A. M. Chisholm

“ IF you journey down the Little Pigeon by canoe from the height o' land, you shall come at sunset—if you have had moderate luck with rapids and the like—to a huge pine standing by the bank of the river on a tempting little flat. It is towering, enormous, a giant of its kind, rough-barked and venerable. It is heavily topped, and standing beneath it you may look up at a dense canopy of dark green, with never a glint of sunshine or sky striking through. ”

“ Clamped on them, emerging from the leaves like a wild beast from its lair, came an enormous bear trap, toothed, two-springed, a hideous engine of torture and destruction. The high, backward bound was suddenly checked—so suddenly that McLeod was jerked forward and fell on his face. The trap was held by a chain fastened solidly.
A paradox of life is that only the little things of it find adequate expression in action and in speech. The big things stun and numb. A man will jump and swear at a pin prick; he will receive his death wound in dumb wonder. ”

“ Latour sat on a log in the swiftly descending twilight. He did not rise as McLeod stood in front of him.
“This is folly, Latour,” said the latter. “I am stronger than you, and I am a fighting man as well. I do not say it to boast, but I have beaten better men than you. You have felt my strength. Let us not be foolish. Set a price on the skin, and I will pay it and be done.” ”

“ So for three days McLeod put all his splendid strength into the paddle from daylight to dark; driving the slim craft downstream swiftly and steadily, taking bad water with the good, surging through rapids where the teeth of sunken rocks tore the racing current not a handbreadth from the frail skin of the flying canoe, and the upflung spray from great, blockading bowlders blew across his face. ”

“ Play or fight for thrice the value of it, if you win!” But Latour turned away, cursing. The mockery beneath the words stung him. This McLeod, so sure, so self-confident, with his lightly flung gibes—after he had settled matters with Kathleen he would reckon with him.
His canoe unloaded and the cargo safely bestowed, he made a complete change of garments, putting on the garb of civilization that cramped and hindered the free play of his great muscles and supple limbs; and thus attired for conquest, with the skin of the silver fox neatly parceled under his arm, he sought Kathleen Burke. ”

“ Later, when his wooing was done, he would fight for the pure fun of it, to see which was the better man.
“Then it will be too late,” said McLeod. “And I never fight without good cause. So it would seem that, after all, I am not to have the skin. But suppose, Latour, your wooing does not prosper. Why look so black, man? There's many a slip 'twixt lip and lip, mon brave. True, also, that absence does not always make the heart grow fonder, and that while the cat is away the mice will play. ”

“ For there was Kathleen—Kathleen Burke, the daughter of Dennis Burke of the Landing—Kathleen with the great coils of golden-bronze hair, the cheeks of milk and wild roses, the eyes that mocked him waking and invited him softly in his lonely dreams through the interminable winter. ”

“ The trap struck Latour in the face, cutting his cheek, and sending him to the ground. With a lithe movement the half-breed rolled over and away. At the end of the chain McLeod raged like a frenzied dog, struggling to get at him.
Latour sat upon the log at a safe distance.
“Bon!” said he,. “bon! That is like a man. So I would have done. It is beeg pity m'sieu' would not fight.” ”

“ Latour showed his teeth. “M'sieu', per'aps, does not know who I am, I am Pierre Latour—Latour Noir!”
The stranger did not seem impressed.
“My name is Roderick McLeod. You will take up my offer?”
But no. The offer was fair enough. He, Latour, had never been beaten. M'sieu' McLeod was big and strong. It would be a good fight. Men would talk of it for years. But he had not come to the Landing to fight, but for a softer game. A battered lover, even if victorious, made a poor wooer. The skin of the fox was necessary to him. ”

“ Coming then at about the hour of sunset—which is the time when the sensible man thinks of making camp—to the big tree and this little flat so manifestly intended by Providence to spread blankets upon, the chances are that you will make the suggestion over your shoulder to the man in the other end of the canoe. But if he be Felix Desjardalais or Onesime Charron or Flatfoot McCarty or Moise Stick, or any one of the native born who use the Little Pigeon, he will tell you that it is not a good camping spot—which is manifestly a lie—and lean strongly against his paddle. ”

“ Bred to the long trail from his babyhood, inured to hardship, seasoned to danger, cunning in the craft of the wilderness, owing a temper that flamed to white heat at a wrong, real or fancied; vengeful, capable of any cold-blooded cruelty, he was admired and yet shunned by the men of the woods. ”

“ Revenons à nos moutons, or, to be more exact, to our fox skin. Alas, my friend, I am afraid that you will lose money, for furs vary in price. One year a certain fur is up; the next year it is down. And why? Because of fashion. And who sets the fashion? The ladies, God bless them! But just now it seems that the ladies do not like the fur of the silver fox. Therefore, I cannot offer you——”
Latour struck him on the mouth. The next instant McLeod had him by wrist and throat and slammed him up against the log wall with a force that almost drove the breath from his body. ”

“ It is clear as noonday that one lady must be disappointed. The only question is—which?”
Latour smiled unwillingly, and responded:
“I have sorrow, but it mus' be the lady of m'sieu'.”
“That,” said the stranger, “I am not so sure of. I usually get what I go after, and if this skin is a good one I want it. Will you show it to me?”
Latour did so. The stranger stroked the glistening fur and nodded.
“The skin is prime. Put your own price on it.”
“I do not sell.”
“Double the price. I will toss a coin, cut a pack of cards, or play you any game you like for the skin against its double value.” ”

“ Streams of aching, intolerable anguish running up his arms brought the grim reality home. The pain gripped the very fibers of his being, turning him weak and sick, A deadly fear, the first real fear he had ever known, clutched at his heart. ”

“ He would give her the silver fox skin, and he would ask her to marry him, taking her in his arms and kissing her lips, and she would consent. If she did not—ah, but he was no foolish youngster to let a girl say no to him. He was Pierre-Latour—Latour Noir, a man grown, and a dangerous one. Was there one within five hundred miles as strong, as swift of foot, as good a fighter,-as cunning, and as fearless? ”

“ I lay this upon you, that when your end comes you shall see my face among the shadows beside you, and you shall tell to strangers the story of these days and nights, and go before God with the tale hot on your soul's lips!”
Latour laughed hollowly, for the words and their certainty chilled him.
“I shall die when my time comes, an' not before,” he said. “I have not fear, me. I am afraid of not'ing, A leetle while, an' Kat'leen will tire of waiting for the yellow fox. Then we will marry an' live until we are ol'.”
Then in McLeod's dying eyes the old fire of mockery lit for an instant. ”

“ M'sieu' the yellow fox will die——” He paused and considered. “Will m'sieu' say when he hopes to marry?”
McLeod laughed at him. “A barking dog! Will it help you to know? Then not before next spring. That will give you a margin of prophecy.”
“The yellow fox,” said Latour, “will never see the spring. He will die before the first snow.” He said it with absolute certainty, smiling to himself, the evil, turbulent soul of him looking from his eyes.
McLeod laughed once more harshly. “Threatened men live long, Monsieur le Métis. ”

“ Under its bushy top the ground, carpeted with fallen brown needles, is always dry. Far below, reaching out thirstily, its roots drink from living springs and from the river itself. On every side, save riverward, the little flat on which it stands is sheltered by wood of smaller growth—maple, birch, poplar, alder, and willow. ”

“ Through this lesser growth run the game trails, winding through swamps, through second growths, through hardwood, over Norway ridges, dipping down and rising up until they become faint, less trodden, and finally vanish. ”

“ Latour made a lordly gesture. “What do I care? There are other, greater things. An' I am not a man to mak' poor gifts where I love.”
“Where you——” She paused, amazed and indignant. Recently she had heard things about him which, if true, forbade even toleration.
He nodded.
“Where I love—yas. I have love' you since a long tam, Kat'leen. I have watch' you grow to a woman, an' I have said not'ing. But all winter while I dwell in my leetle cabane in the beeg snows, I see your face each night in the fire. When I dream it ees of you. ”

“ No, he reflected, eying the bale in which the fox pelt was carefully wrapped, he would not go back. He had trapped wickedly, wastefully as was his custom, fur-bearing female as well as male. But there was much country. When one place was exhausted, he would go to another. This one he would leave to old Baptiste. The leavings were good enough for a Cree. Perhaps next winter he would not trap at all, or, at any rate, not alone. ”

“ Latour nodded. “For a mont' I have watch' M'sieu' day an' night. It is two, t'ree days since I set the trap. Las' night I am hidden close by.”
“You devil! You devil!”
“I set the trap, an' I catch the fox. Aha! I am good trapper, me, you bet. But it is easy. M'sieu' loves to sleep soft. Each night he rakes leaves for a bed. I have seen heem. So then I gather leaves for hees bed. Under them I place the trap. It is easy, lak to roll from one log. He comes, he takes the bait. Well, it is the feenish for m'sieu'.”
“You devil!” said McLeod again. ”

“ He had offered to fight for the skin.
“As you like,” he answered. “When will you take your pay?”
“I am poor man,' said Latour. “I will tak' heem to-night.” He stooped and picked up the fox pelt, stroking the fur lovingly. “The silver fox he is not plentee. It ees but two I have skin' since I am alive. But never have I skin' one yellow fox. That will be great pleasure—yas. Mees Kat'leen, au revoir. ”

“ Latour said softly, “ees one beeg, yellow coward. He ees strong—oh, yas!—an' he will fight one not so strong wit' hees fist or choke heem, but he fears the fight w'at is mak' even wit' leetle piece of steel. He is scare' that he will lose the life that is in hes beeg body.”
Roderick McLeod glared at him. ”