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rotective log fence; the fort itself, a medley of heavy-timbered stockades and square block-houses. After a moment he resumed his strolling. Everywhere he went the people looked at him, ceasing their varied occupations. No one spoke to him, no one hindered him. To all intents and purposes he was as free as the air. But all about the island flowed the barrier of the Moose, and beyond frowned the wilderness--strong as iron bars to an unarmed man. Brooding on his imprisonment the Free Trader forgot his surroundings. The post, the river, the forest, the distant bay faded from his sight, and he fell into deep reflection. There remained nothing of physical consciousness but a sense of the grateful spring warmth from the declining sun. At length he became vaguely aware of something else. He glanced up. Right by him he saw a handsome French half-breed sprawled out in the sun against a building, looking him straight in the face and flashing up at him a friendly smile. "Hullo," said Achille Picard, "you mus' been 'sleep. I call you two t'ree tam." The prisoner seemed to find something grateful in the greeting even from the enemy's camp. Perhaps it merely happened upon the psychological moment for a response. "Hullo," he returned, and seated himself by the man's side, lazily stretching himself in enjoyment of the reflected heat. "You is come off Kettle Portage, eh," said Achille, "I t'ink so. You is come trade dose fur? Eet is bad beez-ness, dis Conjur' House. Ole' man he no lak' dat you trade dose fur. He's very hard, dat ole man." "Yes," replied the stranger, "he has got to be, I suppose. This is the country of _la Longue Traverse_." "I beleef you," responded Achille, cheerfully; "w'at you call heem your nam'?" "Ned Trent." "Me Achille--Achille Picard. I capitaine of dose dogs on dat winter _brigade_." "It is a hard post. The winter travel is pretty tough." "I beleef you." "Better to take _la Longue Traverse_ in summer, eh?" "_La Longue Traverse_--hees not mattaire w'en yo tak heem." "Right you are. Have there been men sent out since you came here?" "_Ba oui_. Wan, two, t'ree. I don' remember. I t'ink Jo Bagneau. Nobodee he don' know, but dat ole man an' hees _coureurs du bois_. He ees wan ver' great man. Nobodee is know w'at he will do." "I'm due to hit that trail myself, I suppose," said Ned Trent. "I have t'ink so," acknowledged Achille, still with a tone of most
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