"
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.
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