You remember?"
"I remember," said Jan.
He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of
the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the
end of summer evenings.
"And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "God
forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea."
Croisset shrugged his shoulders.
"Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La
charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and
one--"
A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he
stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if
just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror.
As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side.
"Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried
shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose,
when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he
whispered, as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable,
do you want to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see
what had happened.
"Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling
sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her
liniment.
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