, and threw it over Jules’s wrists; then he stooped forward to draw the noose tight. Quick as a flash, Jules’s right knee flew up and struck the other’s face with tremendous force. The rifle dropped to the Indian’s feet, and he staggered; Jules was on him in an instant, hitting him a fearful blow with his fist. Le Grand groaned and fell limply. Hurriedly Jules bound the fallen man’s wrists and ankles; then a knife gleamed in his hand.

“Maintenant, Le Grand, you go far ’way.” He lifted the blade, but hesitated, and his arm dropped without having accomplished its purpose. “Non, pas encore. Ah vant talk vone leet’ veet’ heem.”

He went outside and gathered some snow; this he rubbed vigorously on the Indian’s face and neck; when it had melted he got more and repeated the operation. Finally Le Grand moved and looked up.

“Ah, b’en, Verbaux,” he said; “Ah should keel you v’en Ah had ze chance, onlee le facteur he vant you ver’ bad. He say feefty dollaires to man who breeng Verbaux to ze post alive; so Ah track you many day, fin’ you haslip, et maintenant you keel me, hein?”

Jules played with his knife a few minutes before he answered; then he said: “You got vone leet’ girrrl, n’est-ce pas, Le Grand?”

The Indian’s face twitched slightly, and Jules went on: “Vat she do v’en her faddaire ees dead?”

“Ah don’ know,” answered Le Grand.

“You got vone leet’ garÇon, eh, Le Grand? Vat he do eef his faddaire ees dead?”

“Ah don’ know,” answered the other again.

Then Jules spoke fiercely: “Ah tell to you vat zey do, dose deux leet’ vones. V’en le facteur he fin’ hout you no comme back, he sen’ dose enfants een la forÊt, Le Grand; he vant no des petits een ze post, v’en no vone dere for to geeve zem to h’eat; an’ den ze wolfs, Le Grand, zey aire hongree, maintenant, dese taimes, Le Grand.”

“Da’ ’s true,” answered the Indian, his voice quivering with emotion, though his face showed no sign. Silence fell on the two men.

At last Jules said: “Le Grand, you know vat Ah ’m goin’ to do À toi?”

“Keel, je suppose,” was the answer.

“Non, Le Grand; not zis taime. A geeve you to your leet’ vones. Ah had a papoose vonce; den dat Manou he stol’ ma femme, an’ de leet’ girrrl she die.” His voice broke, and he knelt hurriedly and cut the lashings on the ankles and wrists.

“Stan’ hup, Le Grand; voici ton fusil.” He handed the Indian the rifle. “Maintenant go! Partez! an’ rememb’ Jules Verbaux.”

He stood aside from the hut entrance as he finished speaking. The Indian stared at him as in a trance.

“Verbaux,” he said in a husky voice, “you vone beeg, beeg hearrt. Ah go to mes petits; mais before Ah go Ah tell you dis: Le facteur he sen’ t’irt’ mans for to catch you. Au revoir.” He dropped the rifle into the hollow of his arm, and went off, with bowed head, into the forest.

Jules crossed his body devoutly, and muttered an Ave Maria. “Le facteur sen’ t’irt’ mans? C’est impossible. Dere ten mans on line seex, h’eight mans on Haut Bois, t’ree mans au RiviÈre Noire; dat mak’ twenty-vone. Den feeft’-t’ree en all h’at la poste! T’irt come for me; by gar, on’ly two lef’ au poste!” he finished, adding on his fingers as he tallied up the Indians of the entire post. “Ah don’ t’ink Le Grand he tell to me vone lie. Bon! Ah go an’ Ah mak’ vone leet’ conversation avec M’sieu’ le Facteur,” he decided.

Then he hurried about the hut, removing all signs of recent habitation; he stowed away the blankets in his tote-bag, pulled the little bark door from its wooden hinges, tore down a corner of the roof and let in a quantity of snow, and kicked the moss bed to pieces; then he took his snow-shoes outside, adjusted them, and went off at a brisk pace to the westward.

All that day he travelled, and all night, guided by his unerring knowledge of the country and of the stars. At daybreak he stopped and built a small fire, carefully selecting the driest wood he could find for it, so that no tale-bearing smoke should rise above the trees. He ate a frugal breakfast, and started on again. The sun was in mid-heaven when he approached the post; the snow was liberally tracked, and other signs of habitation were plenty.

Jules advanced more warily now; he came to the big clearing, and saw the post buildings before him. He watched long and carefully. The smoke from the long chimneys rose lazily in the still air, and the company flag drooped listlessly at its mast. A few children played and romped in and out of the stockade gate, which stood wide open. Outside the yard was a group of Indian tepees, picturesque and silent. At intervals he heard the sound of women’s voices coming from the buildings, but the place was deserted of men and dogs.

Jules watched some time longer; then he advanced boldly across the open, entered the yard, took off his snow-shoes, went up the steps of the store, opened the door, and walked in. An old Indian was arranging some blankets on the counter with shaking hands; hearing the door open, he looked up, then started back in dismay. “Ju-ules Ver-baux!” he whispered.

“Bon jou’, Maquette,” said Jules, quietly. “Le facteur, oÙ est-il?”

The old man nodded to a door in the rear. “LÀ-bas.” He followed Jules with frightened eyes as the latter rapped on the indicated door.

“Coom in, Maquette. Whut the divil ails ye now, ye dodderin’ old—Verbaux!” The factor ended with a snarl as Jules stepped in, closing the door after him.

“Jules Verbaux, M’sieu’ le Facteur; Ah hear you vant me; Ah come.” He moved quietly between the factor, who was at his desk, and a rifle that his keen eyes saw in a corner.

“Ye plundherin’ thafe!” the factor said, with an oath; “how’d ye know there wasn’t a man on the posht? I’ll—I’ll take ye wid me own hands, so I wull!” he shouted and leaped from his chair.

A long knife appeared suddenly in Jules’s hand, and an ugly glint came into the gray eyes as he answered:

“No so fas’, M’sieu’ le Facteur; no so fas’. Ah vant talk veet’ you vone leet’ first, s’il vous plait.”

The factor saw the glint on the knife and the glint in the eyes, and realised that both were dangerous, so he sat down again, looking round for some available weapon. “Go on,” he growled; “I’ll get the life-blood out o’ ye fer this, ye divil!”

“V’y you ’ave you’ Indians hont Jules lak’ a chien? V’y you no let Jules trap in peac’? V’y for you geeve hordaire’ zat les Indians zey burn mes leet’ huts? V’y for you vant ma vie?” Jules asked these questions slowly, as he faced the infuriated Irishman without a tremor.

“I’ll show ye whut fer, ye half-breed whelp!” And the factor started up again.

“Pas encore, M’sieu’ le Facteur! You bes’ rester tranquille an’ hear vat Jules Verbaux ’ave to say.” The insult—that he, Verbaux, a pure French-Canadian, had Indian blood in him—roused Jules to fierce though suppressed rage; the swarthy face paled under the bronze, and his breath came and went with little hissing sounds.

“Ah demand zat you veel geeve hordaire’ to your Indians to leave Jules halon’; la territoire du Nord ees zat h’of le bon Dieu. He geeve to us zat territoire to mak’ hont; he no geeve eet to la compagnie for deir h’own.”

The factor swore a string of horrible oaths, cursing the man before him.

“I’ll have the hearrrt from your dirty carcass to pay fer this, see if I don’t!” he finished.

“You no haccep’ vat Jules say, M’sieu’ le Facteur?”

There was a note of warning in the low-spoken words, but the factor was too wild with fury to notice it.

“I’ll accept nawthing but your life,——ye!—your life; an’ I’ll get it if I have to hound ye outen the country to do it!” he screamed.

“Ver’ good! How’ hup your han’s!” In a second Jules had seized the rifle behind him and was pointing it at the factor’s heart.

“Ye would n’t murther me in cowld blood, would ye?” The cowardly bully was afraid, as he held his hands over his head.

“Non, M’sieu’ le Facteur; mais Ah ’m goin’ show your Indians ’Ow Jules tak’ deir facteur, ’stead of deir facteur tak’ Jules! Stan’ hup an’ marche!” Jules motioned to the door.

With the abject fear of death in his eyes, the Irishman stumbled to the door and lowered his hands to open it.

“How’ hup han’s! Call Maquette!” came the sharp order.

The captive refused to speak, so Jules called the Indian himself. Maquette came and opened the door.

“Quick, Maquette! Hit him with an axe; he can’t watch the both of us!” said the factor.

Jules spoke again: “Maquette, your faddaire an’ my faddaire dey mak’ la chasse togedder lon’ before dees compagnie she comme een our territoire; Maquette, Jules no vant hurrt the son h’of hees faddaire’s fr’en’. You go h’out, Maquette, n’est-ce pas?”

The old man turned, and went out of the store.

“Marche, M’sieu’ le Facteur; en avant!” The incongruous pair went down the steps and out into the yard; Jules deftly picked up his snow-shoes, and the factor tried to turn off at the gate.

“Ve go een forÊt,” said Jules, persuasively.

The children stopped their play and stared; then they scampered away with loud cries.

Across the clearing the two went; then down a wood road till it ended, and on into the woods. Beads of perspiration stood on the factor’s neck and face, and his arms drooped every now and then, when Jules would say quietly, “Han’s hup, M’sieu’ le Facteur!”

They went on thus for a long time, twisting and turning through the timber, the factor breathing in hoarse gasps, and barely dragging one foot after the other in the wet snow. Jules had been quietly preparing a noosed thong, and now he stepped up behind his prisoner and tossed it over the upheld arms, drawing it tight with a jerk.

“Ve stop maint’nant,” he said.

The factor swayed and would have fallen had not Jules caught him and backed him against a tree. He then passed a thong under the Irishman’s chin, and made that fast around the trunk, holding him up. He had to stand upright, because when he relaxed his legs the thong choked him. Then Jules unwound the wooden muffler from his own throat and neatly cut a strip from it with the sharp knife. “H’open mout’!” he ordered.

In reply the factor shut his jaws with a snap. Jules smiled, and, forcing the point of his blade between the clenched teeth, pried them open and quickly slipped the heavy strip of wool inside the mouth, drawing it tight and tying it behind the tree also. Then he stood off and surveyed his work. The rifle he stuck up just out of the factor’s reach.

“Ah don’ steal vat not belong to Jules,” he said; and continued, as he put on his snow-shoes and rewound the muffler about his neck: “Maint’nant, M’sieu’ le Facteur, you choe an’ choe—so,”—he moved his own jaws as he spoke,—“an’ een vone heure, mabbe, you choe troo dat leet’ cravate; den you can free your-se’f an’ fin’ your vay to la poste. Meanv’ile Ah go, M’sieu’ le Facteur. Adieu! Bonne chance!”