"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
engaging cheerfulness.

"Shall I be sent out at once, do you think?"

"I don' know. Sometam' dat ole man ver' queek. Sometam' he ver' slow.
One day Injun mak' heem ver' mad; he let heem go, and shot dat Injun
right off. Noder tam he get mad on one _voyageur_, but he don' keel
heem queek; he bring heem here, mak' heem stay in dose warm room, feed
heem dose plaintee grub. Purty soon dose _voyageur_ is get fat, is go
sof; he no good for dose trail. Ole man he mak' heem go ver' far off,
mos' to Whale Reever. Eet is plaintee cole. Dat _voyageur_, he freeze
to hees inside. Dey tell me he feex heem like dat."

"Achille, you haven't anything against me--do you want me to die?"

The half-breed flashed his white teeth.

"_Ba non_," he replied, carelessly. "For w'at I want dat you die? I
t'ink you bus' up bad; _vous avez la mauvaise fortune_."

"Listen. I have nothing with me; but out at the front I am very rich.
I will give you a hundred dollars, if you will help me to get away."

"I can' do eet," smiled Picard.

"Why not?"

"Ole man he fin' dat out. He is wan devil, dat ole man. I lak
firs'-rate help you; I lak' dat hundred dollar. On Ojibway countree
dey make hees nam' _Wagosh_--dat mean fox. He know everyt'ing."

"I'll make it two hundred--three hundred--five hundred."

"W'at you wan' me do?" hesitated Achille Picard at the last figure.

"Get me a rifle and some cartridges."

The half-breed rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled a deep
breath.

"I can' do eet," he declared. "I can' do eet for t'ousand dollar--ten
t'ousand. I don't t'ink you fin' anywan on dis settlement w'at can
dare do eet. He is wan devil. He's count all de carabine on dis pos',
an' w'en he is mees wan, he fin' out purty queek who is tak' heem."

"Steal one from someone else," suggested Trent.

"He fin' out jess sam'," objected the half-breed, obstinately. "You
don' know heem. He mak' you geev yourself away, w