the frost clamped the doors
shut, and there was an end of all. Ah, m'sieu', when the north clinches
a man's heart in anger there is no pain like it--for a moment."

"Yes, yes; and Little Babiche?"

"For ten years he carried the mails along the route of Fort St. Mary,
Fort O'Glory, Fort St. Saviour, and Fort Perseverance within the
circle-just one mail once a year, but that was enough. There he was with
his Esquimaux dogs on the trail, going and coming, with a laugh and a
word for anyone that crossed his track. 'Good-day, Babiche' 'Good-day,
m'sieu'.' 'How do you, Babiche?' 'Well, thank the Lord, m'sieu'.' 'Where
to and where from, Babiche?' 'To the Great Fort by the old trail,
from the Far-off River, m'sieu'.' 'Come safe along, Babiche.' 'Merci,
m'sieu'; the good God travels north, m'sieu'.' 'Adieu, Babiche.' 'Adieu,
m'sieu'.' That is about the way of the thing, year after year. Sometimes
a night at a hut or a post, but mostly alone--alone, except for the
dogs. He slept with them, and they slept on the mails--to guard: as
though there should be highwaymen on the Prairie of the Ten Stars! But
no, it was his way, m'sieu'. Now and again I crossed him on the trail,
for have I not travelled to every corner of the north? We were not so
great friends, for--well, Babiche is a man who says his aves, and never
was a loafer, and there was no reason why he should have love for me;
but we were good company when we met. I knew him when he was a boy down
on the Chaudiere, and he always had a heart like a lion-and a woman.
I had seen him fight, I had seen him suffer cold, and I had heard him
sing.

"Well, I was up last fall to Fort St. Saviour. Ho, how dull was it!
Macgregor, the trader there, has brains like rubber. So I said, I will
go down to Fort O'Glory. I knew someone would be there--it is nearer the
world. So I started away with four dogs and plenty of jerked buffalo,
and so much brown brandy as Macgregor could squeeze out of his eye!
Never, never were there such days--the frost shaking like steel and
silver as it powdered the sunlight, the white level of snow lifting and
falling, and falling and lifting, the sky so great a travel away, the
air which made you cry out with pain one minute and gave you joy the
next. And all so wild, so lonely! Yet I have seen hanging in those
plains cities all blue and red with millions of lights showing, and
voices, voices everywhere, like the singing of soft masses. After a
time in that cold