The Golden Snare | Page 6

suit as no
other man in the big western city where he lived; now the sleeves of his
caribou skin coat were frayed and torn, his hands were knotted, in his
face were the lines of storm and wind.
"It is impossible," he said. "Bram Johnson is dead!"
"He is alive, M'sieu."
In Pierre's voice there was a strange tremble.
"If I had only HEARD, if I had not SEEN, you might disbelieve,
M'sieu," he cried, his eyes glowing with a dark fire. "Yes, I heard the
cry of the pack first, and I went to the door, and opened it, and stood
there listening and looking out into the night. UGH! they went near. I
could hear the hoofs of the caribou. And then I heard a great cry, a

voice that rose above the howl of the wolves like the voice of ten men,
and I knew that Bram Johnson was on the trail of meat. MON
DIEU--yes--he is alive. And that is not all. No. No. That is not all--"
His fingers were twitching. For the third or fourth time in the last
three-quarters of an hour Raine saw him fighting back a strange
excitement. His own incredulity was gone. He was beginning to believe
Pierre.
"And after that--you saw him?"
"Yes. I would not do again what I did then for all the foxes between the
Athabasca and the Bay, M'sieu. It must have been--I don't know what.
It dragged me out into the night. I followed. I found the trail of the
wolves, and I found the snowshoe tracks of a man. Oui. I still followed.
I came close to the kill, with the wind in my face, and I could hear the
snapping of jaws and the rending of flesh--yes--yes--AND A MAN'S
TERRIBLE LAUGH! If the wind had shifted--if that pack of devils'
souls had caught the smell of me--tonnerre de dieu!" He shuddered, and
the knuckles of his fingers snapped as he clenched and unclenched his
hands. "But I stayed there, M'sieu, half buried in a snow dune. They
went on after a long time. It was so dark I could not see them. I went to
the kill then, and--yes, he had carried away the two hind quarters of the
caribou. It was a bull, too, and heavy. I followed--clean across that strip
of Barren down to the timber, and it was there that Bram built himself
the fire. I could see him then, and I swear by the Blessed Virgin that it
was Bram! Long ago, before he killed the man, he came twice to my
cabin--and he had not changed. And around him, in the fire-glow, the
wolves huddled. It was then that I came to my reason. I could see him
fondling them. I could see their gleaming fangs. Yes, I could HEAR
their bodies, and he was talking to them and laughing with them
through his great beard--and I turned and fled back to the cabin,
running so swiftly that even the wolves would have had trouble in
catching me. And that--that--WAS NOT ALL!"
Again his fingers were clenching and unclenching as he stared at Raine.
"You believe me, M'sieu?"
Philip nodded.
"It seems impossible. And yet--you could not have been dreaming,
Pierre."
Breault drew a deep breath of satisfaction, and half rose to his feet.

"And you will believe me if I tell you the rest?"
"Yes."
Swiftly Pierre went to his bunk and returned with the caribou skin
pouch in which he carried his flint and steel and fire material for the
trail.
"The next day I went back, M'sieu," he said, seating himself again
opposite Philip. "Bram and his wolves were gone. He had slept in a
shelter of spruce boughs. And--and--par les mille cornes du diable if he
had even brushed the snow out! His great moccasin tracks were all
about among the tracks of the wolves, and they were big as the spoor of
a monster bear. I searched everywhere for something that he might
have left, and I found--at last--a rabbit snare."
Pierre Breault's eyes, and not his words--and the curious twisting and
interlocking of his long slim fingers about the caribou-skin bag in his
hand stirred Philip with the thrill of a tense and mysterious anticipation,
and as he waited, uttering no word, Pierre's fingers opened the sack,
and he said:
"A rabbit snare, M'sieu, which had dropped from his pocket into the
snow--"
In another moment he had given it into Philip's hands. The oil lamp was
hung straight above them. Its light flooded the table between them, and
from Philip's lips, as he stared at the snare, there broke a gasp of
amazement. Pierre had expected that cry. He had at first been
disbelieved; now his face burned with triumph. It