Jules trod with care until he was out of hearing of the camp; then, with the keenness natural to a born woodsman’s eyes, he hurried on through the dense blackness, rarely making a sound except the soft crunch of his moccasins on the crust. After two hours’ swift travelling he came out on a barren, and stopped in the open and listened—silence—greater than death which is laden with sorrow, that silence of the great and boundless wilderness of the North which is unfathomable, indescribable. Straight away from him lay the long, rolling waste, at his feet white, farther on gray, and beyond that void of colour. He looked up at the heavens, and as he watched the glinting stars he saw one appear from behind the others and rush across the sky to the south-east, leaving yet drawing a long fiery tail behind it. It arc-ed, sailed below the tree-tops, and disappeared.

The gray eyes looked into the dim distance, then behind him at the woods. “Dat Étoile say go back.” He retraced his noiseless way through the black timber to the hut. As he went in Crevier, who was smoking by the heap of glowing embers, said slowly, “Ah know dat you comme back.” “Vat for mans!” Verbaux muttered; then he sat near the heat in silence. It was so absolutely still that the soft little burning hiss of the tobacco at each breath Crevier drew on the pipe was audible. The light of the coal created on the walls vague shadows that grew more and more shapeless. Then only a dim dark red shone on the men’s faces; everything else was black. The two sat on, silent. Then, crisply, rifle-shots rang out on the bitter-cold air, and silence again. Crevier leaped to the door and listened. Nothing at first; then, “Verbaux!” he called softly. Jules was behind him. “Leesten!” he said.

Far off in front of them they could just hear the crunching and light crackling of the crust as something ran over it; then a snapping of branches. “Somme vone comme fas’!” Jules said. The steps approached rapidly; then they heard heavy, laboured breathing that sounded hoarsely out there under the thick hemlock and pine. The thing that hurried and ran came close, and was passing the camp when it stopped and coughed—a rasping, harsh cough. “TrappÉ!” A man’s voice groaned with agony and fear in the tones. As one, Crevier and Verbaux ran swiftly out among the black trunks; the man heard them coming and started on. “Qu’est-ce?” called Crevier in a low, penetrating voice. The man stopped, turned, and came toward them. The three stood close but could not distinguish one another. “Pierre Du—bat, moi, Compagnie Nor’ouest,” said the stranger, brokenly, and breathing hard, “chassÉ par les Indiens du Hodson Baie Compagnie; dey comme h’aftaire moi ver’ queeck aussi.”

Crevier and Verbaux heard the man stagger in the darkness as he finished speaking. They caught hold of an arm each and rushed him to the hut. He sat weakly on the bed, and Verbaux began to build up the fire. “Non! Non!” said Pierre hastily, “dey see le feu and comme ici. Non!” Then he faltered to the door to listen. The two others were motionless. “Ah-h!” Pierre whispered. The patter of dogs’ feet could be heard coming swiftly, then the light creaking of sledges, eerie and mysterious in the depths of trees. The three men stood in the little doorway. “Mes dog!” Jules said very softly. “Dose Indiens go pas’ eef dose dog’ no mak’ barrrk!” They waited. On came the sledges; one was approaching the clearing: they could hear a voice swearing at the darkness. Then a team came into the scarce light.

“Bash!” shouted the man on the sledge. The dogs stopped.

“Hache!” breathed Crevier as the three fell back silently in the hut. Verbaux reached behind the door and handed him the axe. “Ho-o-e’o-o-ooe!” called this new arrival. Answering shouts came from near by, echoing back and forth dully. The man came up to the hut, then stopped, listened. The three kept still. He advanced to the door and looked in. The dogs in the shed smelled their kind outside and howled loudly. The man stepped in; Crevier swung the axe viciously at the figure that showed against the dim light of the outside. It dropped without a groan. Then all was still again in the little interior.

“Chies! Chies!” a voice called harshly close by.

“Annaotaha!” muttered Jules.

“Diable! v’ere he go?” said the voice again. The shouts and cries of other men were closing in. “Choo-ee! [Come here!]” called the voice hurriedly.

“He ’ave see la hutte; vat ve do?” whispered Dubat.

“Sssssh!” warned Jules.

Somebody was approaching the camp from behind; the steps came round, and then another figure darkened the door. Pierre swung the axe again, but missed, and the sharp tool struck heavily in the logs.

“Dam’!” The figure spoke and jumped back. “Pierre Dubat, ve ’ave toi! La mort dees taime!” and it laughed.

“Pas encore, Etienne Annaotaha!” Dubat answered savagely, the two others were silent. Dim forms moved to and fro in the little clearing.

“She-se-eemont, Dubat? [Are you hungry and tired?]” called Annaotaha, mockingly; coarse laughs sounded here and there. Crang!—a spit of straight flame. The rough bullet whizzed through the door against the logs of the back wall. The three flattened against the side of the hut.

“SacrÉ-É-É!” growled Pierre, “dey goin’ shoot!” In answer to his words sounded the crang! crack! crang-crang! crang-crang! crang-crang! crack! of rifles. The bullets hurtled and droned, they thudded in the logs, caromed and pi-in-inged shrilly in the interior. Jules stood close by the door, behind the upright timber. Dubat was flat on the bed and Crevier under it. And still the rifles spouted flame and the leaden missiles sang and whinged through the hut. Then they ceased suddenly. After the furious noise all was deathlike in stillness. Everyone listened.

“Tha-la-il [Dead!]” said Annaotaha to his companions after several minutes of the intense silence. An indistinct form came and stood in the door, listening with gun ready. It heard no sound, for the three were silent and holding their breath.

“Tha-la-il! [Dead!]” he said it again, and entered the camp fearlessly. A heavy fall, that sounded but thick and muffled, and the figure sprawled in death on the ground motionless. “C’est bon!” said Etienne approaching. He came to the entrance, stumbled over the two limp figures, and sprang back, screaming in fear, then his voice died away.

Inside the hut Jules crept noiselessly to the bed.

“Go now! ve be keel ici! Dubat go nord! Crevier go sud! Ah go ouest!” he said in almost inaudible tones.

Carefully the two others followed him to the door, and they sprang through the clearing into the blackness of the forests.

“Trois mans, by diable!” screamed Annaotaha as he saw the three flit like shadows from the camp. The Indians’ rifles barked again, and the bullets pludd-ed among the tree trunks. Wild cries and shouts arose, and Jules heard some one running after him. He increased his speed and went on swiftly through the deep woods, his pursuer cursing aloud and losing ground fast. Soon Jules could hear nothing of the man behind him, and he stopped. Everything was still; then far to the rear the faint pang of a rifle jarred the crisp silence.

Verbaux started again and travelled steadily to the southwest. Hour after hour passed; daylight came, then broad day swept over the land, and still Jules kept on. At last the timber-land ended; he crossed out on the great barrens. The morning wind created living things of the loose drift. Round, oblong snow-clouds whirled and twisted along, their under sides blue, their tops dazzling white in the sun. Many delicate tones of gray-blue and dark gray mingled and blended into one another as the wind scud passed over the face of the sun and cast fast-changing shadows. The wind was cold; it had come for thousands of miles over chilled countries, endless barrens, black lakes and rivers frozen in fantastic shapes, and was always laden with the ice particles, that hummed and rustled monotonously, caught up by one gust, dropped, taken by another and hurried through miles of space. Verbaux covered his face with his muffler. “Ah had for leave dat chappette,”^[8] he said sadly. He looked back. The timber fringe of the barrens was far away; only the giant trees lifted their peaked tops above the solid line of dark green. Then Verbaux slowed his pace, hesitating. “Ah lak’ go back for dat,” he thought, and the gray eyes were wistful. “Non! Ah mus’ fin’—Le Grand, oui, Le Grand!” Not the slightest admission of his heart’s wish came from his lips.

“Ha! dere track!” he muttered as a little farther on his keen eyes saw many snow-shoe marks; he bent over them, but the drift had almost obliterated the indentations, and he was not able to recognise any of the trails. There was one long, narrow track that turned in at the heel instead of at the toe. “Ah nevaire see dat befor’!” Verbaux said as he walked along slowly, watching the peculiar marks. As he proceeded his interest grew strangely, and soon he was following the trail backward at a rapid pace; the other snow-shoes had crossed and recrossed it, but the long scratches and slidings on the crust showed clearly by comparison. “Comme f’om Poste Reliance, Ah t’ink!” Jules raised his head, then stopped suddenly. A few yards ahead of him lay a body thinly covered with white; dark stains in the snow around the head told the story. He brushed the form clear; it was that of a squaw; the eyes were fixed and glaring stonily into his own as he turned the figure over. A deep gash in the throat had given the outlet to the life-blood that coated the freezing surface about it red and brown. “Diables, dose mans!” Jules growled. The long track traced in and out near the body, and he puzzled out where the maker of that trail had stood and bent over the dying woman. She was not very old, and not ugly. “Eet ees near to t’irt’ mile’ to Reliance,” Jules thought. “Ah no can tak’ dat femme lÀ-bas, an’ Ah have notting to mak’ de trou ici!” He straightened up. “B’en, Jules have to go! Pauv’e femme!” he said aloud and travelled on. Shortly afterward he came upon a snow hill. Rising black from the white before him was the forest again, a few miles on. He turned his head on the back trail and shuddered. Specks were moving hither and thither, now dark and sharp, then blurred and dim as drift puffs partially hid them. They gathered together in a certain spot on the barren and seemed motionless. “De loups dey have fin’ dat corps’! Bon Dieu, Jules Verbaux he t’ink dat somme taime he have to mak’ la guerre on dat Hodson Baie Compagnie an’ keel lak’ dose Indiens dey keel!” His voice was low and savage. He went on again.

Late in the afternoon the buildings of the Northwest Post of Lac la Pluie (Rainy Lake) showed up ahead, and in an hour he entered the yard.

“Et toi, Verbaux!” one of the group of voyageurs called to him laughingly; “vat you do so far ’way de Lac des Sables?”

“Ah go Poste Reliance in vone, two day’!” Jules answered as he joined the group. Picturesque men they were and rough in their tanned-skin shirts that hung outside of the broad caribou-hide trousers; fringes of hair adorned the ends of their shirts, and choice bits of ermine were cleverly stitched in various designs here and there on the brown skins. Beaver, otter, and fox caps were predominant on the men’s heads, and tassels of picked fur dangled gracefully over the sides of their faces. Long moccasins with coloured beads were on their feet, and bright handkerchiefs knotted loosely about many of their throats showed their childlike love of bright colours. They offered Jules tobacco; he filled his pipe and lighted it. “Ah see dat Annaotaha an’ les Crees!” he said then. “Quand?” “V’ere?” “V’en?” The questions came eagerly. “Las’ nuit dey h’attack Crevier, Dubat, an’ moi, an’ comme near feenesh nous aussi!” and Jules laughed silently. The crowd were clamorous for details. Jules told them the story of the night attack, and how he and the two others had fled, and of his success in getting away; he told of finding the woman’s body, and deep curses showed the feeling of these men of the wilderness. When he had finished his story, there was a silence.

“Verbaux, you somme taime go avec nous feex dat Hodson Baie Compagnie?” a square-shouldered, deep-chested voyageur asked. Jules looked at him for a moment. “Oui,” he answered, “somme taime.” He left the group and went over to the supply-house and found the factor; to him he told his story, and asked to be “trusted for skins” for a blanket and some food.

“Aye, Verbaux lad, ye ’re welcome!” Factor McNeil answered. “But wull ye gie us a leeft with these deevils when the time coomes?”

“Mabbe!” Jules answered gravely, got his “stuff” from the clerk, and went out among the trappers and tepees.

“Tell, mon frÈre, you been Fond du Lac deese taime gon’,” a genial Frenchman, named Gregoire, asked.

“Vas dere trois day’ gon’; dey fin’ h’out Ah vas no’ goin’ avec dem, an’ dey try for to catch moi, but Ah arrivÉ Lac des Sables ver’ queeck jus’ sam’!” and Jules chuckled.

“Ah t’ink dat dose Hodson Baie mans dey mak’ du trouble for nous. Las’ Mercredi Ah vas comme f’om RiviÈre Folle Avoine an’ see dose canaille Crees et des Piegans veet’ dem; Ah mak’ le dÉtour an’ comme sauf, mais dose bad, ver’ bad!” Gregoire looked troubled as he spoke.

A tall, wiry half-breed Canadian joined in the conversation. “Vone mont’ ’go Ah fin’ vone compagnie of dose Plats CÔtes de Chiens [Dog Rib Indians], par lÀ, au nor’e’st, an’ dey had fusils, an’ mak’ lot beeg talk, tell h’all taime mooch vat dey goin’ do À nous touts du Compagnie Nor’ouest.”

And so the late afternoon passed, the men laughing and talking together. The blue skies darkened, then shone with myriads of bright points as the stars crept into view. Fires gleamed more and more warmly, and groups of light-hearted voyageurs, singing and jesting, sat about some of them; around others serious Indians squatted and smoked, watching their squaws get supper. Twilight died away; then came the clear, sharp night of the ice-bound latitudes. Overhead the northern lights drifted slowly, sometimes fading to misty white shafts, then blazing out in brilliant lights that brought every log house and tepee into deep relief against the surrounding forests. Faint reports, sometimes distant crashes like far-off thunder, came from the ever-changing aurora, and great nebulous rings appeared, disappeared, narrowed, broadened, always shifting, moving. Dogs wandered among the men, snuffing here and there restlessly. The strong, tanned faces were lighted by the yellow tongues of the fires, and the deep voices harmonised with the animated scene.

Verbaux ate his supper with his friends, and afterwards they lighted their pipes and silence came over the little group. As they sat there, these typical men of the woods and wastes, an Indian approached and sank on his knees by the fire. He was handsome; dark eyes, quantities of straight hair, a strong aquiline nose, high cheek-bones, long sinewy arms, light hands with tapering fingers; dressed in a fancy skin shirt on which coloured beads glittered as he moved, with high moccasins on his feet and legs, and wolf-hide trousers. He smoked a long pipe slowly, meditating between puffs; then he spoke in his own language, and everyone listened.

“My friends and brothers: to me, Morning Star, the great Manitou sent a dream on the last night, and I come to tell that dream to you.” He began swaying back and forth gently, and his voice sank into a musical monotone. No one moved.

“A spirit of my forefathers came and stood before my eyes, and it spoke to me. ‘Morning Star, Chief of the Chippewyans, war, death, hunger, fire, and cold are coming on you,’ the spirit said. ‘You will be overwhelmed, crushed, beaten, and thrown to the wolves unless there comes to aid you a big man. So that you and your brothers may know this man, I say to you that he has gray eyes, that he is tall, but short in many things, that he comes to you but to leave you, that he wants what he does not want, and that he fears no one but himself. When this man comes, tell him what I say, and tell him that the justice of the Manitou and the cause of the Indian demand that he stay for the hour that approaches!’”

Morning Star’s eyes were closed as he finished speaking, and his swaying ceased.

Jules’s face had paled under the deep brown as the chief told his dream, and now all eyes were on him. He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with awe and excitement, for he had never seen Morning Star and knew of him only by name.

“Étoile du Matin! call h’on le Manitou an h’ask de Marie an’ Le Grand,” he said, with powerful emotion in his voice.

The Indian’s eyes remained closed. “Who speaks?” he asked.

“Ah, Jules Verbaux!”

The lights of the fires were dim and cast fitful shadows; voices about them were hushed and a throbbing silence was over everything. Then the Indian rose to his feet, an inch at a time, yet without seeming motion; he stood upright, his left arm pointing to the heavens, where blinked the stars. He remained thus for several minutes, then he spoke again, his voice low and vibrating:

“Jules Verbaux, the great Manitou bids me say that the woman you seek is safe, that she waits for you, that she can wait in safety and in plenty, that the white man cares for her, that the man she came with is sick of a wound, but that it may be so that all will be well with him if the big man obeys the orders of Our Father, the great Manitou!”

The chief turned abruptly and left the fireside. Jules shivered to himself and groaned.

Antoine Clement spoke quietly. “Dat Étoile du Matin he have des rÊves, mais dey comme h’alway’ trrue!”

“Toujours vrais,” said the rest, solemnly. One by one they got up and went to their tepees.

Jules sat there, thinking, then a light tap on his shoulder roused him. “Dormir lÀ-bas veet’ me,” Gregoire said, pointing to his home, and left the circle of light shed by the bright coals; the silence of rest was on the post.

Somewhere wolves voiced their doleful cry out in the wilderness; Jules disliked the sound strangely to-night and muttered angrily as the distant tones rose and fell, echoed, and died away. He got up and moved noiselessly from the fire, through the tepees, and out of the yard. The woods were there, grim, black, motionless. He listened; then he went slowly round the post, treading carefully, his gray eyes watching everywhere. Suddenly as he stood by the gates again the northern lights brightened. Their cold, pure gleam grew swiftly and things became shapes as by the light of day. A white form trotted out from the dark timber and came straight toward him; it drew close, then stopped, threw up its head, and a long howl came from its throat. Verbaux could see the shining fangs in the open jaws; he caught the glint in the eyes as they reflected the sky light, and he shuddered unconsciously when the dreary wail died away, its sound killed by the thick trees. A moment longer the form stood there, then it moved off silently and was gone. The brightness of the aurora faded; everything was star-dark again.

“Ah-bah! ’nodder loup blanc! Dat ver’ mauvais signe toujours!” He turned into the yard, closed and barred the gates, and went over to Gregoire’s home. It took but a moment to spread his blankets on the boughs, stretch himself on them, and he slept instantly.

The dogs were very restless; they trotted hither and thither in the yard, whining sometimes, and scratching at the foot of the stockade. The hours passed slowly, and daylight was coming faint rose over the tree-tops to the eastward when Jules sat up quickly. He listened, but everything was normal. He wondered what had wakened him; he felt a sense of alertness and got up. Then across the yard came a long howl; other dogs took up the cry and the air was full of sound. The brutes ceased all at once. Verbaux was already in the yard. “Dere ees somme t’ing dat mak’ dose chiens inquiet!” he muttered. Faint grumblings from some of the tepees showed that the dogs’ voices had disturbed the slumber of a few, otherwise everything was still.

The eastern skies glowed with the sunlight that crept up the horizon; it was bitterly cold at this hour between darkness and dawn, and Jules shivered as he watched.

A cracking of branches caught his ear, then a soft swishing and rubbing sound was audible, as of pine-needles brushing against something. Verbaux looked at the trees; they were motionless, except that a big branch on a pine swayed and trembled.

“Ha! dey loook for see!” and Jules crouched low.

The branch shook; then the next one above it trembled. Jules traced the spy working his way quietly upward. Then against the fast-brightening heavens a head appeared at the top of the tree, black and sharp. For a moment it was there motionless, then it disappeared; the branches quivered again one by one all the way down the pine. Jules ran swiftly to the gate, unbarred it softly and looked out. The shadows were still heavy under the trees, and he could just see a figure stealing away from the foot of the big pine; it was lost at once in the sombre light. Verbaux went out of the post, and hurried into the deep timber.

It took him but an instant to pick up the spy’s trail, and he hastened along it. Once or twice the keen gray eyes caught glimpses of the man ahead; Verbaux slowed up.

“Ah vant fin’ h’out, no catch!” he whispered to himself. The figure before him travelled on fast, never looking round, entirely unsuspicious. Then it turned to the left, and Jules stopped. He heard voices not far away, and went on carefully. The light was strong now in the woods, and he dodged warily from tree to tree till he was close to the party. There were about seventy men—Indians, half-breeds, and voyageurs—all belonging to the Hudson Bay Company.

“Bien, Ah see de poste!” said one of the group.

“Le Pendu!” Jules whispered, “dat traÎtre, hein? Bon!”

The men all began talking at once, and he could not understand anything he heard.

“Silence, mans!” an authoritative voice spoke, and the crowd were still.

“Ve go dees midi h’at sun-’igh to feenesh dat poste!”

“Bravo!” “Bon!” “Magnifique!” said the rest.

Verbaux had heard enough; he turned back and sped as fast as he could to the post.

It was breakfast-time when he reached it. The morning breeze played with the smoke of the fires, twisting it into long curves and spirals, then wafting it away into the wilderness.

“Gregoire! Gregoire!” Jules called as he went among the trappers.

“Ici; qu’est-ce?” answered he.

Verbaux told him what he had heard.

“Ah-h-h, at las’!” growled Gregoire, brutally. “Ve show dose mans vat ve do, hein?”

Jules did not answer at once; then Morning Star’s dream came to him, powerful and compelling. He again saw the white wolf in memory.

“Ve goin’ try!” he said in solemn tones.

“Bon! Ah go fin’ le facteur; toi tell to de oddaires la bataille come maintenant!” Gregoire said and ran off.