Spring came and went. The summer months passed, finding Verbaux sometimes at one post for a few days, and again travelling into the North steadily, now by canoe, then on foot, carrying his food, blankets, and the axe. At last he reached a wild and desolate stretch of territory between Bear Lake and Lac des Sables.

He built a little home and stayed there, thinking that he was to be alone and free. He came to know his new country, and to love it for its utter solitude, for its breadth and depth, and because fur was plenty. The gray eyes were ever sad, but they had a look of freedom in them, and did not always watch on every side.

Winter had come again; the greens were browns in the forests, and the browns were now covered with white. Verbaux was in the deep timber-lands; before him stood a comfortable log hut, with a dog-shed behind it. A pile of wood neatly stacked was at one side; two giant pines stood by the little home, their great branches reaching out and meeting over the roof, and the smoke from the tiny chimney filtered away through their needles in graceful plumes.

He turned the dogs loose from the sledge at his feet, and went into the camp. The log walls were covered with skins, a raised bough bed was near the fireplace, and the frying-pan stood black in a corner by the rough but even table. At the head of the bed hung a child’s woollen cap, surrounded by a wreath of moss.

“Dose Cree-e Indians, Ah see deir track to-day; Ah lak’ know vat for dey comme so far au Nord,” said Jules aloud as he built up the fire and brushed the cold ashes in a mound about it. He cooked a frugal meal of caribou-meat and warmed some heavy bread in the hot pan.

The door stood open, and the light breeze waved the hair of the skins on the walls. Verbaux lighted his old pipe and threw himself on the boughs; little by little the clouds of tobacco smoke lessened, then the strong jaw dropped, the pipe fell, and Jules slept.

Outside the bright afternoon passed slowly; the shadows grew deeper and the skies changed from blue to yellow-green; then a long streak of crimson stretched across the west, the sun sank below the narrow horizon of the woods, and the northern twilight began. The stars shone tiny bright at first, then grew and grew, seeming to approach the earth, until the dark-blue heavens were scintillating with their number, all twinkling, flickering, gleaming. Jules slept on, the long, gaunt figure stretched in rough grace on the dark green bed, the big chest rising and falling regularly, and the massive hands loose in rest by his side. The dogs were quiet, the breeze had died away, the two huge trees were motionless, only a faint haze came from the chimney.

From out the darkness of the black forests came a sound, faintly at first, then it grew into footsteps on the soft snow. They stopped, and then advanced carefully. There was dim starlight in the clearing before the hut; a dark figure loomed up in it, stopping as it saw the peaked shape between the big trees. It stood and looked, crept to the door, listened, and went in.

The footfalls, gentle as they were, wakened Jules. “Qui ees dere?” he asked suddenly, leaping to his feet. Absolute stillness was his answer. He held his breath and listened, motionless, while the gray eyes searched the darkness of the interior.

“Ah t’ink Ah hear somme t’ing,” he muttered as he walked to the door. He looked out—nothing. He made the round of the hut outside—nothing. He listened again, but there was no sound of any kind.

“Ah rÊve!” he said. “Ees cold; mus’ mak’ fire!” He went back, and drew a match-stick sharply over the table surface; it flared, then the wood burned dimly between his fingers. A strange feeling came to him. He turned quickly and held the dying match over his head. By its uncertain light he saw a man standing near the door; the new-comer’s eyes shone black in the yellow light.

“By gar! Qu’est-ce?” growled Jules, bounding forward. The match went out, and the red bits dropped to the floor; his hands closed on empty air. He felt round the walls, then listened out in the night—silence!

“Dat ver’ drÔle! Ah see man here certainement!” At that instant another light flashed in the blackness; Jules stared at it eagerly. The man he had seen held it, and the stranger now stood by the bed.

“Candelle,” he said gutturally. Verbaux felt on a little shelf, found the caribou-fat candle, and gave it to the man. He lighted it and set it on the table. The two looked at each other.

“Vat you do ici, an’ vat your name?” asked Jules.

“Mon nom Le Pendu; Ah go nord, Fond du Lac,” answered the other, while his black eyes shifted hither and thither restlessly.

“Vat for?” Jules asked again.

“Porter hordaires to les Indians lÀ-bas h’of de war; hordaires to keel dose mans of odder Compagnie!”

“Mak’ fight?” Verbaux questioningly repeated, and the other continued, “Dat Compagnie du Nor’ouest she t’ink she have ever’t’ing for hersel’; she t’ink dat h’all dis territoire ees to elle, an’ dat nous autres, ve can go hongree! Ve goin’ mak’ bataille, an’ den you, Verbaux, go wid nous, hein?” The man leaned forward slightly as he finished.

Jules was silent; the candle-flame guttered and flickered between them.

“Non,” Verbaux said gravely, “Ah no tak’ life h’of mans v’en Ah no have to.” His voice was decisive and strong. Le Pendu rose, turned to the door, and disappeared. Jules sat still. Then, with a slight whirring sound, something flashed past his eyes and thudded on the logs; he looked up and saw a knife quivering there, buried deep in the wood. With one puff he blew out the light and crouched low; then he stole out to the cold air. Le Pendu was gone. Jules watched and listened a long time, but heard nothing.

“Dat traÎtre!” he ejaculated, “Ah see heem trois month’ h’ago h’at Lac la Pluie. Somme taime Ah see heem haga’n, mabbe!”

He relighted the candle and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the hafted blade that stuck viciously from the logs.

“Ah vondaire vat eet ees wid Compagnie Nor’ouest? Ah mus’ go to-mor’ fin’ h’out.” He got up, took his blankets from the boughs, and went out into the deep shadows, leaving the candle glimmering on the table. Some distance away from the hut he curled up between the rough, gnarled roots of a spruce and slept.

The long night passed; then the light grays of dawn stole through the woods. Verbaux woke, listened a minute, and went back to the hut. Everything was as he had left it. The candle was a lump of grease on the table, and the early morning wind disturbed the cold ashes on the hearth. He looked for the knife, but it was gone. “He comme back aprÈs,” Jules said; “he t’ink he catch me, hein?” then he laughed softly. He lighted the fire and had his breakfast; then he cleaned up the cabin, took down the wide snow-shoes, slung them over his back, and put the child’s cap in a pocket. “Maintenant Jules he go Isle la Crosse, warrn Facteur Maac Taveesh h’of dose Cree Indiens.” He filled his tote-bag with pemmican and bread, and struck off into the forests, travelling southwest.

It was a cold, dark day; the skies were dull, and the wind murmured restlessly through the tall spruce and pine. Jules went on steadily, swinging along with even strides. He came out on a small lake; there was a light covering of snow on the ice, and many tracks of moccasins led down to the river beyond (Petite RiviÈre la Biche). He stopped and examined them. “C’est bien Indiens!” he muttered as he moved ahead carefully. “Bon comme Ça!” he thought as it began to snow. The flakes came thicker and thicker, deadening the sound of his steps, and hiding the landscape in a falling white shroud. There was little wind, and Verbaux went on faster, keeping his direction with unerring instinct. He followed the course of the river and reached the next lake; at the edge of the timber he stopped. Figures were moving to and fro, like shadows in the veiled light, just across from him; he saw the gleam of a fire, and every now and then he could faintly hear rough voices. He watched, but was not sure who the men were. “Ah mus’ see eef dose les Crees,” he whispered to himself. Taking the snow-shoes from his back, he hid them under a little thick spruce, and stole forward, crouching as he advanced, his eyes keen and bright. Yard by yard the distance lessened, and he stopped often, listening.

The gruff voices were very near, but the curtain of snow prevented his seeing the men. Closer he went till he heard the crackling of the flames; then he sat down under a tree to listen. His caribou clothes and fur cap matched its bark, and he was motionless there; only the sharp eyes, looking, watching, were alive.

The men squatted about the fire, and Verbaux scowled as he recognised Etienne Annaotaha, a renegade half-breed Canadian. “Dat Verbaux,” the man was saying, “he leeve Lac des Sables.”

“Mm-m-m, cle-ootz-tin-sale-oo-anno-we-koo-e-ya? [Maybe, will he go with us?]” asked an Indian.

“Ah don’ savoir eef tul-ul-um-oo-e-koo-e-ya [he will go with us]; mais eef non, den—” and Annaotaha laughed unpleasantly.

“Ah-ha [Yes],” answered the others.

“Ni-mi-na-hon-an [We kill] h’at Isle Crosse,” Etienne said, and he scanned the heavy faces around him.

“Ta-is-pi? [When?]” some one asked.

“Nis-to day’ [Three days off].” Grunts of approval were uttered by the party; they smoked awhile in silence.

“Cho-oe, wa-a-te-la-lesh! [Come, hurry!]” Annaotaha spoke sharply. The crowd picked up their packs and went off over the lake, laughing and talking.

Jules hurried down to the edge of the ice and watched them go. “Etienne Annaotaha! By gar, Jules see vous somme taime h’aga’n!” he said aloud, then went back for his snow-shoes, and kept on rapidly to the southwest. He came to the end of the timber-lands, and crossed out on the barrens. Here the snow fell faster than ever; the frozen morsels of white coated his jacket and cap, stuck on his straggling moustache until his breath melted them, and they froze in globules of ice on the ends of the hair. Jules looked back, but the shifting snow hid the forest, and he went on rapidly. He travelled without stopping again all that day, and when night closed in he built a little fire with some bits of wood he had brought under the shelter of a drift, ate his supper, then wrapped himself in his blanket and slept. The storm increased at midnight; the wind blew in dismal gusts, whirling the snow-dust along in chilling clouds. Verbaux’s form was covered with it, but he kept his face clear even in his sleep. Suddenly he sat up and listened. To the right of him he heard the yelping of wolves; the sound came closer, and he saw the big black forms moving noiselessly about him. “Ho-o-op!” he shouted, and lighted a match under cover of his jacket. Like phantoms the beasts disappeared, and all was silent, save for the soft, almost inaudible sound of the wind-driven flakes as they settled on him. He lay down again.

The wolves yowled throughout the night on the barrens, but they feared this living thing of fire and did not approach it again. In the morning Jules waked, stood up, stretched himself, and swung on in the dim hours of daylight. The snow was deep, and he put on the snow-shoes; they clicked dully and were ever laden with the flying drift. On and on Verbaux went till he came out on a high hill. The gale pushed him here and there, but he smiled as he saw. Below him in the distance were the twinkling lights of the Northwest Company’s post, Isle la Crosse. “Dat bon!” he said. “Ah no too lat’ encore!” and he hastened toward them.

Soon he entered the clearing, and stopped at the stockade gate. There was riotous noise and life within; he listened to the shouts of the Indians and the tom-tom of their drums, then he went in quietly. In the yard were crowds of Dog Rib (Plats CÔtes de Chiens) and Slave Indian trappers; they danced round an empty wine-keg, reeling and screaming with drunken energy; the squaws stood in groups about the men, chanting in minor tones; the factor’s house was dark, but as Jules watched he saw MacTavish moving among the howling crowd. Verbaux elbowed his way through the sweating, drink-reeking Indians to the factor’s side.

“M’sieu’ MaacTaveesh,” he said quietly, touching the big Scotchman’s arm, “Ah vant spik to you.”

The factor turned quickly.

“Ah, Verba’, ’tis glad I am to see ye! Wull ye drink?”

“Non, M’sieu’ le Facteur, Jules mus’ spik wid you, important,” Verbaux answered.

MacTavish noticed the serious note in the deep voice.

“Coom into the house,” he said, and led the way through the shrieking crowd to his log house. Jules followed. The factor got a light, and then faced his guest. “Whut is ’t, mon? Can I do aught for ye?”

“Non pour moi, M’sieu’ le Facteur; Ah comme warrn vous dat les Crees f’om hoddaire Compagnie goin’ hattack here ver’ queeck!”

The factor’s face turned white. “Attack us here, mon!” he cried, and began pacing up and down the little room. “How d’ye know?”

“Dat scÉlÉrat Le Pendu he tell to me dis, an’ he h’ask Jules to mak’ war on vous,” Jules answered slowly.

Both men were silent.

Outside the noise had increased, and the babel of voices came to them distorted and strange, mingled with curses and the sounds of the Indian Wobbano songs.

“And whut ’d ye say to him?” MacTavish said at last, watching Jules closely.

“Ah tell to heem dat Jules Verbaux no keel mans v’en he no have to!”

“But ye’ll fecht wi’ us, mon, won’t ye? We’ll pay ye weel fur ’t!”

Jules drew himself up proudly, and the factor winced at the sombre gleam of the gray eyes.

“Non!” Verbaux answered. “Ah no tak’ l’or to keel, M’sieu’ le Facteur!” He turned for the door. “Rememb’ vat Jules he tell you: gare les Crees!”

“Verba’, fur God’ sake don’t leave me like that, mon; I meaned na eensult to ye. Whut am I to dae? The min are all druunk, as ye can see. I had to gie ’em the liquor tae keep ’em frae the Houdson Bay people!”

Jules stopped, his hand on the latch. “M’sieu’ MaacTaveesh,” he said, “eef you had beene bon to dose Indians dey vould no leave vous for hoddaire Compagnie!”

“Ye fule that ye are! Oh, ye fule! Canna ye see that I hae to obey arders? I hae to do as I am bid; ’tis na choice o’ mine. Wull ye help me straighten oop those damn things out there? Ye and me are near the only sober min on th’ place!” The Scotchman’s voice was anxious and eager.

Jules hesitated for an instant, then he spoke quietly. “Ah do vat Ah can pour vous, M’sieu’ le Facteur, parceque vonce you help Jules. Allons, dere ees no mooch taime.” He opened the door and stepped out. A big fire had been built in the yard, and the Indians looked like red fiends dancing and rolling about it. The light showed the buildings up sharply, and threw strong shadows in the corners where Flat Head, Chippewyan, Dog Rib Indians and Canadian voyageurs lurched and slept in their drunken orgy. Tom-toms still thrubbed monotonously, and the snow fell unheeded on everything. Unconsciously Jules looked across the yard, out into the black snowy night, then at the wild scene before him.

“Come queeck,” he said again, and the two plunged into the throng.

“Nan-to-bun-ne-win! [War!]” shouted MacTavish lustily, shaking every man he could reach. They laughed crazily in his face, yelling the louder. Then a murmur rose. “Way-mit-tic-goo-sh an-i-mou-che! [French dog!]” It grew fiercer! some one threw a hatchet, and the blade clipped Jules on the shoulder. “Oo-e! Oo-e! [Go!]”

One by one the Indians took up the cry and rushed at Verbaux, who tried to tell them of the danger. MacTavish heard the threatening roar, and saw the mass edging toward Jules. “Gang, mon! Gang awa’; ye can do nae mair!” he shouted to him from a group of voyageurs he was beating and kicking to make them understand. Jules faced the ugly cries, then with a powerful voice that rang loud above the clamour he called, “Les Crees du Hodson Baie comme queeck. Tak’ care!” Mocking laughter and insults answered him, and missiles of all sorts were hurled in his direction. He shrugged his big shoulders. “Bon! Jules have do vat he can; he go maintenant.” With long strides and thrusts from his massive hands, he fought his way to the gate and went out into the darkness.

“SacrÉ-É!” he muttered as he discovered that the tote-bag with his food had been taken from him. A few Indians followed, screaming curses at him for disturbing their dance, but they soon fell behind and returned to the post.