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Updated: June 7, 2025
They had progressed not more than three hundred yards when there came to them for a third time the hallooing of a voice. With a sharp "hup, hup," and a low crack of his whip Jean stopped the dogs. "The Virgin be praised, but that is luck!" he exclaimed. "They have turned off into another trail to the east, M'seur.
Meleese came to me to Jean Croisset and instead of planning your murder, M'seur, she schemed to save your life with me who would have cut you into bits no larger than my finger and fed you to the carrion ravens, who would have choked the life out of you until your eyes bulged in death, as I choked that one up on the Great Slave! Do you understand, M'seur?
He darted in again, in his old, quick, cat-like way, and received a blow that dazed him. This time he kept his feet. "I am sure now that I am going to kill you, M'seur," he said, as coolly as before. There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was not excited. He was not afraid.
It was Meleese who came and pleaded with me to save your life before you had left Chicago, before she had heard more of you than your name, before " Croisset hesitated, and stopped. "Before what, Jean?" "Before she had learned to love you, M'seur." "God bless her!" exclaimed Howland. "You believe this, M'seur?" "As I believe in a God."
To Howland it was not the thought that his life was saved that came with the greatest force, but the thought of Meleese, the knowledge that in that hour when all seemed to be lost she was nearer to him than ever. He leaned half over the table, his hands clenched, his eyes blazing. Jean did not understand, for he went on quickly. "I know it is hard, M'seur.
They had traveled for several hours when Croisset gave a sudden shrill shout to the rearmost sledge and halted his own. The dogs fell in a panting group on the snow, and while they were resting the half-breed relieved his prisoner of the soft buckskin that had been used as a gag. "It will be perfectly safe for you to talk now, M'seur, and to shout as loudly as you please," he said.
It means that as surely as the dogs carry us there you will never come back. Mon Dieu, your death is certain!" Howland turned briskly to the stove. "Hungry, Jean?" he asked more companionably. "Let's not quarrel, man. You've had your fun, and now I'm going to have mine. Have you had breakfast?" "I was anticipating that pleasure with you, M'seur," replied Jean with grim humor.
Perhaps you can not understand such a love, M'seur; I know that it can not be understood down in that world which you call civilization, for I have been there and have seen. We would have died for the little Meleese, and the other Meleese, her mother.
And in failing he went mad mad with that passion of the race I have seen in Montreal, and then ah, the Great God, M'seur, do you not understand what happened next?" Croisset lifted his head, his face twisted in a torture that was half grief, half madness, and stared at Howland, with quivering nostrils and heaving chest.
And after that I closed on his throat until he was dead, and my dogs dragged his body through three hundred miles of snow that the others might look on him and know that he was dead. That was six years ago, M'seur." Howland was scarcely breathing. "And the other the son " he whispered densely. "You found him, Croisset? You killed him?" "What would you have done, M'seur?"
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