Le Grand stood up. “Go dere an’ mak’ camp,” he said, pointing toward the woods that lay enshrouded in gloom on the far side of the mountain. Verbaux nodded, picked up the canoe, and followed. They felt their way through the impenetrable shades and found an open spot with a little spring beside it.

“Ah stay ici two year’ gon’!” Le Grand said as he broke some fire-wood and lighted the evening blaze. Jules went off in the yellow light that reached out among the trees, and brought back long boughs and some forked limbs; with these he quickly made a lean-to. When he and Le Grand finished supper they got out their pipes, and soon tobacco smoke mingled with the fire fumes. “To-mor’ ve see Marie.” Jules’s voice was soft, and his eyes wandered into the darkness.

Le Grand bowed his head. “Dieu merci!” he whispered, and the two were silent. After a long time Verbaux moved over to Le Grand and put his hand affectionately on the old man’s shoulder.

“Le Grand, Ah desire dat toi leeve avec Marie an’ moi; you’ leetle vones aire mort; you have no place, no home, dat have do so mooch for Marie an’ moi?”

Le Grand did not answer at once, but his form shook, and Jules’s arm slid round the thin neck. “Toi do dees for Jules?”

The other spoke then quietly. “Non, Verbaux; Le Grand ees ol’ man maintenant; he no vant mak’ du travaille pour toi. Non, you an’ Marie mus’ be content togeddaire, h’alon’. Toi ’ave beeg coeur, mais Ah can no h’accep’. Ah go avec toi an’ see Marie encore vone taime, den Le Grand he go to Poste Determination an’ travailler so long he can.”

The old man puffed stoically on. Jules sighed deeply, but said no more. He knew the iron will that lived in this body worn of years, bent with pain, but strong yet. They sat awhile before the fire, then crawled in on the fresh aromatic bed of green.

A distant grumbling broke the silence.

“Tonnerre, by dam’!” Le Grand ejaculated. “Bes’ put h’on de branches.” He and Jules hurriedly gathered more thick boughs and laid them, thatch-wise, over their heads, end to end across the forked limbs that served as supports.

“Dat h’anough,” Verbaux said, and they got inside and waited. The approaching thunder muttered louder and louder, and tines of ragged lightning darted from the black skies.

“By gar! dat goin’ be grand tempÊte!” said Jules.

The air was heavy and silent; the forest motionless.

“La voilÀ!” Le Grand shouted as the wind came suddenly, bending the dark trees and whistling shrilly through their impeding arms.

The thunder pealed, roar on roar, the vicious bolts jaggedly seared the air all round them, and then the rain fell in soaking torrents. It beat its way through the men’s shelter and dripped steadily on them.

“Bah! Phu-i-i-a!” Jules grunted as a stream of water poured on his face; his companion laughed and drew his skin jacket over his eyes.

Boom! Crash! Cr-a-ckk! the lightning hurled itself on the forest, and the earth vibrated with the sharp rolls of voluminous sound. The water came now in solid sheets, and the lean-to was as a sieve over Jules and Le Grand. They were wet to the skin, but they were happy.

Then quickly as it had come, the storm passed by, the rain ceased, the air was still again; only the trees dripped liquidly while the hoarse mumblings and white flashes faded away to the southward.

The two wrung out their saturated clothes and slept.

Le Grand was the first to get up in the morning.

“Eternellement diable!” he said aloud; his voice wakened Jules.

“Somme t’ing de mattaire?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“SacrÉ by dam’, oui! Ah lef’ mon couteau dat toi geeve to me t’ree year’ h’ago À la riviÈre yes’day! Ah no vant lose dat, non plus; mus’ go back an’ fin’ eet,” and Le Grand swore.

“Ah go pour toi,” Jules suggested.

“Non pas encore vieillard moi! No sooch ol’ man dat Ah can no go À traverse les forÊts manny year’!” the other grunted, and the two had breakfast.

“Vait for me ici; Ah comme back ver’ queeck!” Le Grand said, and disappeared among the trees.

It was a warm, bright day, and Verbaux ensconced himself in the sun’s heat while his clothes dried, spread on bushes. He alternately dozed and smoked for a long time, dreaming of her he was soon to see. Noon passed; he pulled on the dry apparel and walked to the mountain-top, but no Le Grand was in sight.

“DrÔle! He should be back before dees taime!” he said to himself, and looked up at the sun; it was a quarter low and cast lengthening shadow behind him.

“T’irt’ mile f’om ici to Marie; Ah go dere, an’ Le Grand comme h’aftaire,” he thought aloud, and turned to go to the post where his wife awaited him thirty miles away; but as he moved a fear came to him hard. He stopped.

“Mabbe dat he hurrt; Jules mus’ fin’ h’out! Ah go fas’, no tak’ long taime,” he said, with anxiety in his voice, and he hurried away on yesterday’s up-trail. As he travelled along he kept a sharp watch for Le Grand, and expected to meet him at any moment; but the distance to the river lessened and he had seen no sign of his friend. Then in a little while he caught a glimpse of water flashing through the trees, and still no Le Grand.

He was about to call, when he smelled a fire, and heard a hateful voice; at once he became alert and his eyes snapped, because he recognised the tones as those of the renegade Annaotaha. He crept forward warily with noiseless speed, then stopped and looked.

A little blaze burned on the river-bank; tied hand and foot and lashed to a young birch was Le Grand; his feet were stripped. Before him crouched Annaotaha, stirring the fire; his rifle lay in a canoe that was half drawn on the shore. Verbaux almost sprang out, but the renegade began to speak, and he listened.

“V’ere ees dat traÎtre Verbaux?” Etienne asked his helpless prisoner. “LefÈvrier he don’ tol’ moi dat Verbaux ees gone avec toi.”

Le Grand did not answer; his head was bent to one side and a little blood flowed from a cut on his cheek.

“V’ere ees dat femme Marie?” asked Annaotaha, savagely.

Again no answer.

“Dam’ toi, Ah mak’ toi tell!” The half-breed cursed and pushed the now strongly burning fire toward the naked feet.

With one bound Jules was in the open; another, and he was but a few feet from the treacherous, torturing devil. Annaotaha heard the sound of feet and turned.

“Ha! Ah show to toi!” he shouted as he leaped to Le Grand and swiftly plunged the knife he held into the old man’s side.

Verbaux was on him then; the fiend stabbed desperately at him, and they fell, growling and snarling; by a quick twist Jules caught the other’s knife hand in a fearful grip. Slowly he bent it back—back until the wrist broke with a loud snap, and the knife dropped. The wretch screamed and writhed, biting at Verbaux’s shirt and neck. Jules got a hold on the renegade’s knees, drew himself up and with a mighty jerk hurled Annaotaha against the stony ground with stunning force. The half-breed lay there senseless. Verbaux sprang to Le Grand and slashed his bindings apart; the old man slid down limply; Jules gathered him in his strong arms. All this time the old man’s life was trickling away, soaking into the earth.

“Ah, Dieu, mon ami, mon vieux!” Jules groaned, trying to stop the red current. Le Grand opened his eyes.

“Trop tard,” he murmured weakly and coughed; then he gathered a little strength. “He—catch—moi f’om arriÈre,—try—mak’—moi—tell—heem——h’about—toi—an’—an’—Marie; mais—Ah-h-h——n-o——tell”; his voice trailed off in a whisper. Verbaux laid him flat, ripped open the blood-soaked shirt, and tied his own long neckerchief tight about the wound. Then he got water and bathed Le Grand’s face and hands. The black eyes opened again, but they were dulling fast; the lips moved, and Verbaux bent to catch their faint whisper.

“Tell—M’r-ie——dat——Ah—fin’——toi h’—at——las’!——She——h’ask——p-ou-r——Verb—b—x.” The dimming eyes looked at Verbaux with mute appeal.

“Oui, oui, mon vieux, mon ami, Dieu te bÉnit,” Jules answered hoarsely, and great tears fell on the other’s hands. Le Grand must have felt them, for he smiled wanly.

“Pau—vre——Ver—b—aux, al-lez——she-e——att-ends pour—toi——adi——” and the life was gone.

Verbaux felt for heart-beats, but in vain; he listened at the motionless white lips for a faint breath, but uselessly. Then he knelt beside his lifelong friend and repeated the Ave Maria softly; his voice was often choked, and the tears rolled down unheeded. A long time he knelt, still but for great heavings of his shoulders. At last he rose.

“Mon ami, dat have do so mooch pour moi, Ah revanche toi!” and he went over to where Annaotaha lay.

He yanked the shirt from Etienne’s body, tore it into strips, with which he tied the unconscious man firmly; then he picked up his cap, filled it with water at the river, and dashed it over the renegade; again and again he did this till Annaotaha stirred slightly.

Jules waited till Etienne was fully conscious; then he went to the bank and gathered long, heavy stones; he brought these up one by one and laid them beside the murderer. The latter watched with growing fear in his shifting eyes.

“Vat for dose?” he asked. Jules made no reply. When he had collected about a hundred pounds of these stones he sat down, and carefully bound each one with a strip of cloth, leaving some of the lashings to spare; then he fastened one securely to Annaotaha’s ankles. The coward screeched and begged as he understood now what the stones were for. Jules worked on, silent and relentless. At last the weights were all made fast to the half-breed’s form.

“LÀ!” Verbaux said with a quiet deadliness. “Touts prÊts!” and he stood up.

“No goin’ keel moi, Verbaux!” Annaotaha shrilled.

Jules towered over him, his hands clenched, his whole body quivering with fury. The waters of the river murmured gently, with lapping sounds; a little draft sported among the trees, causing them to shudder faintly; from far off came a long wail that rose and died away.

Verbaux listened to the sound. In a moment the lonely howl came from the forest, but it was nearer. And once more the wild note pierced the atmosphere of night, and sank; Jules moved away from the stone-laden figure at his feet and crouched in the thickets that bordered on the clearing. A white shape came into the starlight, shuffled up to the dark thing that lay there, sniffed of it a moment and then sent out a mystic, curdling yowl that echoed and reËchoed over the steadily flowing river.

The white thing faded eerily away, trotting without sound, and disappeared in the shadows. Verbaux stalked silently to the renegade, who whispered and cried.

“Etienne Annaotaha, leesten vat Ah say: dat loup blanc he mak’ bad signe for toi! Long h’ago, long taime gone, you keel vone femme near to Lac la Pluie.” The half-breed winced. “Maintenant you have keel Le Grand, mon ami! H’at Isle la Crosse you took ma femme, an’ for dese t’ing’ toi goin’ be keel by le bon Dieu!”

“Non! Non! Non!” the man shrieked, and his voice carried far into the wilderness.

“Oui,” Jules answered; “an’ eef Ah could, Ah vould torture toi leet’ piece by taime, mais Le Grand an’ Marie no lak’ dat. So Ah ’m goin’ laisse’ les eaux du bon Dieu do heet!”

He stopped and rolled the bound figure, with its clinging stones that struck dully together, to the canoe. He slit the light bark in several places, then with a powerful heave he lifted Annaotaha, stones and all, and dropped him into the craft.

“Le diable he have you een five minute’!” he said as he pushed the canoe with its burden far out into the rushing current. It hung there a moment, then gathering speed, dashed away toward the rapids that shone white and ugly below. Verbaux watched it and listened to the renegade’s screams; the canoe settled lower and lower, then it struck the first fast water; it lurched and plunged soggily, cleared one big wave, hovered staggering on the next crest, disappeared in the hollow beyond, and came in sight no more.