camp on dees side. T'mor' we
cross to de mout' of de leetle creek, and two pipe beyon' we com' on de
cabin of Baptiste Chambre."

The smaller man frowned. He, too, was a riverman, tough and wiry and
small. A man whose pinched, wizened body was a fitting cloister for
the warped soul that flashed malignantly from the beady, snakelike eyes.

"_Non, non_!" he cried, and the venomous glance of the beady eyes was
not unmingled with fear. "We ke'p straight on pas' de beeg swamp.
Me--I'm no lak' dees wintaire trail." He pointed meaningly toward the
marks of the sled in the snow.

The other laughed derisively. "_Sacre_! you leetle man, you Du Mont,
you 'fraid!"

The other shrugged. "I'm 'fraid, _Oui_, I'm lak' I ke'p out de jail.
Tostoff, she say, you com' on de cabin of Brown de Chrees'mas Day.
_Bien_! Tostoff, she sma't mans. Lapierre, too. Tostoff, she 'fraid
for de wintaire trail, but she 'fraid for Lapierre mor'."

Xavier interrupted him. "_Tra la_, Chrees'mas Day! Ain't we got de
easy trail? Two days befor' Chrees'mas we com' on de cabin of Brown.
Baptiste Chambre, she got de beeg jug rum. We mak' de grand dronk--one
day--one night. Den we hit de trail an com' on de Clearwater
Chrees'mas Day sam' lak' now. Tostoff, de Russ, she nevair know,
Lapierre, she nevair know. _Voila_!"

Still the other objected. "Mebe so com' de storm. What den? We was'e
de time wit' Baptiste Chambre. We no mak' de Clearwater de Chrees'mas
Day--eh?"

Xavier growled. "De Chrees'mas Day, damn! We no mak' de Chrees'mas
Day, we mak' som' odder day. Lapierre's damn' Injuns com' for de
wheeskey on Chrees'mas Day, she haf to wait. Me--I'm goin' to Baptiste
Chambre. I'm goin' for mak' de beeg dronk. If de snow com' and de dog
can't pull, I'm tak' dees leetle piece on ma back to the Clearwater."

He reached down contemptuously and swung the piece containing ten
gallons of whiskey to his shoulder with one hand, then lowered it again
to the sled.

"You know w'at I'm hear on de revair?" he asked, stepping closer to Du
Mont's side and lowering his voice. "I'm hearin' MacNair ees een de
jail. I'm hearin' Lapierre she pass de word to hit for Snare Lake, for
deeg de gol'."

"Did Lapierre tell you to deeg de gol', or me? _Non_. He say, you go
to Tostoff." The snakelike eyes of the smaller man glittered at the
mention of gold. He clutched at the other's arm and cried out sharply:

"MacNair arres'! _Sacre_! Com', we t