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Tom was acquainted with a considerable number of Windego superstitions. "There's no danger unless it's a fresh track," he said. "Perhaps it's an old one." "Fresh made dis mornin'," said Baptiste. "Well, wait till I go and see it. You're all right, you know, if you don't cross it. Isn't that the idea?" "No, seh. Mr. Humphreys told Madore 'bout dat.
Then, collecting his prisoner's axe, snow-shoes, provisions, and tin pail, Tom started with them back along the Windego track for camp. Big Baptiste and his comrades had supped too full of fears to go to sleep. They had built an enormous fire, because Windegos are reported, in Indian circles, to share with wild beasts the dread of flames and brands.
Though the sun was sinking in clear blue, the aspect of the wilderness, gray and white and severe, touched the impressionable men with deeper melancholy. They felt lonely, masterless, mean. "He was a good boss," said Jawnny again. "Tort Dieu!" cried Baptiste, leaping to his feet. "It's a shame to desert the young boss. I don't care; the Windego can only kill me. I'm going to help Mr. Tom."
Man, he helped me to fix up that Windego track at Madore's; but, by criminy! the look of it scared him so he wouldn't cross it himself. It was a holy terror!"
"That was all nonsense about Dubois. I'll bet it was a joke to scare you all." "Who 's kill a man for a joke?" said Baptiste. "Did you see Hermidas Dubois killed? Did you see him dead? No! I heard all about it. All you know is that he went away on New Year's morning, when the rest of the men were too scared to leave the shanty, because some one said there was a Windego track outside."
Old Dan McEachran will make your fortun' for this, and I don't begrudge it. You're a man that's so. If ever I hear any feller saying to the contrayry he's got to lick Red Dick Humphreys." And he told them the particulars of his practical joke in making a Windego track round Madore's shanty. "Hermidas Dubois? oh, he's all right," said Red Dick. "He's at home at St. Agathe.
"Do you mean you have seen a Windego track?" "Monjee, seh, don't say its name! Let us go back," said Jawnny. "Baptiste was at Madores' shanty with us when it took Hermidas Dubois." "Yesseh. That's de way I'll come for know de track soon 's I see it," said Baptiste. "Before den I mos' don' b'lieve dere was any of it. But ain't it take Hermidas Dubois only last New Year's?"
"I wish Big Baptiste could see that Windego laugh," thought Tom Dunscombe, concealed behind a tree. After reflecting a few moments, the red-headed man, a wiry little fellow, went forward till he came to where an old pine had recently fallen across the track.
"If you'll not b'lieve what I told, den you go'n' see for you'se'f." "What is it?" "De track, seh." "What track? Wolves?" "If it was only wolfs!" "Confound you! can't you say what it is?" "Eet's de It ain't safe for told its name out loud, for dass de way it come if it's call by its name!" "Windego, eh?" said Tom, laughing. "I'll know its track jus' as quick 's I see it."
Baptiste and Jawnny looked at the place with the wildest terror, and without even thinking to search the deeply indented opposite edges of the little pool for a reappearance of the tracks, fled back to the party. It was just as Red Dick Humphreys had said; just as they had always heard. Tom, like Hermidas Dubois, appeared to have vanished from existence the moment he stepped on the Windego track!
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