"Chante, rossignol, chante!
Toi qui a le coeur gai;
Tu as le coeur a rire
Mai j' l' ai-ta pleurer,
Il y a longtemps que j' t'aime
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."

[Footnote:
"Sing, little bird, oh, sing away!
You with the voice so light and gay!
Yours is a heart that laughter cheers,
Mine is a hearts that's full of tears.
Long have I loved, I love her yet;
Leave her I can, but not forget."]

"Whew!" said Gale, slipping out of his pack-straps, "the skeeters is
bad."

"You bet your gum boots," said Poleon. "Dey're mos' so t'ick as de
summer dey kill Johnnie Platt on de Porcupine." Both men wore
gauntleted gloves of caribou-skin and head harnesses of
mosquito-netting stretched over globelike frames of thin steel bands,
which they slipped on over their hats after the manner of divers'
helmets, for without protection of some kind the insects would have
made travel impossible once the Yukon breezes were left behind or once
the trail dipped from the high divides where there was no moss.

"Let's see. It was you that found him, wasn't it?" said Gale.

"Sure t'ing! I'm comin' down for grub in my canoe, w'en I see dis
feller on de bank, walkin' lak' he's in beeg horry. 'Ba Gar!' I say,
'dere's man goin' so fast he'll meet hese'f comin' home!' Den he turn
roun' an' go tearin' back, wavin' hees arms lak' he's callin' me, till
he fall down. Wen I paddle close up, I don' know 'im no more dan
stranger, an' me an' Johnnie Platt is trap togeder wan winter. Wat you
t'ink of dat?"

"I saw a fellow killed that way at Holy Cross," interpolated the trader.

"'Hello,' I say, 'w'at's de matter?' An' den I see somet'ing 'bout 'im
dat look familiar. Hees face she's all swell' up an' bleedin' lak' raw
meat." The Frenchman curled his upper lip back from his teeth and shook
his head at the remembrance.

"Jesu, dat's 'orrible sight! Dem fly is drive 'im crazee. Hees nose an'
ears is look lak' holes in beeg red sponge, an' hees eye are close up
tight."

"He died before you got him in, didn't he?"

"Yes. He was good man, too. Some tam' if I ever have bad enemy w'at I
like to see catch hell I'm goin' turn 'im loose 'mong dose skeeter-bug."

"Holy Mackinaw!" ejaculated Gale. "Who'd ever think of that? Why,
that's worse than dropping water on his skull till he goes crazy, like
them Chinamen do."

The Frenchman nodded. "It's de wors' t'ing I know. Dat's w'y I l