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Updated: May 31, 2025
Jean's eyes roved about as Iowaka kneeled beside him. "What a fight!" he gasped. "See the footprints a big man and a small boy, and the murderer has gone on a sledge!" "He is warm," said Iowaka. "It may be that he is not dead." Jean de Gravois sprang to his feet, his little black eyes flashing with a dangerous fire.
He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed the blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance came.
I immediately procured a horse and started for the country, taking no baggage with me, of course. There is an insignificant creek the Gravois between Jefferson Barracks and the place to which I was going, and at that day there was not a bridge over it from its source to its mouth.
From where he had made his attack, he followed the almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his Malemutes until he came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de Gravois had spoken the truth, for he found the missionary with his face half buried in the slush, stark dead. He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words.
First, there was Madame Gravois' story to listen to as she bustled about giving orders to a kinky-haired negro girl concerning my dinner. Then came the dinner, excellent if I could have eaten it. The virtues of the former Monsieur Gravois were legion. He had come to Louisiana from Toulon, planted indigo, fought a duel, and Madame was a widow. So I condense two hours into two lines.
We stood on in the same direction until midnight, when, having brought the high rocky islet of Navaza far enough on our weather quarter to go to windward of it on the other tack, we hove about, standing to the southward and eastward for the remainder of the night. Daylight next morning found us with Point a Gravois broad on our weather bow and distant about twenty miles.
"Perhaps, Jan Thoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean de Gravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you will find him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make it in four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of the barrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north."
He'd resigned from the army on the Pacific Coast. He put up a log cabin down on the Gravois Road, and there he lived in the hardest luck of any man I ever saw until last year. You remember him, Joe." "Yep," said Joe. "I spotted him by the El Sol cigar.
A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face to face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His eyes glittered like black diamonds. "Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him. "He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face. "Run along to the post, ma belle Melisse."
He turned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling and shrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreau understands?" he said, and passed out. When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in a fever. "Devil take that Gravois!" he growled. "He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him."
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