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 tak’ de wheeskey to de Clearwater an’ go on to Snare Lake.”

This time it was Xavier’s eyes that flashed a hint of fear. “Non!” he answered quickly.  “Lapierre, she——­”

The other silenced him, speaking rapidly.  “Lapierre, she t’ink she mak’ us w’at you call, de double cross!” Xavier noted that the malignant eyes flashed dangerously—­“Lapierre, she sma’t but me—­I’m sma’t too.  Dere’s plent’ men ‘long de revair lak’ to see de las’ of Pierre Lapierre.  And plent’ Injun in de Nort’ dey lak’ dat too.  But dey ‘fraid to keel him.  We do de work—­Lapierre she tak’ de money. Sacre!  Me—­I’m ’fraid, too.”  He paused and shrugged significantly.  “But som’ day I’m git de chance an’ den leetle Du Mont she dismees Lapierre from de serveece.  Den me—­I’m de bos’. Bien!”

The other glanced at him in admiration.

“Me, I’m goin’ ‘long to Snare Lake,” he said, “but firs’ we stop on Baptiste Chambre an’ mak’ de beeg dronk, eh!” The smaller man nodded, and the two sought their blankets and were soon sleeping silently beside the blazing fire.

A week later the two rivermen paused at the edge of a thicket that commanded the approach to Brown’s abandoned cabin on the Clearwater.  The threatened storm had broken while they were still at Baptiste Chambre’s cabin, and the two days’ debauch had lengthened into five.