The dogs about the post yelped and quarreled throughout the night; and the nearly full moon fell slowly through the northern heavens, showing gray-white and metallic on everything. The north star was vividly bright and twinkled ceaselessly. All was still about the post so far as human beings were concerned. Oft in the steel-blue distances wolves howled, and the sounds of their voices came softly across the intervening cold wastes; the dogs stopped and listened, then broke forth in louder clamourings.

The night passed, and then a growing light brightened the eastern skies; little by little they turned from deep blue-black to light green, then a faint rose-colour appeared and broadened; it changed into darting beams of golden light that spread over the heavens, fading to pale yellow in the west. A few clouds drifted slowly across the path of the rising sun and were bathed in its warm glow. One by one figures came from the tepees and buildings in the post; the smoke from many fires curled upward slowly in the still, crisp air.

Jules and Cuchoise came out into the yard together. “Ah mus’ get hax,” said Jules.

“M-m,” the other answered, went back to the tepee, and brought Verbaux a bright new axe. “VoilÀ!” he said as he gave it to him.

“Merci, Jean, Ah go maintenant get des poils; au revoir!”

Verbaux, snow-shoes on his feet, went out of the yard and struck off northwest across the white country. His ankles were stiff and lame, but he travelled at a good pace. He crossed a large river, frozen solid and three feet of snow over the ice. The land on both sides was level and sunken for many miles back. “RiviÈre du Grand Marais,” Jules said to himself, and shifted his course to west. The sun was three-quarters low when he reached the timber-lands. After an hour’s tramp he stopped, threw off the fur tote-bag that contained his food, and in a short time built a little lean-to of bark and branches; then he cut some fire-wood, and went off into the deep forest to make and set his traps. When the work was finished he had twenty traps ready, and he went back to the lean-to and built a roaring fire.

The evening was a beautiful one; the stars came out one by one and glimmered with their cold gray, celestial light. The water in the pannikin on the fire bubbled, and Jules dropped some cherry-tree tea in it, then munched chunks of pemmican slowly, staring at the flames before him. The meal over, he lay down in his blanket by the heat, his head resting on one hand.

The red flames sprang fiercely in the air, subsided, sprang again, while the embers underneath glowed white-hot, pink, and dull-red. The gray eyes filled with great tears. “Marie! Marie!” The strong head was buried between the arms, and here, in the silence and solitude of the deep black forest, Jules gave way for the first time, and rasping, choking sobs came. The changing, shifting, glancing light played over the prostrate figure that heaved. The giant trees about were motionless, their high peaks silhouetted against the dark heavens, like teeth of an uneven saw. At last the long figure lay quiet, the fire lessened slowly, then smoke came instead of flames and twisted its way through the intervening branches into the free air and was lost. A dark, lithe thing edged gingerly from the shadows toward the sleeping man, sniffing the air delicately and moving without sound; it came close, then scented the human body and scurried away, flitting ghost-like between the black trunks until it disappeared. A marten, its curiosity aroused, scampered swiftly hither and thither about the lean-to, searching, smelling, stopping, then scampering off again with its queer long little jumps, and it too went away.

The fire was out completely, but a few tiny wreaths of haze came from the ashes. Jules slept, his head on his arms, the long limbs resting in graceful repose on the blanket.

The silence, the infinite silence, was deep and wonderful; not a breath of wind moved the weakest branch on the trees, not a light breeze even disturbed the ashes. The cold moon sailed up and across and down again over the noiseless landscape. Then the stars faded and their twinkling lights were gone. The air grew warm and a blackness settled over everything where the steel light had been. Clouds, black, gray, lowering clouds, came, and soon the patter of thousands of raindrops sounded. These lasted but a few minutes, then changed to big white flakes that fell silently. Jules turned in his sleep.

“Ma femme, Marie!” he muttered, and tossed restlessly.

A whispering came sibilant and faint through the forest.

“La petite! la petite! she call!”

The big figure rose in the falling snow, the eyes were wide open and set; straight ahead Jules went till he stumbled over a log and fell, awaking. “Bon Dieu, Ah see la petite dat taime!” he groaned aloud. The dull black depths of the branches overhead choked the sound of his voice, and he stood, half awake, dreaming and wondering.

The snow had ceased, but the wind grew stronger, and it whistled and moaned about him. The air cooled and became bitter with the sting of frost. Jules shivered and found his way back to the lean-to, crawled in it with his blanket, and tried to sleep. He tried in vain; always his dream was lifelike before his eyes, and he turned and twisted over and over under the fur covering. Then his sharp ears caught a faint cracking sound; he sat up and listened. A gaunt white form came and stood motionless before him, then it lifted its head, yowled dismally, and was gone. “Loup blanc! Dat bad signe!” Jules spoke dully—lay down and closed his eyes, striving to forget. Sleep, deep sleep, came again, and the figure under the blanket was still.

It was gray dawn when Verbaux woke. After the morning meal he went down through the woods to his traps, and found six sable, a cross-fox, and a marten in them. “Dat pay for mon h’eat!” he said as he skinned out the dead forms. Then he took up his axe and food-bag and started for the post again. The wind was strong; it dashed the loose snow over the barrens; its bitter edge made Jules draw his muffler close and compress his lips to keep his teeth from aching with the cold. “Ah lak’ see dees territoire,” he thought, and worked his way steadily along to the south-east. After crossing the wide, desolate stretches of level waste he came into the timber-lands again. The trees stood very thickly and the leaden skies cast but little light beneath their branches. There were many tracks of the inhabitants of the forest on the snow.

Here the short leaps of the sable, there the shuffling trail of a marten, and beyond the dainty footprints of a fox—faint, soft lines showing that he was care-free as he dragged his heavy brush. The tall hemlock and spruce swayed and bowed gracefully with a caressing, monotonous sound, and Jules felt the soothing influence of the great wilderness as he strode on, his snow-shoes stirring the loose white that rested on the light rain-crust. Overhead the sun shone coldly, mystically, through flying scud and hurrying thin clouds. The forest ended again, and straight ahead loomed the endless cold distances; the snow-line and the gray-white horizon came together and blended into one. Jules stopped and looked about him: everywhere white, everything white and still. The greatness of the wastes and the depth of nature came over him.

“Ah am notting,” he whispered, and went on. The miles came, were passed over, and fell behind the tall, gaunt form that hurried on tirelessly. Jules crossed Lac au Loups and changed his course to east; going over a hill he saw a herd of caribou; the fleet animals sped on across the wind and disappeared like wraiths in the harmonious white desert. Late in the afternoon Fond du Lac appeared as a black dot, then grew into the buildings and the stockade as he went toward it. Entering the yard, he crossed to Cuchoise’s tepee and went in. It was empty. He lighted his pipe and lay down on the boughs, his eyes roaming wistfully over the Indian girl’s clothes and the children’s rag dolls. He turned his back and lay there thinking, dreaming the day-dreams of waking hours.

The flap was softly pushed aside and the girl came in alone. She started a little at the sight of the strong form stretched at her feet, then sat down quietly and began to sew with caribou-sinews on some of Cuchoise’s moccasins. Jules listened and watched with half-opened eyes.

“Ma-shca-wis-sie! [He is strong!]” she whispered, looking at him. “Ki-wa-bi-min In-nin-ee sak-ar-te-win [I look at you, big man, with love],” she murmured softly. Jules closed his eyes; a shadow of pain flitted over his face. “Bon Dieu, no dat!” he prayed, and lay still. The girl moved little by little toward him. “Ki-non-don-no-ne? [Do you hear?]” she asked. He feigned heavy sleep. Her black eyes played over him and he felt their glow; his soul rebelled, and he sat up quickly; the girl uttered a little cry, holding her hands, delicate and thin, toward him. “Ne-na-bhai-m! [My true husband!]” she whispered. Jules stood up slowly. The gray eyes were sad, and a weariness seemed to come over his body.

“In-din-ne-ga-wwe-go-in-dum-m [I am sorry],” he said in low tones, and passed out of the tepee, taking the food-bag and the light axe. He went to the store and threw the pelts he had at the factor’s feet. “Dat good?” he asked. Nelson looked at the skins. “Yes, but ye ’re not awa’, mon?” he asked. Jules nodded and went out of the store, across the yard, through the gate, and away into the wilderness once more.