THE TRAP IS SPRUNG

The trading-room at Whale River was crowded with the treaty chiefs and older men among the Cree hunters chosen by the factor to be present at the hearing. Behind a huge table made from hewn spruce slabs, sat Inspector Wallace, Colin Gillies and McCain. In front and to one side were the swart half-breeds, Gaspard Lelac and his two sons. Facing them on the opposite side of the table was Jean Marcel, and behind him, his advisor, Pere Breton, with Julie; for she had insisted on being present, and the smitten Wallace had readily agreed. The remainder of the room was occupied by the Crees, expectant, consumed with curiosity, for it had leaked out that certain matters connected with the tragedy on the Ghost which, heretofore, had not been divulged, would that afternoon be given light.

Among the a.s.sembled half-breeds and Crees there were two distinct factions. Those who had readily accepted the story of the Lelacs with its sinister indictment of Marcel, among whom were the kinsmen of Antoine Beaulieu; and those, who, knowing Jean Marcel, as well as his unsavory accusers, had refused to accept the half-breeds' tale, and were waiting with eagerness to hear Marcel's defense; for as yet, Marcel, under orders from Gillies, had refused to discuss the case. Outside the trade-house, chattering groups of young men and Cree women were gathered, awaiting the outcome of the proceedings.

Rising, Colin Gillies called for silence and addressed the Crees in their picturesque tongue:

"The long snows have come and gone. Famine and suffering have again visited the hunters of Whale River. With the return of the rabbit plague, and the lack of deer, many of those who were here last year at the spring trade have gone to join their fathers. The Company is sad that its hunters and their families have suffered. Last autumn, three hunters went from this post to winter on the Ghost River. This spring but one returned. He is here now, for the reason that he travelled far into the great barrens to streams which join the Big Water many, many sleeps to the northeast, where at last he found the returning deer.

"This spring, when the Ghost was free of ice, Gaspard Lelac and his sons, wishing to visit their kinsman, Joe Piquet, travelled to the camp of the three hunters. What they found there they will now tell as they told it to me when they came to Whale River. After you have learned their story, Jean Marcel, the man who returned, will relate what happened on the Ghost under the moons of the long snows.

"The Company has sent to visit Whale River its chief of the East Coast, Inspector Wallace. He will hear the stories of these men and decide which of them speaks with a double tongue. It is for you, also, when they have spoken, to say whether Gaspard Lelac and his sons bring the truth to Whale River, or Jean Marcel. You know these men. Hear their talk and judge in your hearts between them. Gaspard Lelac has put the blood of Antoine Beaulieu and Joe Piquet on the head of Jean Marcel. The fathers at Ottawa and the Chiefs of the Company at Winnipeg will not suffer one of their children to go unpunished who takes the life of another.

"Listen to the speech of these men. Look with your eyes into their faces and upon what will be shown here, and judge who speaks with a double tongue and who from an honest heart. Gaspard Lelac will now tell what he saw and did."

As Gillies finished, a murmur of approval filled the room, followed by a tense silence.

Lelac, a grizzled French half-breed with small, closely-set eyes, which shifted here and there as he spoke, then rose and told in the Cree tongue the story he had retailed daily for the previous month.

Wishing to visit his nephew Piquet, he said, and learn how he had weathered the hard winter, in May Lelac and his sons had poled up the Ghost to the camp. There they found an empty cache and part of the outfits of Beaulieu and Piquet, the latter of which they at once recognized. Alarmed, they searched the vicinity of the camp, and by chance, discovered the body of Beaulieu buried under stones on the sh.o.r.e. There was a knife wound in his chest. They continued the search in hope of finding Piquet, as his blankets and outfit, evidently unused for months and eaten by mice, were strong proof of his death, also; but failed to find the body. Of the fur-packs and rifles of the two men there was no trace, but a knife, identified later as belonging to Antoine, they brought back. There were no signs of the third man's outfit about the camp. If the third man was alive, what were they to believe? Antoine was dead, and Piquet, also, for his blankets were there. Someone had killed Antoine and Piquet. There was but one other, Marcel. So they travelled to Whale River with the news.

The sons of Lelac glibly corroborated the story of their father. When they had finished, the trade-room buzzed with whispered comment.

At a nod from Wallace, Gillies questioned the older Lelac in Cree for the benefit of the Indians.

"You say that these blankets here, this knife and cooking kit, and the clothes and bags, were all that you found at the camp--that there were no fur and rifles on the cache?"

"These were all we found--nothing else," replied Lelac, his small eyes wavering before the gaze of the factor.

"You swear that you found nothing but these things," repeated Gillies, pointing to the articles on the floor in front of the table.

"Nothing."

The set face of Jean Marcel, which had remained expressionless during the Lelacs' statement, relaxed in a wide smile which did not escape many a shrewd pair of Cree eyes.

"Jean Marcel will now relate what pa.s.sed on the Ghost through the moons of the long snows."

With the announcement, there was much stirring and shuffling of moccasins accompanied by suppressed exclamations and muttering, among the expectant Crees. But when Marcel rose, squared his wide shoulders, and with head high ran his eyes over the a.s.sembled Crees, friendly and hostile, to rest at length on the Lelacs, his lips curled with an expression of contempt, while the Indians and breeds relapsed into silence.

Slowly, and in detail, Jean told in the Cree language how his partners had gone up-river when he started south on the trail of the dog-thieves; how he recaptured Fleur, and later reached the Ghost at the "freeze-up." The tale of his nine-hundred-mile journey to the south coast drew many an "Ah-hah!" of mingled surprise and admiration from those who remembered Marcel's voyage of the previous spring through the spirit-haunted valleys of the Salmon headwaters. With his familiarity with the Cree mental make-up and his French instinct for dramatic values, he held them breathless by the narration of this Odyssey of the north.

Then Marcel described the long weeks when the three men fought starvation, with the deer and rabbits gone; how he travelled far into the land of the Windigo in search of beaver; and finally, he came to the break with his partners. The hard feeling which developed at the camp on the Ghost, Jean made no attempt to gloss over, but boldly told how the others had not played fair with the food, and he had left them to fight out the winter alone. Of the death of Piquet he spoke as one speaks of the extermination of vermin. An a.s.sa.s.sin in the night, Piquet had come to the tent of a sleeping man and the dog alone had saved his life.

They called his dog the "man-killer." Would they have asked less of their own huskies? he demanded. But if any of them doubted, and he understood that the Lelacs were among these, that his dog could have killed Piquet, let them come to the tent in the Mission stockade by night--and learn for themselves.

"_Nama_, no!" some Indian audibly protested, and for a s.p.a.ce the room was a riot of laughter, for the Crees had seen Fleur, the "man-killer."

But when the narrative of Marcel reached the discovery of the dead Antoine, stabbed to the heart in the shack on the Ghost, his voice broke with emotion. When he had found Antoine, killed in his sleep by Piquet, Marcel said that he had bitterly regretted that he had not taken Beaulieu with him, leaving Piquet to work out his own fate.

Then Jean described how he had lashed the body of Antoine, sewed in a tent, on the platform cache, and placed the fur-packs and rifles beside it, when he left to go into the barrens for deer. Turning, the Frenchman pointed his finger at the scowling Lelacs, and cried dramatically, "When you came to the camp this spring, you did not find the body of Antoine Beaulieu buried on the sh.o.r.e; you found it on the cache sewed in a tent.

If I had killed him would I not have hidden him somewhere in the snow where the starving lynx and wolverines would have done the rest? No, you found Antoine on the cache, and beside him were his rifle and fur-pack with those of Joe Piquet. What did you do with them?"

His evil face distorted with rage, the elder Lelac snarled:

"You lie, you got de fur and rifle hid."

Suppressing the half-breeds, Wallace ordered Marcel to continue.

Jean finished his story with the account of his long journey into the barrens beyond the Height-of-Land where the streams flowed northeast instead of west, his meeting with the returning deer, when weak with starvation, and his return to the Ghost to find that a canoe had preceded him there.

As he resumed his seat, the eyes of Julie Breton were bright with tears.

The priest leaned and grasped Jean's hand, whispering: "Well done, Jean Marcel!"

It had been a dramatic narration and the audience, including Inspector Wallace to whom it was interpreted by Gillies, had been impressed by the frank and fearless manner of its telling.

Angus McCain and big Jules smiled widely as they caught Marcel's eyes.

Again Gillies rose. "Jules!" he called, and Duroc brought from an adjoining room a bundle of pelts, placing them on the long table.

Again the room hummed with the whispering of the curious audience. The surprised Lelacs, now in a panic, talked excitedly, heads together.

"Marcel, examine these pelts and if you notice anything about them, make a statement," said Gillies, conducting the examination for the benefit of the Crees, in their native tongue, and translating to Wallace.

With great care, as his Cree audience craned their necks to watch what the Frenchman was doing, Jean, first examining each pelt, slowly divided the bundle of skins into three separate heaps.

"Have you anything to say?"

"Yes, M'sieu. This large pile here, I know nothing about; but this heap here, were all pelts trapped last winter by Antoine Beaulieu."

A murmur pa.s.sed through the crowded room. Here surely was something of interest. Lelac rose and started to look at the pelts when big Jules pushed him roughly back on the bench.

"You stay where you are, Lelac, or I'll put a guard over you!" rasped Gillies.

"This pile here," continued Jean, "belonged to Joe Piquet."

"How do you recognize them?" demanded Gillies.

"All these have Antoine's mark, one little slit behind the right fore-leg. These with two slits behind the left fore-leg were the pelts of Piquet. My mark was three slits in front of the left hind leg. When we started trapping from the same camp, we agreed on these marks."

The air of the trade-room was heavy with suspense.

"You swear to these marks?"

"Yes, M'sieu."

"Francois Maskigan!" The treaty-chief of the South Branch Crees, a man of middle age, with great authority among the Indians, stepped forward.

"Francois, you have heard what Marcel says of the marks on these skins?"