Part 16 (1/2)

”I lashed Antoine een hees shed-tent and put heem on de cache, for the wolverine and lynx would get heem een de snow.” As Marcel talked McCain and Gillies exchanged significant looks.

”Um!” muttered the factor, when Jean had finished. ”Something queer here!”

”What, M'sieu?” Marcel demanded.

”Why, Lelac says he found the body of Antoine buried under stones on the sh.o.r.e and that there was nothing on the cache except the empty grub bags.”

”Dey say de fur and rifle was not dere?”

”Yes, nothing on the cache!”

”Den I must have de rifle and de fur; ees dat eet?”

”Yes, that's what they insinuate.”

”Ah-hah!” Marcel scowled, thinking hard. ”Dey say dey fin' noding, so do not turn over to you de rifle and fur-pack.”

”Yes, they claim you must have hidden them as you hid the body.”

”Den how do dey know Piquet ees dead too?” Marcel's dark features relaxed in a dry smile. It was not, then, solely the desire for vengeance on the murderer of their kin that had prompted the half-breeds to distort the facts.

”They say his extra clothes and his outfit were in the cabin, only his rifle and fur missing. Now, Jean,” he continued, ”I am perfectly satisfied with your story. I believe every word of it. I knew your father and I know you. The Marcels are not liars. But the Lelacs are going to make trouble over the evidence they found at your camp.

Suspicion always points to the survivor in a starvation camp, and you know the circ.u.mstances are against you, my lad.”

”M'sieu,” Marcel protested. ”Eef I keel Antoine, I would tak' heem into de bush and hide heem, I would not worry ovair de fox and wolverine.”

”Of course you would have hidden the body somewhere. We appreciate that.

But as they are trying to put this thing on you they ignore that side of it. What you admit they found,--Antoine's body with a stab wound, and Piquet's outfit, makes it look bad to people who don't know you as we do. They won't believe that the famine got Piquet in the head. They'll say that's a tale you made up to get yourself off.”

Marcel went hot with anger. His impulse was to seek the Lelacs and have it out, then and there. But he possessed the cool judgment of a long line of ancestors whose lives had often depended on their heads, so he choked back his rage.

”Now I don't want it carried down the coast that you killed your partners, Jean,” went on Gillies. ”Young as you are, you'll never live it down. And besides, there's no knowing what the government might do.

I'll have to make a report, you know. So we've got to do some tall thinking between us before the hunters get in.”

While the factor talked, the swift brain of Marcel had struck upon a plan to trap and discredit the Lelacs, but he wished to think it over, alone, before proposing it at the trade-house, so held his tongue. When he was ready he would ask the factor to hold a hearing. Then he could put some questions to his accusers that would make them squirm. One question he did ask before packing his fur and outfit from the beach up to the Mission.

”Have de Lelac traded dere fur, M'sieu?”

”No, we haven't started the trade yet.”

”W'en dey trade dere fur weel you hold it from de oder fur, separate?”

”Why, yes, I'll do that for you, but you can't hope to identify skins, Jean.”

A corner of Marcel's mouth curled in a quizzical smile. ”Wait, M'sieu Gillies; I tell you later,” and with a ”Bon-soir!” he went out.

CHAPTER XXII

IN THE DEPTHS