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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Look at the boy," laughed Archange. "He will not want to go to the lodges any more after dark." The widow remarked, noting Michel's fat legs and arms, "Windigo like to eat him." "I would kill a windigo," declared Michel, in full revolt. "Not so easy to kill a windigo. Bad spirits help windigos. If man kill windigo and not tear him to pieces, he come to life again."
People who did not give Archange the keen interest of fascinating them were a great weariness to her. Humble or wretched human life filled her with disgust. She could dance all night at the weekly dances, laughing in her sleeve at girls from whom she took the best partners. But she never helped nurse a sick child, and it made her sleepy to hear of windigos and misery.
"Did you see her?" "No, I smell her." Archange had heard of the atmosphere which windigos far gone in cannibalism carried around them. She desired to know nothing more about the poor creature, or the class to which the poor creature belonged, if such isolated beings may be classed.
It was told that the windigo, who entered his house again in the night, must have made way with him. Jacques Repentigny heard this with some amusement. Of windigos he had no experience, but he had hunted and camped much of the summer with Louizon. "I do not think he would let himself be knocked on the head by a woman," said Jacques.
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