“Ugh!  Le diable!” shuddered Durant.

Then he laughed.  It was a low, terrible laugh, half smothered in his coarse black beard, and it sent an odd chill through Miki.

He turned after that and went into the cabin.

Nanette rose to meet him, her great dark eyes glowing in a face dead white.  She had not yet risen above the shock of Le Beau’s tragic death, and yet in those eyes there was already something re-born.  It had not been there when Durant came to the cabin with Le Beau that afternoon.  He looked at her strangely as she stood with the baby in her arms.  She was another Nanette.  He felt uneasy.  Why was it that a few hours ago he had laughed boldly when her husband had cursed her and said vile things in her presence—­ and now he could not meet the steady gaze of her eyes?  Dieu! he had never before observed how lovely she was!  He drew himself together, and stated the business in his mind.

“You will not want the dog,” he said.  “I will take him away.”

Nanette did not answer.  She seemed scarcely to be breathing as she looked at him.  It seemed to him that she was waiting for him to explain; and then the inspiration to lie leapt into his mind.

“You know, there was to be the big fight between his dog and mine at Post Fort O’ God at the New Year carnival,” he went on, shuffling his heavy feet.  “For that, Jacques—­your husband—­was training the wild dog.  And when I saw that OOCHUN—­that wolf devil—­tearing at the bars of the cage I knew he would kill my dog as a fox kills a rabbit.  So we struck a bargain, and for the two cross foxes and the ten red which I have outside I bought him.”  (The VRAISEMBLANCE of his lie gave him courage.  It sounded like truth, and Jacques, the dead man, was not there to repudiate his claim.) “So he is mine,” he finished a little exultantly, “and I will take him to the Post, and will fight him against any dog or wolf in all the North.  Shall I bring in the skins, Madame?”

“He is not for sale,” said Nanette, the glow in her eyes deepening.  “He is my dog—­mine and the baby’s.  Do you understand, Henri Durant?  He is not for sale!”

“Oui,” gasped Durant, amazed.

“And when you reach Post Fort O’ God, m’sieu, you will tell Le FACTEUR that Jacques is dead, and how he died, and say that some one must be sent for the baby and me.  We will stay here until then.”

“Oui,” said Durant again, backing to the door.

He had never seen her like that.  He wondered how Jacques Le Beau could swear at her, and strike her.  For himself, he was afraid.  Standing there with those wonderful eyes and white face, with the baby in her arms, and her shining hair over her breasts, she made him think of a picture he had once seen of the Blessed Lady.

He went out through the door and back to the sapling cage where Miki lay.  Softly he spoke through the bars.