It was twilight on an early spring day in the far North. The snows had melted a great deal, and the giant spruce and pine were clean of their winter clothes of heavy white. The forest was absolutely still. Jules stood beside a crushed and wrecked heap of bark that had been a hut, and his home; his big sledge and five dogs were near; on it was piled a load of fur, well fastened; the old frying-pan hung out behind, and the familiar tote-bag lay on top of the heap; the blankets were rolled up and thonged to the curve of the sledge-runners in front, and a worn axe-handle stuck out at one side. Jules took off the fur cap. “Adieu, hol’ place, forhevaire! Ah had many pain’, many joy’ here! Le facteur an’ hees Indians destroi mes trap, mes hut, ev’t’ing! Jules go far ’way, v’ere he can be h’alone. Adieu!” He looked sorrowfully at the ruins of his home, and waved his hand to the tall, silent trees about, who had been his only friends for so long. “Allez!” he said to the dogs, and with them vanished in the darkening forest.

It was a fine evening; overhead the stars appeared dimly in the pale-green skies, then brightened as their background grew dark. There was enough crust to hold up the sledge and team, but Jules sank in, and his snow-shoes crunched loudly in the silence of the black timber. Straight into the North he travelled, until he came to an open place among the tree trunks. At one side, faintly visible in the dim light, stood a little rough-hewn cross; Jules stopped the dogs, went to it, and knelt. “Adieu, petite; your faddaire he go far ’way, but he t’ink hall taime of toi. Adieu!” He bowed, and kissed the cold snow at the foot of the little cross; the tears trickled over the bronzed cheeks, and fell unheeded from the square chin. He rose, hoarsely ordered the team on, and left the white cross glimmering, faithfully watched by the tall, sombre pines.

Steadily and speedily he and the dogs coursed on over hills; across wide barrens, where the starlight shone mystically on the white surface; through ravines, where the heavy woods cast dark shadows; in deep timber, where the blackness of everything was intense; on and on and on. The country changed; it became flat and bare; the barrens were miles in length, and forest-land was scarce. The north star gleamed white, blue, pink, then white again in the far, far distant heavens; and ever toward it Jules travelled on ceaselessly.

Daylight paled the eastern skies; at first gray-rose, then purple, slate, and yellow, and at last the orange-red of sunrise spread and washed the few clouds in the heavens with golden splendour. The gleaming sphere appeared, grew, broadened, and shone brilliant over the desolate whiteness of the lonely northern wastes. Jules still hurried on. The dogs were tiring; he himself was wearied after the ceaseless swift pace of the night. He stopped, and at the edge of the forest island built a tiny fire; he boiled some tea; and fed the brutes who worked so strongly for him. Then, standing up, he gazed long over the back trail.

“Bon Dieu, Ah loove dat countree wit’ all mon coeur, but Jules he ees driven h’out lak’ a wolf, lak’ a chien; he go een straing’ territoire forhevaire. Puneesh dose Indiens, bon Dieu, an’ le facteur!”

It was broad, light day and glorious when Jules started the dogs on again, he following the sledge with even strides and the click-click-click of his wide snow-shoes. The sun warmed the little snow that was left over the earth, and the going was hard for the team. At noon Jules halted again, climbed a tree, and from its top he looked over the white barrens far and wide.

“Dey comme, bon Dieu!” he muttered as he saw many specks on his trail in the distance. “Dey goin’ track Jules to de las’! Vat Ah do?” He looked ahead, and saw a small lake at his feet; the soft ice was almost gone under its cover of thin snow, as the long cracks in it showed. Jules’s eyes gleamed. “Dat’s good! Vous autres,” he called to the oncoming sledges, “for de las’ taime, Ah’m goin’ show to you h’all dat Jules Verbaux ees inconquerable!”

He slid rapidly down the tree, its rough bark tearing his caribou jacket and scratching his hands. “Mush! Mush! Allez!” he shouted, and the dogs hurried on till they came to the lake edge beyond. Here Jules stopped them, and tested the white surface with his foot; it crackled and groaned, and, when he put his whole weight on it, split into fragments and showed the green, cold waters beneath. “Allez! Ho-o-o-o-pp!” he cried, and the team scampered across, their speed and light weight saving them from breaking through, though the ice crackled with muffled reports as they raced over it. Verbaux watched them reach the other side; then he laughed. “You Indiens! Follow de track, hein?” He took off his snow-shoes and sneaked, as of old, in his moccasins, on the back trail for a little distance; then he leaped strongly from it, far out to the left, put on the thonged hoops again, and travelled swiftly around the lake. The team had stopped when they reached the far side, and he found them there, curled up asleep. He drove the outfit over the rise, and sat down on the sledge where he could see below him.

Soon sounds of gruff voices broke the noon stillness, and Jules watched eagerly. They came—ten men, ten sledges, and many dogs. Their calls echoed vaguely across to him, as they came to the lake at different places along the bank. “Voici le track direct!” shouted one of the Indians, and the whole crowd rushed on, pell-mell, over the treacherous surface.

Crack! Cra-a-a-a-a-ck! Crunk! The thin ice crumbled to bits under the heavy weight of ten men, ten sledges, and many dogs.

“Oh, Dieu! SacrÉ-É! Dam’! Furies!” screamed the men, as they floundered in the icy water; the sledges had upset and their loads were thoroughly soaked. Slowly the crowd fought their way to the shore near by through the rotten snow-ice, swearing with hoarse voices. The dogs had twisted and chewed their way out of harness, and had crawled to the bank, but the sledges drifted tantalisingly among the floes, their loads totally ruined.

Jules’s big shoulders heaved and shook, and the swarthy face was wrinkled with hearty laughter, as he watched the half-frozen men gather together on the other side and gesticulate wildly.

“Diable! Diable! Diable misÈre!” screamed one of them in frantic rage, “ce dam’ Verbaux he ees drown, an’ dat ver’ good jus’ so!”

Jules stepped to the edge of the hill. “Holla, lÀ-bas!” he called loudly, “long chemin to la poste!”

The Indians looked up, startled, and saw the tall, gaunt figure silhouetted against the glorious azure sky. It spoke again. “Jules Verbaux he speet on you! Adieu!” The figure laughed mockingly, waved its hand in derision, and disappeared.