Part 8 (1/2)
”An' could I make un now in a day?”
”If ye walk sharp an' start early.”
”I thinks I'll be startin' in th' mornin' an' campin' over there Sunday, an' Monday I'll be there t' hunt. Can't un come 'long, John?”
”No, I'd like t' go but I got t' see my traps. I'll have t' be leavin'
ye now,” said Micmac, rising.
”Not t'-night?”
”Yes, it's fine moonlight an' I can make it all right.”
”Ye better stay th' night wi' me, John. There'll be no difference in a day.”
”No. I planned t' be goin' right back I seen ye. Good evenin'.”
”Good evenin', John.”
Micmac John started directly south, but when well out of sight of the tilt suddenly swung around to the eastward and, with the long half-running stride of the Indian, made a straight line for the tilt where Bob had left his silver fox. The moon was full, and the frost that clung to the trees and bushes sparkled like flakes of silver. The aurora faintly searched the northern sky. A rabbit, white and spectre-like, scurried across the half-breed's path, but he did not notice it. Hour after hour his never tiring feet swung the wide snow-shoes in and out with a rhythmic chug-chug as he ran on.
It was nearly morning when at length he slackened his pace, and with the caution of the lifelong hunter approached the tilt as he would have stalked an animal. He made quite certain that the shack was untenanted, then entered boldly. He struck a match and found a candle, which he lighted. There was the silver fox, where Bob had left it. It was dry enough to remove from the board and he loosened it and pulled it off. He examined it critically and gloated over it.
”As black an' fine a one as I ever seen!” he exclaimed. ”It'll bring a big price at Mingen. That boy'll never see it again, an' I'll clean out th' rest o' th' fur too, at th' river. Old Campbell'll be sorry when I get through with 'em, he let that feller hunt th' path. He's a fool, an' if he gives me th' slip he'll go back an' say th' Mingen Injuns took his fur. I fixed that wi' my story all right. I'll take th' lot t' Mingen an' get cash fer 'em, an' be back t' th' Bay with open water with 'nuff martens so's they won't suspect me.”
He started a fire and slept until shortly after daylight. Then had breakfast and started down the trail towards the river at the same rapid pace that he had held before.
It was not quite dark when he glimpsed the tilt, and approached it with even more caution than he had observed above.
”He don't know enough to lie,” said he to himself, referring to Bob, ”but it's best t' take care, fer one o' th' others might be here.”
When he was satisfied that the tilt was unoccupied he entered boldly and appropriated every skin of fur he found--not only all of Bob's, but also a few martens Bill had left there. No time was lost, for any accident might send Bill or one of the others here at an unexpected moment. The pelts were packed quickly but carefully into his hunting bag and within twenty minutes after his arrival he was retreating up the trail at a half run.
Some time after dark he reached the first tilt above the river, where he spent the night. Short cuts and fast travelling brought him on Sunday night to the tilt at the end of the trail where he had left Bob. He made quite certain that the lad had really gone on his caribou hunt, and then went boldly in and made himself as comfortable as he could for the night without a stove, for Bob had taken the stove with him, to heat his tent.
”If he comes back t'-night and finds me here,” he said, ”I'll just tell him I changed my mind an' came back t' go on th' deer hunt. I'll lie t' him about what I got in my bag an' he'll never suspicion; he don't know enough.”
Micmac John's work was not yet finished. He had arranged a full and complete revenge. Bob's hunt for caribou would carry him far away from the tilt and into a section where no searching party would be likely to go. The half-breed's plan was now to follow and shoot the lad from ambush. If by chance any one ever should find the body--which seemed a quite improbable happening--Bob's death would no doubt be laid at the door of the Nascaupee Indians.
Micmac John deposited the bag of stolen pelts in a safe place in the tilt, intending to return for them after his b.l.o.o.d.y mission was accomplished, and several hours before daylight on Monday morning started out in the ghostly moonlight to trail Bob to his death.
IX
LOST IN THE SNOW
The trail that Bob had made lay open and well-defined in the snow, and hour after hour the half-breed followed it, like a hound follows its prey.
Early in the morning the sky clouded heavily and towards noon snow began to fall. It was a bitterly cold day. Micmac John increased his pace for the trail would soon be hidden and he was not quite sure when he should find the camp. From the lakes the trail turned directly north and for several miles ran through a flat, wooded country. After a while there were wide open marshes, with narrow timbered strips between. An hour after noon he crossed a two mile stretch of this marsh and in a little clump of trees on the farther side of it came so suddenly upon the tent that he almost ran against it.
The snow was by this time falling thickly and a rising westerly wind was sweeping the marsh making travelling exceedingly difficult, and completely hiding the trail beyond the trees.
The tent flaps were fastened on the outside, and Bob was away, as Micmac John expected he would be, searching for caribou.