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WHEN Jules left Fond du Lac he intended to strike off south of east back to his own country, but something forced him to go across Bear Lake. He reached the wooded island and looked back. At the edge of the lake, four miles away, he saw many specks coming toward him fast. “Dat fille, she tell!” he ejaculated, and thought a moment, then hurried on round the base of the woods, keeping on the ice and making a broad trail. Half-way round he took off his snow-shoes under a big pine, then pulled himself up carefully in the branches. He worked his way, swinging from tree to tree, for a hundred yards, then dropped lightly, ran to the other side of the island, and crawled under some thick young spruce.
Voices came in a few minutes, and he saw the Indians stop in front of him and wait for those that came on behind. When all were together, they crept forward carefully in a mass on his trail, and disappeared round the point of the woods.
Jules waited a few moments longer, then darted with wonderful speed across to the mainland, half a mile away. Under cover of its protecting shadows he laughed, put on the snow-shoes again, and travelled on, following the dense timber by the edge of the lake. He looked across and saw the Indians hunting about and gesticulating under the pine that he had climbed. He laughed again. “You h’all no catch Jules Verbaux,” he said grimly.
In a little while Petite Rivière de l’Ours (Little Bear River) twined its way at his feet to the southward. The cold roar of rushing waters filled the quiet air. Just below, a quick water was open, and the freezing current dashed on among rocks and ice banks, the silver crest of each rapid wavelet shining with a thousand sparkles in the afternoon sunlight. Jules went down on the ice to where the live water came from under the snow, took the thonged hoops from his feet, slung them over his back, and stepped into the chilling flow.
“Ugh!” he said as it penetrated instantly to the bone with numbing effect. It was not deep,—just over his knees,—and he walked on down, keeping close to the banks, out of the strongest current. The water was ice free for a quarter of a mile, and when he stepped out of it and put on his snow-shoes his legs ached with the cold. “B’en! Comme den, vous autres, fin’ Jules’s track, hein?” he said aloud, and went on into the forests, stamping his feet vigorously and sending up myriads of snow particles that eddied lightly in his wake, then settled again on the crust.