"
"An hour after he had gone, you could not see your hand before your
face," replied Ledoq, preparing his pack. "There is no doubt but that
he circled out over Lac Bain. We will go that far together, and then
search alone."
They went back over the mountain, and stopped when instinct told them
that they were opposite the spruce forests of the lake. There they
separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest,
Ledoq trailing slowly and hopelessly into the south.
It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the big snows
for the happiness of Melisse. What it was to Ledoq no man ever guessed
or knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that the
people at Lac Bain found what the foxes and the wolves had left of
him, far to the south.
Fearlessly Jan plunged into the white world of the lake. There was
neither rock nor tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy
ghost-raiment of the Indian god. The balsams were bending under it,
the spruces were breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was
twisted in noiseless torture under its increasing weight. Out through
the still terror of it all Jan's voice went in wild, echoing shouts.
Now and then he fired his rifle, and always he listened long and
intently.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198