"That is why I bade Strong Father keep with the ridge," he replied. "On the River of the Blazing Pine the French Hearts would have seen us easily where the valleys meet."

"You knew it was coming?" Dunvegan cried in amazement. "This Niskitowaney train?"

"Even so, Strong Father."

"How?"

"By the actions of the Little Fool."

"What was Gaspard doing?"

The fort runner pointed to a ledge of rock that jutted out on the highest point of the hill.

"The Little Fool stood there, waiting," he observed. "He had seen the fur train of the French Hearts coming and thought to travel with them to their fort. But soon his thoughts were changed. He saw me and disappeared in the trees. When I caught him, he had no food or rifle.

Yet I brought them to you, Strong Father.

"He is a little devil as well as a little fool," Maskwa summed up. "He deserves no pity. Mark you, Strong Father, he has been the right hand of that wicked French Heart, the Black Ferguson. Does Strong Father remember the ambush on Caribou Point when we thought to take the leader?

Who brought the news? Who led us there? Who had planned the surprise with the French Hearts? None but the Little Fool! Who gave them notice of the movements of our fur trains? The Little Fool! Who warned the Crees to fall upon you as you journeyed to Kamattawa? Why, Strong Father, it is always the Little Fool. And his weak brain seems stronger than the wisdom of the Stern Father and his servants. He has laughed at us all."

"Yes," grumbled Dunvegan, "he has fooled us for a time. But that time is gone."

"While the wolf lives, his teeth may still rend," Maskwa philosophized.

"Let the Little Fool die! Else will he work Strong Father greater harm."

The calm suggestion brought an expression of repugnance to the chief trader's face.

"I can't do that!" he objected.

"It is well," remarked the Ojibway. "I have counseled."

"As a prisoner he cannot do us any harm," Dunvegan persisted.

"I have counseled," Maskwa repeated. "When Strong Father wishes it had been done he will remember my counsel."

He dismissed the subject with habitual unconcern and devoted a few minutes to spying upon the camping preparations of the Nor'west fur train. With the movements of skilled woodsmen they set about it. First of all, they stepped out of their snowshoe loops and diligently used the raquettes as shovels, clearing the snow away and banking it up till a long rectangle of ground lay bare. While some thickly carpeted the cleared s.p.a.ce with balsam brush taken from the foot of the ridge others chopped dead pines into firewood and built a long stringer of flame the entire length of the camp ground.

Then the dogs were unharnessed and the sledges drawn up by thongs into handy trees out of reach of these huskies, who otherwise would destroy the furs while the men slept. After that the Nor'west drivers and guards threw themselves down by the fires to prepare their supper of dried meat and tea, having already stuck the dogs' portion of frozen whitefish upon twigs to thaw by the fierce blaze.

From the height Dunvegan and Maskwa watched it all.

"They know how to make camp, all right," the chief trader observed.

The Ojibway nodded briefly. "They have also traveled many trails," he supplemented judicially.

"And since it is a good camp we will not need to change it," continued Dunvegan significantly.

"It is well," grunted Maskwa. He shook the screening boughs back in place and turned about, adding: "When the dark falls thickly, we will come this way again."

The Oxford House men were growing impatient in the increasing cold, but they received the news of the Nor'west fur train's proximity with jubilation. The frost was becoming so intense that to do without a fire even for a few hours proved impossible; so the whole force backtrailed a mile as a precaution and huddled over a hastily built pyramid of lighted spruce branches. The Caribou Ridges, looming up, shut off the flames from the Nor'westers' view. Also, Dunvegan posted an Indian lookout on the height above the other bivouac to carry warning of any untoward move. The dogs' jaws were tied with strips of buckskin that they might not growl or bark, for sounds carried far in the frosty air.

Attention was now paid to Gaspard Follet, and he was placed in the custody of two Hudson's Bay men, who had orders to shoot him on his first attempt at escape. He still kept up his pretense of foolish wits, but a sinister threat from Dunvegan silenced his idiotic whining. The chief trader did not condescend to parley with Follet nor tell him of what he was suspected. He simply ordered the dwarf into strict charge.

It was the business of Malcolm Macleod, the Factor, to judge him.

The hour of waiting while the gray twilight thickened to black dark became oppressive. The Oxford House men chafed under the restraint and the silence. Other than murmurings and flame noises no sounds came from around the fire. Terence Burke had soaked himself through and through with the radiating heat. Complacently he pawed his limbs. Now these limbs, reinvigorated, cried out for active work as loudly as his hungry stomach cried for hearty food.

He whispered to Connear: "'Tis a bloomin' wake we're at. Phwat's the use o' dallyin' loike this? Why don't we take these Nor'west divils by the scruffs o' their necks an' shake them? They're outnumbered four to wan!"

"Mind your own business," growled Connear. "You keep mixin' yourself up with every plan that's being made. You're too fresh! Keep your own place, you Irish lubber, and don't try runnin' the whole show!"

Baptiste Verenne flashed his customary grin, with the attribute of ivory teeth.

"_Oui_," he commented, "kip de place an' go ver' cautious. Dat's de way in dis countree. You see, we mus' spring on dose mans _vite_ w'en dey not t'ink! Geeve dem no taim harness de fas' dogs. Dat's onlee way we get dem."

"It's a slow sphring," Terence complained. "If the recoil's as slow as the sphring, bewitch me if divil a thing comes av it."

"Shut up," commanded Connear tersely. "Your mouth's as big as the Irish sea."

"Yes," snapped Burke, "an' it's swallowed better sailors than yerself."

Baptiste made an angry gesture for quiet and motioned furtively to where Dunvegan stood silently warming himself on the other side of the fire.

"_Saprie!_ You be stubborn mans!" he snarled contemptuously.

But now the order came to move. Several Indians were left with the sledges and the newly-made prisoner. The rest of the men filed off in the direction of the balsam ridge. Its crest was reached silently and in perfect order. There the men paused at a point directly over the camp they purposed to rush.

Maskwa, with Dunvegan, surveyed the slope, contemplating the moment of descent. Far below they could see the line of crackling fire with the banked snow at the sides glowing pink beneath the blaze. Etched out dully against each fitful flame, the squatting figures crouched low. At times a hand was cleanly outlined in the white upper light as it raised food to mouth. A tea pail pa.s.sing down the line of men flashed intermittently.

"Now while they eat is the time, Strong Father," the Ojibway fort runner murmured. "They think only of their stomachs, and their arms are not handy. If we are swift and sure on our feet not a shot need be fired."

"Very well," a.s.sented Dunvegan. "You lead. I will stay on your heels."

"Let the men make no sound," warned Maskwa. "We go without noise as close as possible. As soon as their dogs scent us we must spring like the hungry panther."

The chief trader pa.s.sed a whispered caution to his retainers.

"Keep close to us," he adjured, "and rush when we rush! Grasp the fellows and prevent them from shooting! There is no need for bloodshed, and we cannot afford to lose any of our number. Every man we have will be needed at Fort Brondel!"

There was a faint, dissatisfied murmur at this command. Fresh in the minds of the Hudson's Bay men were the accounts given by survivors of the b.l.o.o.d.y sacking of the Wokattiwagan and Shamattawa fur trains. They would have liked a sanguinary reprisal, but they knew better than to disobey any order of Dunvegan's. So they relinquished their vengeful antic.i.p.ations and followed watchfully.

Down the snowy hillside they dropped, noiseless as shadows. No figure at the fire stirred from its eating; no dog voiced alarm. The balsams were left behind and the men entered scrubby spruces, where they found better cover.

The camp was no more than a little dome of light walled in by impenetrable darkness. The night crowded to its red ramparts, full of mystery, unreadable, sinister, fear-compelling. And, crowding like the night, came the Oxford House force, with all the advantage of position that the inky darkness gave.

Slowly, their nerves growing more tense at every step, they worked through the spruces. Each yard they advanced increased the strain. A little drumming noise began to vibrate in the men's throats. An almost inaudible sound it was, but to their own strained hearing it rose in a roar. Closer and closer they stole till, seeing their enemies so plainly, the idea that they themselves must be seen impressed itself with ever-increasing power.

Maskwa treaded the evergreen aisles like a swift wraith. Holding the ends of each other's sashes, the rest walked in single file after him.

So great was the curb on their feelings, so suffocating the silence, that some would have gained immense relief by uttering tremendous shouts. But they dared not! The first outcry must come from the camp.

The alarm would ring out unexpectedly, and the invaders waited for that moment and wrestled with their tingling senses.