At the little lean-to he gathered up his food and the canoe and travelled on down the mountain through the dense green forests. In three hours he came to the bottom, and a long lake stretched away, mirror-like and reflecting, at his feet. He pushed in the canoe and paddled out. From its centre he looked back.

High above him, and seemingly far away, was the top of Mont d’Ours; he waved his hand toward it again, and as he watched with sorrow-laden eyes, a great white cloud rolled down on the peak, hiding it from his sight; in a moment it lifted again.

“Le Grand he gone au bon Dieu!” Jules said solemnly and sadly, turned his back, and paddled on round a bend that shut out the mountain entirely.

He saw nothing of the forest scenes, and worked on automatically.

“Mon vieux, mon pauvre Le Grand!” was the only thought that faded the lustre of his hopes to see Marie so soon.

When he reached the foot of the lake and the last of his water trails he dragged the canoe into the underbrush, then went back to the lake edge and let his eyes wander over the green distances and focus themselves on Mont d’Ours, that lifted its heights proudly above its timbered base. He imagined that he could see a black dot which marked the grave of his friend, and strained his eyes in vain, trying to distinguish the cross.

“Au revoir, Le Grand!” he called loudly, and entered the forest. The trail was good, and he hastened on at a half-lope, hurrying to Her. He forded a wide stream, leaping agilely from rock to rock.

“Onlee feeft’en mile’ an’ den Ah see Marie!” he murmured, and kept on.

The blazed path widened; here and there were side tracks where the men from the post came for wood. Then he reached RiviÈre des Sauvages. Two trees lashed together in the middle afforded the chance of a dry crossing, and Jules ran along them nimbly; he was three-quarters of the way over when he stumbled on a knot that stuck sharp and tripping from the trunk, and he fell. The water was shallow, as he was near the shore, and he struck the bottom heavily. He lay there an instant, shocked into numbness, while the cold water rippled round him.

“Oh, dat jambe!” he cried as he struggled to stand up. A thrust of pain ran through his body; he tried to rise again, but the violent surge of physical suffering overcame him and he tumbled back in the water, sickened and weak.

The chill strength of the liquid flow restored him somewhat in a few minutes. He felt of his left leg and found that it was broken below the knee.

“Par dam’, dat ver’ bad!” he moaned, dragged himself ashore, and sat there suffering. His leg was numb below the knee; but above, it throbbed and caused him piercing pain.

“No stay ici lak’ dees!” he grunted stoically; “mus’ see Marie!” Inch by inch he worked his way to an alder clump and cut long sticks from it; these, with cloth as bandages, he used as rough splints and tied up the broken leg securely.

“Ah go jus’ sam’!” he said, and started on the trail again on his hands and one knee, dragging the useless leg. It was slow, racking work, but Jules forced himself, though the maimed leg staggered him with its thrusts of pain. In a little while the palms of his hands were raw and his one good knee ached and bled, but he kept on.

The darkness was still and hot; summer insects burned his skin and tortured his face; the unevenness of the trail made him slip and fall flat often, forcing groans from him, but he pushed ahead slowly and resolutely. He was exhausted and throbbed from head to foot.

“Marie, Ah comme!” he whispered, spoke, then called, and struggled forward on the dimly visible trail.

All through the summer darkness he fought on, finally but worming his way. The light of day stole through the forest and found him creeping on.

At sunrise he dropped on the edge of the post clearing, and looked with half-opened eyes that but vaguely saw the habitations before them.

“Leetle furdaire,” he articulated, and dragged himself ahead.

The post was awake; smoke curled from the chimneys and floated off on the light morning breeze; figures moved about at the gates.

“Qu’est-Ça?” a trapper asked as he saw the low crooked shape creeping in the clearing.

A shrill cry, and a woman leaped past him into the open.

“Jules! Jules!” she screamed in ecstasy, and ran to the form that had fallen helpless.

“Marie—oh, Marie, dat toi h’at las’?” Verbaux whispered as he felt warm arms about his neck and saw the longed-for face, as in a dream, looking into his.

“Mon Jules!” the woman sobbed, and pillowed the weary head in her lap.

The others that had come out from the post disappeared quietly, and the two were alone.

The sun rose glorious and bright, gilding everything and casting warm lights over all; the air was still, the silence was absolute. Verbaux opened his eyes.

“C’est b’en toi, Marie?” He groped for her hand.

The woman kissed his bleeding lips for answer.

“Tu loove me encore?”

She sank her face against his and her tears trickled over his shoulders.

“Ah attend so long pour toi!” she murmured softly.

Jules sighed.

“Le Grand, v’ere ees he?” Marie asked.

“Mort!” he answered huskily.

“An’ dat Annaotaha?” she asked again.

“Keel!” and his voice thrilled with anger.

“An’—an’ toi, Jules?” Her voice trembled, and she gazed steadily into the deep gray eyes.

Verbaux smiled, and kissed the thin hand that caressed his forehead.

“Moi? Je suis content!”

• Transcriber’s Notes:
  • Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
  • Typographical errors were silently corrected.
  • Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.