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Updated: May 7, 2025
Mon Dieu, she has had enough sledge-riding of late, and I doubt if she will find pleasure in her dogs for a long time." "I had planned to use you," said Howland, "but I've lost faith in you. Honestly, Croisset, I believe you would stick me in the back almost as quickly as those murderers down there." "Not in the back, M'seur," smiled the Frenchman, unmoved. "I have had opportunities to do that.
And also, M'seur, we would have killed our own brothers had they as much as spoken a word against them or cast at the mother even as much as a look which was not the purest. That is how we loved her sixteen years ago this winter, M'seur, and that is how we love her memory still." "She is dead," uttered Howland, forgetting in these tense moments the significance Jean's story might hold for him.
"I am going to kill you, M'seur," he repeated again. Howland dropped his arms, his fingers relaxed, and he forced his breath between his lips as if he were on the point of exhaustion. There were still a few tricks in his science, and these, he knew, were about his last cards. He backed into a corner, and Jean followed, his eyes flashing a steely light, his body growing more and more tense.
And why not? Is it because Meleese is among this gang of cut-throats and murderers? Pish, my dear Jean, you must be a fool. They tried to kill me on the trail, tried it again in the coyote, and you came back here determined to kill me. You've held the whip-hand from the first. Now it's mine. I swear that if I take you back to the Wekusko we'll get you all." "If, M'seur?" "Yes if."
"And who is Mariane, Jean? Will she also be in at the 'kill?" "Mariane is my wife, M'seur. Ah, ma belle Mariane ma cheri the daughter of an Indian princess and the granddaughter of a chef de bataillon, M'seur! Could there be better than that? And she is be-e-e-utiful, M'seur, with hair like the top side of a raven's wing with the sun shining on it, and " "You love her a great deal, Jean."
"M'seur," he said softly, "I can not help liking you, though I know that I should have killed you long ago. I tell you again that if you go into the North there is only one chance in a hundred that you will come back alive. Great God, M'seur, up where you wish to go the very trees will fall on you and the carrion ravens pick, out your eyes! And that chance that one chance in a hundred, M'seur "
"These are their names, M'seur the names of the two who destroyed the paradise that our Blessed Lady gave to us many years ago." In an instant Howland had read the lines. His blood seemed to dry in his veins and his heart to stand still. For these were the words he read: "On this day there came to our post, from the Churchill way, John Howland and his son."
It was the eldest brother who thought of her as a lure to bring you out of the town into their hands, and not until the last moment, when they were ready to leave for the South, did she overhear words that aroused her suspicions that they were about to kill you. It was then, M'seur, that she came to me." "And you, Jean?"
She was between two great loves, M'seur the love for her brothers and " Again Jean hesitated. "And her love for me," finished Howland. "Yes, her love for you, M'seur." The two men rose from the table, and for a moment stood with clasped hands in the smoky light of lamp and dawn.
Croisset was smiling at him again. "Smoke and think, M'seur. It is impossible for me to tell you why you should be dead but you ought to know, unless your memory is shorter than a child's." He went to the dogs, stirring them up with the cracking of his whip, and when Howland turned to look back he saw a bright flare of light where the other sledge had stopped.
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