m
to their duty. At last their leader topped the ridge, and the others
struggled after him. Before them stretched the great dead-water of the
river, a straight white path to No-man's-land. The snow was smooth and
level, and the crust was hard enough to bear. Pichou settled down to his
work at a glorious pace. He seemed to know that he must do his best,
and that something important depended on the quickness of his legs. On
through the glittering solitude, on through the death-like silence, sped
the COMETIQUE, between the interminable walls of the forest, past the
mouths of nameless rivers, under the shadow of grim mountains. At noon
Dan Scott boiled the kettle, and ate his bread and bacon. But there was
nothing for the dogs, not even for Pichou; for discipline is discipline,
and the best of sledge-dogs will not run well after he has been fed.

Then forward again, along the lifeless road, slowly over rapids, where
the ice was rough and broken, swiftly over still waters, where the way
was level, until they came to the foot of the last lake, and camped for
the night. The Indians were but a few miles away, at the head of the
lake, and it would be easy to reach them in the morning.

But there was another camp on the Ste. Marguerite that night, and it was
nearer to Dan Scott than the Indians were. Ovide Boulianne had followed
him up the river, close on his track, which made the going easier.

"Does that sacre bourgeois suppose that I allow him all that pelletrie
to himself and the Compagnie? Four silver fox, besides otter and beaver?
NON, MERCI! I take some provision, and some whiskey. I go to make trade
also." Thus spoke the shrewd Ovide, proving that commerce is no less
daring, no less resolute, than philanthropy. The only difference is
in the motive, and that is not always visible. Ovide camped the second
night at a bend of the river, a mile below the foot of the lake. Between
him and Dan Scott there was a hill covered with a dense thicket of
spruce.

By what magic did Carcajou know that Pichou, his old enemy, was so near
him in that vast wilderness of white death? By what mysterious language
did he communicate his knowledge to his companions and stir the sleeping
hatred in their hearts and mature the conspiracy of revenge?

Pichou, sleeping by the fire, was awakened by the fall of a lump of snow
from the branch of a shaken evergreen. That was nothing. But there were
other sounds in the forest, faint, stealthy, inaudibl