humour.
His freshly caught furs he flung to the floor. He pointed to them, and
his eyes were narrowed to menacing slits as they fell upon her.

"He was there again--that devil!" he growled. "See, he has spoiled the
fisher, and he has cleaned out my baits and knocked down the
trap-houses. Par les mille cornes du diable, but I will kill him! I
have sworn to cut him into bits with a knife when I catch him--and
catch him I will, to-morrow. See to it there--the skins--when you have
got me something to eat. Mend the fisher where he is torn in two, and
cover the seam well with fat so that the agent over at the post will
not discover it is bad. Tonnerre de Dieu!--that brat! Why do you always
keep his squalling until I come in? Answer me, Bete!"

Such was his greeting. He flung his snowshoes into a corner, stamped
the snow off his feet, and got himself a fresh plug of black tobacco
from a shelf over the stove. Then he went out again, leaving the woman
with a cold tremble in her heart and the wan desolation of hopelessness
in her face as she set about getting him food.

From the cabin Le Beau went to his dog-pit, a corral of saplings with a
shelter-shack in the centre of it. It was The Brute's boast that he had
the fiercest pack of sledge-dogs between Hudson Bay and the Athabasca.
It was his chief quarrel with Durant, his rival farther north; and his
ambition was to breed a pup that would kill the fighting husky which
Durant brought down to the Post with him each winter at New Year. This
season he had chosen Netah ("The Killer") for the big fight at God's
Lake. On the day he would gamble his money and his reputation against
Durant's, his dog would be just one month under two years of age. It
was Netah he called from out of the pack now.

The dog slunk to him with a low growl in his throat, and for the first
time something like joy shone in Le Beau's face. He loved to hear that
growl. He loved to see the red and treacherous glow in Netah's eyes,
and hear the menacing click of his jaws. Whatever of nobility might
have been in Netah's blood had been clubbed out by the man. They were
alike, in that their souls were dead. And Netah, for a dog, was a
devil. For that reason Le Beau had chosen him to fight the big fight.

Le Beau looked down at him, and drew a deep breath of satisfaction.

"OW! but you are looking fine, Netah," he exulted. "I can almost see
running blood in those devil-eyes of yours; OUI--red blood that smells
and