On and on through the dense forests he went, straight, unswerving, to the southward. Hours passed as he traversed the black depths, then more hours came and went as he hurried over long miles of barrens. The winter darkness brightened, and the light of another day grew and shone cold-coloured on the face of the northern solitudes. Many times Jules saw wolves, now running before him, then sneaking cowardly on his trail, and yowling with notes of hunger in their deep voices. He crossed trails of the musk-ox, that shy inhabitant of the far North that shuns the slightest suspicion of a human being. Foxes scuttled away as he advanced, and the white ptarmigan whirred with boisterous wings from his course. He saw traces of the grizzly bear, and sighed as he thought of the thick warm skins of these monsters that he once had had as his own, Each night of his travel he built a little fire, ate, then slept beside it, and the next day sped on. Sometimes the whirling snow would wrap itself about him caressingly, but with the fierce grasp of the cold in it; again all would be still—no wind, nothing but the sound of his own steps to break the insolvable, inscrutable stillness of everything. He followed frozen rivers, crossed the shapes of lakes, solid and deep with snow, went over mountains, climbing slowly up their steep, slippery sides and airily coasting down beyond on his wide snow-shoes. He watched for human tracks, but saw none. Day after day his eyes scanned the interminable distances, and roved over the desolate barren scenes and solemn depths of the forests.

Then one evening, just as the northern lights began their fantastic contortions and shiftings, he reached Poste Reliance. The faint reflections of many fires shone glowingly over the top of the walls, and Jules’s heart was glad as he went in the gate. “Marie!” he whispered softly, looking about him.

There was a crowd around a tepee; they sat there talking in low tones, and he joined them. They looked up, hearing his steps.

“Verbaux, par Dieu!” said a voice. Instantly he was surrounded by the men.

“Le Pendu!” Jules said. “Vat you do ici h’at Nor’ouest Compagnie?”

“Nor’ouest? Dat bon! Nor’ouest! Ha, ha, ha!” and the crowd roared with laughter.

Jules tried to withdraw, but everywhere were ugly looks and strong bodies in his way.

“Vat ees?” he asked.

No one answered, and he stood there, towering over the other figures, his eyes searching for a friendly face; then Pendu spoke coarsely:

“Dees place ees Hodson Baie maintenant! Ve le capture four day’ gon’; you aire prisonnier, Jules Verbaux!”

With a bound Jules forced his way clear of the men, but they fell on him, seized his hands, his arms, his ankles, his body, and bore him to the ground, helpless. He knew that it was useless to fight against such odds, and lay still. They brought thongs and bound him securely, then rolled him to the firelight.

“Ah-ha! mon vieux, dis taime you aire no h’at libertÉ, by gar! Vous autres,” Le Pendu shouted to the crowd that had increased about the fallen man, “her’ ees Jules Verbaux, le beeg mans du Nor’ouest, tie’ han’ an’ pied; ve goin’ have du plaisir avec heem?”

“C’est Ça!” “Dat feen!” “Bon!” shouted they; and Le Pendu turned to Jules.

“You goin’ tell to us vat ’appen’ h’at Lac la Pluie?” Verbaux was silent. The fury of unfair means controlled him and he was sullen.

“You no tell? Bien, le feu!” said Le Pendu.

Red-hot brands were drawn from the fire by some of the crowd; with them they closed in on Le Pendu and his prisoner.

“What ye do, min?”

A strong voice sounded above the curses and growls as Hudson Bay Factor Donalds kicked and elbowed his way through the crowd.

They fell back respectfully, and the factor saw the bound form lying near the fire.

“Who aire ye?” he asked Jules.

No answer. Then Le Pendu interrupted eagerly.

“M’sie’u le Facteur, dat homme ees Jules Verbaux, du Nor’ouest Compagnie. Ah see heem vonce t’ree mont’ gon’; he say den dat he no mak’ fight avec nous; to-night he come ici an’ he t’ink dat dees place encore Nor’ouest Compagnie. Ve h’all h’ask heem du Lac la Pluie; he no tell; ve mak’ le feu, den, for heem. Dat bon, hein?”

The factor knelt and severed Jules’s bonds with his own knife for answer, while the rest stood aghast and Le Pendu fell back step by step, muttering angrily.

“Ye aire Verbaux?” the Scotchman asked then.

“Oui, M’sieu’ le Facteur,” Verbaux answered as he rose to his feet.

“Thrree min bring him to the store,” the factor said, and went away.

The sheen of the flames was on the angry faces that threatened with black looks and growlings; three big Indians stepped forward and fell in beside Jules. One hit him on the back with his fist; like lightning Verbaux turned to retaliate, but he restrained himself and walked ahead quietly between his guards. They led him to the store, showed him up the steps and in the low door; four candles flared uncertainly by a table at which the factor and another stranger sat.

“Get out!” the factor ordered, and the Indians disappeared.

“Weel, Verbaux! we have ye mon nou! What d’ ye say is to be doune wid ye?”

Jules was silent; in his brain was the thought, the wild fear, for Marie and Le Grand.

“Speak oop, mon, speak oop!” the stranger said harshly, and Verbaux turned to him.

“Ah comme ici loook for ma wife an’ ma fr’en’; Ah tin’k dat dees poste ees to Nor’ouest,” he said.

The two men chuckled. “So she war, lad, so she war, tull four days ago; thin the Hudson Coompany tookit posseesion,” the factor grunted.

Jules stepped backward and leaned against the log wall, tumultuous and furious thoughts passing in whirlwinds through his mind.

“Den ma wife and ma fr’en’?” he asked huskily.

“Don’t know who they may be, but the place was gien oop tae us quiet-like; there was nae fecht; them that wanted to leave I let gang, an’ mony deed go, bad luck to ’em!”

A cold grip of despair came over Jules and he staggered. “Parti! Parti!” he whispered dully.

“Now, Verbaux, ye can bide here, an’ hount for us, or I wull hae to keel ye, mon!”

“Nevaire Ah mak’ la chasse for you; Ah mus’ go. Oh, bon Dieu!” and Jules shook in his pain.

“Aweel, mon, me bruither was to Posht Fearless, an’ he told me ab’ut ye. Now look here, lad: gie me yere promeese to stay an’ not try to jump yere work an’ I’ll let ye go free to hount for us, an’ tell us whut ye knaw. Coome, what d’ ye say?” the factor asked, and waited.

“Non! Jamais, par Dieu!” Jules shouted fiercely at him. “V’ere ees ma femme an’ Le Grand? Ah mus’ go ce soir!”

“It aire too bad, me lad, thut ye’re no opin to sic a chaince. Aweel, God ha’ maircy on yere soule!” He whistled sharply as he finished, and the store was suddenly filled with Indians.

“Take him awa’ and look after him till sun-oop, thin shoot him!” the factor ordered, and Jules was buffeted and hustled out of the store. The guards goaded and insulted him; they tied him hand and foot and pushed him headlong into an empty tepee, without blankets or food, and left him there, powerless.

He lay on his back and unconsciously listened to the heavy, gruff voices whose hoarse murmur penetrated to him from the fireside beyond. Then a tremor of rage thrilled him; the powerful muscles twisted and bulged, but the fastenings held and the thongs cut into the skin. Jules gave up and was still, while fears and hopes for Her crossed and recrossed in his brain. “V’ere dey go? Par oÙ dey gon’?” he whispered to himself time and again. The restrained circulation in his arms and legs pained, and thumped audibly, it seemed to him; his hands had lost their feeling and were growing cold. Time dragged slowly on; all had become silent in the post, when some one came into the tepee and stood in the darkness, chuckling.

“Le Pendu,” Jules thought, but said nothing.

“Eh, tu!” his visitor said, pushing him with his foot. No answer. The Indian kicked Verbaux hard. “Wak’ hup, cochon, beas’!” he growled.

Jules’s anger seethed, but he gave no sign of it. “Vat tu vant?” he asked.

“Notting,” the other answered. “Ah comme for to tell dat cette vomans an’ l’Indien be los’ certainement; dey gone au nord, loook for toi, an’—ha, ha! c’est drÔle—you den comme here! Bien, c’est bon comme Ça; Ah tol’ to you dat you mus’ be au Hodson Baie Compagnie, hein?”

“Oui.” Jules spoke quietly, resolved not to let his tormentor know of his sufferings.

“You be keel dans le matin, an’ Ah goin’ shoot toi, Verbaux; den mabbe Ah go fin’ dat femme?” he laughed and stepped nearer to Jules.

The latter heard the Indian close to his feet, though he could not see him, and raising his tied legs, he shot them forward viciously with a straight hip thrust and caught the other in the stomach.

“Dam’ toi to l’enfer!” Le Pendu coughed as he lurched out of the tepee. “Ah feex toi for dat!” and he swore fiercely.

Jules heard him move away, coughing hard, and was satisfied. “Ah geeve heem good keeck!” and he felt more comfortable. Then, “Los’, bon Dieu? Non! not los’! Marie! Marie! eef Ah could onlee fin’ toi an’ Le Grand, eef Ah could seulement see you vonce h’aga’n an’ tell to vous dat—Ah, non! no encore; not so, Marie; mais Ah vant see toi—an’ eet ees feenesh dis taime!” He spoke aloud and his voice trembled. He rolled over on his stomach, rested his chin on the hard, lumpy ground; the change of position lightened the strain of the bindings and he slept.

Day had just broken across the high skies when they woke him, severed his feet-thongs, and led him out into the yard. It was bitterly cold, and tears of chill welled in the corners of Jules’s eyes as his guards stood him by one of the log houses, facing the east.

He looked at the heavens, over which swung veils of different colours that changed continually. The yard was crowded with Indians and trappers; they were silent, in a semicircle, their blankets fluttering slightly in the wind of the dawn that blew across between the buildings. Five of them, grouped together in front of him, had guns. Everything was still, and Jules thought of his lonely, free life that he loved. He looked passionately on the forests that showed black and uneven beyond the post walls, and his keener senses felt the glorious, fierce winds that swept the wastes. He saw, not his executioners, not the death-hungry crowd, not the stiff houses, but the white country, and far away a hut that stood desolate between two giant pines; he saw the child’s cap, and then a form, a slight figure, stood before his dream-eyes; beside it a strong face, with long black hair about it, looked at him, and Le Grand’s voice came to his dream-ears. “Ah, Dieu!” he whispered, and knelt there in the snow with bowed head. The crowd shuffled uneasily, then one by one they took off their caps, all but Le Pendu, who held a gun and grunted contemptuously. Slowly the dark vaults above lightened and faint yellow beams stole, far-reaching, over the dark spruce.

“BÉnissez, vous bon Dieu, ma femme et mon ami, si c’est votre volontÉ dat Ah die ains’. B’en, c’est fini!” He stood up and faced the east again.

A candle-lantern approached, and the factor came into the circle. “Aire ye ready, me lads?” he asked.

“Mm-hm!” answered Le Pendu; no one else spoke.

“Verbaux!”—the chief turned to Jules—“I’ll gie ye a chaince mair, mon, for ye life, If ye’ll gie me yere worrd o’ hanair not to gang awa’, an’ to bide here an’ trap for me, I’ll let ye go. Me bruither, God rest his soule! told me of ye, an’ said ye cud be truisted when ye promeesed.”

Jules straightened up proudly. “Ah’m no h’afraid of la mort, M’sieu’ le Facteur, an’ Jules Verbaux he no can be forcÉ to do vat he no vant to do!” he answered.

The Scotchman shook his head slowly. “I’m vera sorry,” he said, stepping back; he nodded to the shooting squad. They moved forward, cocking their guns, then stopped. A picture of a woman, alone, destitute, maybe hounded by an Indian; the reflection of a rugged face, of a strong form now bent of wounds, yet doing what he could for his sake, passed rapidly before Jules; then came the thought of the child: this was its mother after all. The craving to see Marie again some time, to find her, the heart’s cry for her, was too strong, and won at last. The deep voice spoke hoarsely.

“Ah geeve ma promesse, M’sieu’ Le Facteur,” Jules said.

A long sigh came from the men; Le Pendu cursed under his breath.

“I’m glad, Verbaux! Cut him loose,” and the factor went away.

Some one parted his wrist-thongs and Verbaux was free, alone in the yard; from beyond a tepee Le Pendu shook his fist at him and disappeared.

Jules went to the gates and walked out to the edge of the dark woods. The smell of the trees drove him to madness, and he caressed the rough bark of a tall hemlock. “Ah go fas’, dey no catch me!” he thought, and looked back. Nothing stirred at the post; the gray light made shapes dimly visible. “Non! Jules he geeve hees promesse, he no can go,” he whispered, and went into the yard again. He felt friendless and alone; nowhere to go, no one to speak to, no one to say a kind word to Her, or tell him of Her.

Hesitatingly he wandered to his prison tepee and threw himself on the cold earth. At first he regretted his weakness, then he condoned it with thoughts of Marie. “Somme taime Ah fin’ dat fille, eef Le Grand he ees h’alive an’ stay veet’ her’ an’ Ah know dat he do dat!” Then he resigned himself to the situation, and stepped gravely out among the fires that crackled cheerily for the morning meals at Hudson Bay Company’s Poste Reliance.