the small of the back. And Snettishane knew that he knew, but neither
referred to it.

"What dost thou here?" the Factor demanded. "It were time old bones
should be in bed."

But Snettishane was stately in spite of the bird-shot burning under his
skin.

"Old bones will not sleep," he said solemnly. "I weep for my daughter,
for my daughter Lit-lit, who liveth and who yet is dead, and who goeth
without doubt to the white man's hell."

"Weep henceforth on the far bank, beyond ear-shot of the Fort," said John
Fox, turning on his heel, "for the noise of thy weeping is exceeding
great and will not let one sleep of nights."

"My heart is sore," Snettishane answered, "and my days and nights be
black with sorrow."

"As the raven is black," said John Fox.

"As the raven is black," Snettishane said.

Never again was the voice of the raven heard by the river bank. Lit-lit
grows matronly day by day and is very happy. Also, there are sisters to
the sons of John Fox's first wife who lies buried in a tree. Old
Snettishane is no longer a visitor at the Fort, and spends long hours
raising a thin, aged voice against the filial ingratitude of children in
general and of his daughter Lit-lit in particular. His declining years
are embittered by the knowledge that he was cheated, and even John Fox
has withdrawn the assertion that the price for Lit-lit was too much by
ten blankets and a gun.

BATARD

Batard was a devil. This was recognized throughout the Northland.
"Hell's Spawn" he was called by many men, but his master, Black Leclere,
chose for him the shameful name "Batard." Now Black Leclere was also a
devil, and the twain were well matched. There is a saying that when two
devils come together, hell is to pay. This is to be expected, and this
certainly was to be expected when Batard and Black Leclere came together.
The first time they met, Batard was a part-grown puppy, lean and hungry,
with bitter eyes; and they met with snap and snarl, and wicked looks, for
Leclere's upper lip had a wolfish way of lifting and showing the white,
cruel teeth. And it lifted then, and his eyes glinted viciously, as he
reached for Batard and dragged him out from the squirming litter. It was
certain that they divined each other, for on the instant Batard had
buried his puppy fangs in Leclere's hand, and Leclere, thumb and finger,
was coolly choking his young life out of him.

"_Sacredam_," the Frenchman said softly, flirting