Nothing had been seen or heard of Jules Verbaux since the time when, single-handed, he had captured the factor. Spurred on by the factor’s offer of two hundred dollars for his capture dead or alive, the Indians of the post gave up trapping for a week and hunted far and wide for him, and, contrary to the custom of the posts, they were armed with rifles.

One by one, tired out and disheartened, the trappers gave up the search. As they came back, the factor interviewed each one, inquiring eagerly even for tracks of the man he wanted. The answers were all the same—nothing, absolutely nothing. Then he cursed them for a pack of lazy brutes, and swore that they had not hunted. Nothing more could be done in the matter, so it was dropped.

Whenever there were any Indians on the post, solemn meetings to talk over Verbaux’s strange disappearance took place about the fires in the tepees outside of the stockade. The participants in these meetings would squat in a half-circle, and smoke, smoke, smoke, conversing in low tones. On a certain evening, Tritou, Le Grand, old Maquette, Le Hibou, and a new-comer at the post named Le Bossu because of the hump on his back, were sitting in Le Grand’s tepee. Outside it was snowing hard; the great white flakes dropped so fast that at a distance of twenty feet a man was invisible. The air had a heavy, damp feeling, and Le Grand pulled the blanket which served as a door closer over the tepee entrance.

“Ce Verbaux Ah hear so mooch tell, he beeg homme?” asked Le Bossu, after a long silence.

Le Grand nodded, and the Indians puffed on.

“He know h’all zis territoire, an’ he go fas’ on de snow, hein?” asked Le Bossu again, and they all nodded.

“He ees vone beeg t’ief; he keel Manou, he steal, he ver’ bad!” said Tritou.

“Vone lie, Ça!” contradicted Le Grand when Tritou had finished speaking.

The latter looked up quickly. “Vat dat you say, Le Grand?”

“Ah say you mak’ vone lie.”

“V’y for you say dat moi, Tritou, mak’ vone lie?”

“Nev’ min’ vat for. Ah say you mak’ beeg lie v’en you parler dat vay de Verbaux. Ah say, an’ Ah know vat Ah say.”

Tritou made no comment upon Le Grand’s emphatic speech, and so the conversation lapsed.

Le Bossu stared hard at the fire; then he shook himself, as though waking up.

“Ah goin’ catch dees Verbaux,” he said quietly.

The others smiled. “’Ow?” they asked.

“C’est mon affaire,” answered the new man; “but Ah’m goin’ breeng heem h’alive to la poste.”

Le Grand looked keenly at the speaker; then, as though satisfied with his scrutiny, he chuckled. Nothing more was said, and one by one the trappers got up, wrapped their blankets round them, and passed out into the night and the snow, muttering, “Bon soi’, Le Grand!”

Le Grand sat a long time alone; his eyes shone like a caribou’s as the firelight danced and mirrored itself in the black depths; then he went to the flap and looked out. “Beeg storm,” he said, half aloud, as he lay down on the heap of boughs that served him as a bed and drew the blankets over him.

At daylight next morning the post was astir. There was shouting of men and a scurrying about of women; the trappers came and went, carrying food and blankets to their tepees. The factor stood at the store entrance, checking off each Indian’s load as he went out.

“Here, you humpback,” he called, as Le Bossu passed with his supplies, “ye got wan blanket too manny! Ye can’t cheat me, ye son of a gun! Take it back to Maquette!”

In the yard trappers were getting their dogs into harness, and the din was great, what with the snarling and yelping of the brutes, the cries of children who clung tenaciously to the squaws’ skirts, and the clang of the bell in the tower on the factor’s house, which was calling the men for the start. At last all was ready; twenty-five men and eighteen dog-teams were assembled in front of the store, the men, cap in hand, waiting for the factor’s final orders.

The sun shone warmly now, and the melting snow dripped comfortably from the store roof; a little breeze played daintily with the flag at the masthead, making it curl in graceful folds and letting it fall again. The factor held up his hand, and all was quiet.

“Now min’,” he said; “get ye a lot o’ fur better ’n lasht trip, or Oi’ll cut yer grub next toime. That’s all, except, av coorse, me two hunderd fer Verbaux shtands as I made ut; if anny o’ ye sees ’im, don’t dare come back widout ’im.” He turned and went into the store.

“Who-o-o-e-e-e-e!” shouted the crowd, and with cries of “Au revoir!” “Adieu!” “Bonne chance!” from those leaving and from those that remained, the trappers urged on the dogs and scurried across the clearing into the woods. For some time their voices were borne faintly to the home crowd, who still clustered about the gate; then these died away, and every one went off to his own duties.

“Ah t’ou’t las’ night, vone beeg storm to-day,” said Le Grand to the crowd, as they hurried along as fast as the heavy travelling and hard pulling for the dogs would allow. “Mais, by gar! de snow she ver’ deep aujourd’hui!” he added. Snow-shoes were of no service at all, and the Indians proceeded in single file, taking turns every few minutes at breaking trail.

“Ah t’ink heet goin’ snow encore,” suggested Le Bossu.

It looked as though it might; the sun had grown dim and misty, and the air was raw and chill. Huge masses of wet snow dropped continually from the trees—usually the sign of a coming storm. The atmosphere was thick and oppressive to the lungs, and the dogs were greatly distressed by it.

As the actual fall of snow did not come, the Indians hastened on, anxious to get as far as possible on their way before they would have to stop for the night.

The sky soon became dark, and twilight was very short; the men selected a sheltered ravine in which to spend the night, and the dogs were unharnessed from the sledges. They quickly dug holes for themselves, two or three in a hole, and curled down in them, leaving their furry backs showing over the surface. The trappers drew the sledges together and banked snow between them, forming an efficient wind-shield; then a big pile of wood was gathered and lighted. The glare of the flames reflected warm on their faces, and the long shadows kept up a merry dance as the men moved to and fro; the tree trunks stood out clear and strong in the ruddy light, and their branches seemed woven into a network of dark green that covered everything and shut out the dull, leaden skies.

Tea was soon ready in a lot of pannikins and kettles, and each man ate his supper with relish, for an all-day tramp on “breaking” snow was no easy work. The meal finished, they pulled out blankets from the bags, rolled themselves up, and in a little while everything was still, except the fire, which kept up its cheery crackling and popping. It had burned down nearly two feet, and the snow-water began to choke out its enthusiasm, when a big chunk, undermined by the heat, caved in, quenching it entirely with a loud hiss and splutter.

“Ugh-h! Ver’ col’!” said Tritou, with a shiver, as he sat up about midnight and drew his blankets closer round him. “Heet snow, by diable! Dat too bad!” he added to himself, when he saw the ghostly flakes dropping; then he went to sleep again.

“H’up, you mans!” called Le Hibou to the sleeping forms just as the first gray light crept through the spruce branches. They moved and grumbled.

“SacrÉ! she mak’ vone beeg lot snow las’ nuit!” said Le Bossu as he got up and yawned prodigiously. There had, indeed, been a heavy snowfall; the place where the fire had been was filled up smooth and white, and a big circular mound showed the location of the sledges. The dogs had kept themselves open to the air by throwing off the accumulating snow as it fell, and the sides of their nests were piled up like fox burrows.

“Dam’!” said Le Grand as a lump of snow fell into his tea from a branch overhead, splashing him with the steaming drink.

Breakfast over, they dug out the sledges, sorted the teams, harnessed them, and started off.

The snow was three feet deeper than the day before, and the going was therefore much worse; the advance of the party was a slow and laborious one, the dogs sinking in to their bellies and floundering helplessly about, so that the men had to take hold of the traces and pull in order to move ahead at all.

“SacrÉ-É misÈre!” said Le Hibou, as he straightened up from the work and passed a rough sleeve over his face, “dat harrrd travaille!”

“Ai-hai!” answered the rest.

The day grew warmer as they proceeded, and it was hot work on the open barrens, where the sun shone with arctic brilliancy on the swearing, sweating crowd.

“Vone t’ing ees good,” said Le Bossu as they all stopped for a breathing spell: “dere veel be vone stronge crrus’ to-night. Ve go h’all dark taime, and res’ to-mor’; vat you t’ink, vous autres, hein?”

“Hmm, toi Bossu! Vat you t’ink? Ve goin’ vorrk h’all day, h’all nuit? Nevaire!” said Tritou.

“B’en, h’all sam’ to me! Ah goin’ sauf mes dog’; go h’on ze crrus’ to-night, and res’ v’en ze sonne she ees so warm. ’Ou go veet’ me?” concluded Le Bossu.

“Ah go, Bossu,” answered Le Hibou.

“Moi aussi,” agreed another of the trappers, Dumois by name.

“Bon! Ve show to youse ow to go fas’ la nuit,” laughed Le Bossu.

They struggled on all day; as the sun sank lower and lower, the melted surface of the snow hardened, and it soon held the teams up, though the men sank in even with snow-shoes. At dark it set in very cold, and the frost particles covered the men’s clothing with a shimmering coat.

They stopped for the night again, and after supper Le Hibou, Le Bossu, and Dumois went on alone. Travelling was good now, and the woods were more open, so the three made fast time of it. The stars shone with extraordinary brilliancy, and Dumois stopped the others on a barren they were then crossing to look at them.

“Ah t’ink mor’ snow plent’ queeck,” he said; “go to ze ouest; ve strike RiviÈre Noire by ze short trail, hein?”

“You know de vay, Dumois?”

“Certainement. Ah go that chemin t’ree year h’ago. Ah remembaire sans doute.” With these assurances as to his powers of guiding, Dumois swung his team due west, and struck out at a smart pace, the two others following closely.

Their shadowy figures rose and fell over the undulations of the barren, to the click, click, click of the snow-shoes and the sharp patter of the dogs’ nails on the crust. A dim thing scurried away in front of Dumois, and before he could catch hold of the sledge his dogs were off in howling pursuit, Dumois after them, yelling curses and commands to stop.

“Black fox, mabbe,” said Le Hibou as he and Le Bossu turned off slightly and followed the sound of Dumois’s voice. They came up to him, and he was using his whip freely. “Tu loup!” he shouted at the big leader of the team, “Ah show toi to ronne so h’aftaire dam’ fox!” and the lash whistled through the night air; the brute snarled a little as he felt the sting, but he knew that he had done wrong, and his tail trailed dejectedly on the snow.

“Maint’nant, starrt!” said Dumois when the team was straightened out. He looked up at the stars as he spoke; they were less brilliant, and sometimes they disappeared entirely when snow-clouds drifted between them and the earth.

“C’est Ça; ve go dees chemin,” he said, when he had studied out his bearings.

“Mais, Dumois, you no go directe, comme befor’?” interposed Le Bossu.

Dumois smiled at him derisively, and the other said no more.

They travelled on hour after hour; no one spoke, saving breath for the swift pace. Dumois stopped and examined the heavens again; the stars were not to be seen, and a chill wind was blowing. He swung off a little to the left; the others made no comments, because they could not now, and the three went on and on, now through dense forests as dark as pitch, where they had to slow down and feel their way, and again across gray-white barrens where the wind tossed the drift into whirling clouds and carried it along in its arms.

They came suddenly to a deep gorge. Dumois stopped, and looked at it with growing fear in his eyes.

“Dere no ravine near to RiviÈre Noire,” he muttered to himself; then he turned to the others, who stood waiting behind him. “Ah’m los’,” he said quietly.

“Ve go back,” suggested Le Bossu.

In silence the three turned the dogs on the back trail.

It had begun to snow, a little at first, then faster and faster; the flakes whirled and tumbled over one another in their long race to the earth. It fell cold and clammy on the men’s faces as they breasted their way against the wind, and they wound their mufflers close up to their eyes. A big hill loomed in front of them, like some black monster; they had fought their way for two hours against the storm and were tired out.

“Vat dat?” said Dumois in a helpless way.

No one answered.

“Ve bes’ res’ here de nuit,” finally suggested Le Hibou, in a dull voice.

They made camp as well as they could. No wood was to be seen, and they did not dare search for any, as the snow fell so thickly that a man could easily be lost fifty feet from the others. They ate a cold, cheerless meal, and having fed the dogs from their supply, they pulled their blankets about them and slept. All night the white flakes came and spread themselves thickly over everything; the wind blew dismally; and the dogs huddled as close together as they could.

In the morning Dumois climbed up on the hill. As far as he could see through the infolding shrouds of snow was a bleak, strange country; no sign, no shadowy suspicion of forest anywhere. He went down and told the others.

“V’ere you t’ink ve go?” asked Le Hibou.

Dumois and Le Bossu thought, and drew lines on the snow with their fingers; then Le Bossu said, “Par lÀ!” pointing to the right.

“Non, par ici—dees vay!” said Dumois, pointing to the left.

Le Hibou looked at their lines on the snow chart, and drew some of his own. “En avant!” was his decision after he had finished his calculations.

“Non, by gar! Ah no vant die los’!” shouted Dumois. “Ah go mon chemin!”

He fastened his dogs to his sledge, and the others imitated him mechanically; then the three started off to the left. On and on they went, over hills and down ravines, up clefts in the snow gorges, and across wind-swept barrens; and always the snow came and covered their tracks as fast as they made them.

They did not even stop for food; the snow grew deeper and heavier; it clogged their way, piled itself on their snow-shoes, and heaped in soggy masses in front of the sledges; the dogs gave up one by one, exhausted.

“Impossible!” said Dumois, after trying valiantly to drag the dogs and sledge too by his own strength. “Ve res’ teel la neige she stop, hein?” he suggested.

Le Hibou and Le Bossu agreed by not contradicting, and the three made a rude shelter with the sledges and some spare blankets.

Le Hibou searched for his food-bag. “Bon Dieu!” he said, with white face, “Ah geeve to Tritou, v’en ve starrt yes’day, ma food, becaus’ hees sled ees mor’ leetle den mine, an’ Ah took hees blankets.”

The night before they had eaten of Dumois’s provisions, as his bag had been more accessible than that of either of the others, so this calamity had not been discovered. Dumois looked in his bag; there was little left. The entire party had intended to reach Les Petites Colignes in four days, and had taken just enough food per man to do it, as there was at that place a big cache of flour, tea, and six caribou carcasses. Le Bossu’s bag was still untouched, but it contained very little to feed three men and eighteen dogs for no one knew how long. They had plenty of blankets, and the mockery of it was terrible. They divided the food sparingly, and fed the dogs separately, a handful of dried meat to each.

Another night passed, and morning brought the same old story—snow, snow, snow, falling, dropping, tumbling in ceaseless, noiseless quantities. They stayed there all that day, and the food supply dwindled, even though they took but very little of it twice only in the twenty-four hours. On the fourth day of their captivity the food was all gone, and they drew lots to see who should kill one of his dogs; Dumois was drawn, and he cut the throat of one of his team, tears streaming down his face as he did so. “Blanchette, poor beas’! Ah’m dÉsolÉ!” he said hoarsely.

And still it snowed. The surface of the barren was much higher than it had been. The cold was intense, and in desperation Le Hibou smashed his sledge, tore a blanket in slips, and made a fire; they husbanded the feeble flame with tender care; but it was out all too soon, and they shivered again in their covers.

Afternoon came, and the snow relaxed somewhat. The men, weak from lack of food and almost numb, were about to smash up another sledge, when suddenly, without a sound of any kind, a figure stood before them. It was a tall, gaunt figure with curious wide snow-shoes on its feet. The face was muffled entirely, only the gray eyes showing. As the three stared in wonderment, half believing it a myth, the figure spoke:

“You los’, n’est-ce pas? Comme weet me!”

“Who ees?” whispered Le Bossu.

“Ah don’ know!” answered Dumois, with awe in his voice.

The stranger helped them gather the dogs together and fasten their belongings on the two sledges that were left. “Viens!” he said, when all was ready, and started off on what seemed to the lost men their back trail. This strange being exerted a curious power over them: he did not speak, but they felt security in his presence. They staggered on, he helping first one, then the other, digging out the sledges when they sank in the drifts and coaxing on the dogs by soft noises in his throat which they seemed to know.

When night closed down hard and fast, he stopped.

They were in the woods, and the stranger helped them again by gathering a lot of fire-wood. As it blazed up he spoke: “Stay here teel day! Ah comme back een mornin’.”

Then he let his food-bag fall from his shoulder, and went off into the black depths of the forest, stirring up clouds of snow-dust that scintillated and shone in the firelight as he went.

The three stared at one another.

“Dat le bon Dieu!” whispered Le Bossu, crossing himself.

They took off their caps and repeated the Ave Maria, intoning it softly; then they looked into the bag the stranger had left. It contained food,—plenty of food,—and they fell on it eagerly, ferociously, as only starving men can; the dogs were also fed, and the fire was well built up; then they curled in their blankets and went to sleep, thanking the Holy Mother for her mercy.

“Taime to go,” said a voice, and they woke to find the stranger with them again. He had built the breakfast fire, and water was boiling in the pannikins. While they ate, watching him the while with pious awe, he got the dogs together and harnessed them.

“Allons!” he said, and started on. The snow was not so deep in the woods, and the three had had a good-night’s rest, so they were able to follow fast. At noon the figure stopped again. “Le chemin—de trail,” he said.

Le Hibou looked up and saw the blazes on the trees. “C’est le chemin—le chemin!” he cried, and fell on his knees in the snow. Le Bossu and Dumois knelt too. “Merci, Seigneur bon Dieu!” they said to the stranger.

He laughed softly, and unwound the muffler that had so successfully hidden his face. “No le bon Dieu,” he said quietly—“onlee Jules Verbaux.”

The three started as though bewitched; then Le Bossu got up slowly, walked over, and held out his hand.

“Verbaux,” he said huskily, “Ah hear mooch bad de toi; mais Ah say dat you have vone grand beeg hearrt!”

Jules smiled and waved his hand to the southward.

“Go! Allez! sauf to de post.”

Silently the men filed off, following the blazed trail; in a few minutes they looked back, but he was gone.