It had continued to rain, and it was coming down hard by this time, a cold, driving rain from the north, that would check the forest fire if it lasted long enough. Larue’s camp was a miserable1 place, and far from water-tight.
“We must ask them to come home with us,” Alice whispered to Bob. “We can’t let the poor wretches2 stay here in the rain.”
Bob looked startled and a little reluctant, but Alice gave the invitation without waiting for him to object.
“Mademoiselle is as good as ze angels,” said Mrs. Larue. “Certainely we be glad to go, is it not, Baptiste?”
“Maybe it rain for two—tree days,” said the squatter3, regarding the sky. “Put ze fire out—good! But zis is terrible poor camp. Oui, we go, and many t’anks!”
He put some of his most perishable4 possessions in his boat, covered the rest well with bark and boughs5, and took his family on board. It was raining in torrents6 when they passed the clearing again on their way back, and everything was a mist of smoke, steam, and rain. But both the house and barn were still standing7, and did not appear to be now on fire.
It was a pretty tight fit for seven of them in the Harmans’ cabin, and rather a severe strain on the larder8. But Bob went down to the river and caught a dozen trout9. Larue sallied into the woods and came back in an hour, soaked like a sponge, but bringing with him five partridges. Mrs. Larue lent a hand at the cookery, and they produced a meal that was at any rate abundant.
All that afternoon it rained, and, as Bob said, every drop was worth a dollar to that imperiled forest country.
“We’ll be able to put our bees back off the island as soon as it lets up,” said Carl. “The ground’ll be cooled off pretty well again. You know, Larue,” he added, “we had a fire of our own yesterday. Nearly burned up our bees at the lake.”
“Yes, and we fancied we saw you through the smoke. But most likely it wasn’t,” said Bob.
Larue had been talking volubly and gaily10, but his face suddenly fell.
“Yes, I guess you see me,” he said, looking sheepish. “By gar, I am a beast, an assassin. But I have some bad viskey in me yesterday, and I know no better.”
“I thought so,” said Bob, quietly. “Larue, what did you want to burn us out for?”
“Surely you didn’t start the fire!” cried Carl, staring.
“Voila!” said the half-breed, contritely11. “It was one rotten treek. But, you see, you catch me in bear trap. Your bees sting my cow, kill my hen, sting my dog, sting me mos’ to death. So I see ze bee-boxes up there all alone, and I say, ‘He sting me no more, by gar!’ So I light fires—here, dere, many places at once.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it of you, Larue!” cried Carl indignantly.
“Sure, I sorry I do it now. But, you know, I have ze viskey in me yesterday. I get turned round in ze smoke, nearly get caught by ze fire myself. I see you rafting off ze bee-boxes, and I guess you see me too. And then—ze fire spread and spread, and ze wind he rise, and go clear to ze slough12 and burn my house.”
“I guess you’re punished for it,” said Bob. “But we never meant to quarrel with you or do you any harm. You took our honey, you know, and you got stung when the bees went to bring it back. And we didn’t set the trap to catch you. We thought it was some wild animal, from the tracks you made.”
The half-breed grinned, shamefacedly, yet with just a touch of pride as well.
“Good treek, eh?” he said. “I learn him from a man in ze lumber13 woods. He steal hogs14 zat way—make track like bear.”
“Fine trick, yes,” agreed Bob. “Only you got the worst of it. In fact, you’ve come out worst in all your tricks, I believe.”
“Serve me right, eh!” Larue admitted. “For ze honey, I steal him when I need ze money bad. But nevaire mind. Zat is all over, and we forget. I ask your pardon for all ze trouble I make you. You save ma petite, and I never forget zat. After now, I am yours. You say to me, ‘Larue, come!’ and I come. You say, ‘Larue, do zis—do zat!’ and I do zis, do zat. No money, no pay. I can never pay you for what you do for me.”
“All right, Larue, we’re friends henceforth, and we’ll shake hands on it,” said Bob; and they shook hands gravely all around to seal the peace.
“You know, when we saw your big tracks we thought it was a wendigo,” said Alice, laughing.
“Wendigo?” cried the half-breed, his face clouding. “When you see a wendigo?”
“Why, there’s no such thing,” said Carl.
“Do not say zat. Ze wendigo—he is terrible! I have never see him, no—but I know a man, a trapper at Lac Temagimi—”
And he plunged15 into a terrifying tale of Indian superstition16. He was an excellent story-teller, and as he sat with gesticulating hands, and dark, flashing eyes, he held them all fascinated. From this he went on to blood-curdling tales of the loup-garou, or werewolf, ghostly huntsmen, and other horrors of French-Canadian tradition, till Alice begged him to cease. She said she would be afraid to sleep that night.
“Don’t you like them?” said Alice privately17 to Carl that evening. “I think Larue isn’t half a bad fellow, and the children are darlings. I like his wife too, and she says she’ll teach me to speak French.”
“I’m afraid it’s a queer dialect she’d teach you,” Carl answered. “But really they’re a pretty decent lot, now we get to know them. Anyway, I’m tremendously glad we’ve made peace.”
It rained hard nearly all night, but in the morning only a drizzle18 was falling, which presently ceased. It was cold and dismal19, but the squatter rowed down the river to look at his property. He came back overjoyed. The clearing, he said, was choking with smoke and steam, but the fires were all out, and the house and barn were both standing. The roofs were gone, indeed, but a few days’ work would replace them.
“I get some of my friends to help me,” he said. “We make a bee, and soon put him right.”
“We might let him have that lumber for the winter cases that we put into the raft,” Carl whispered to his brother. “It’s scorched20 and soaked with water now so that it would hardly do for hives, but it would be all right to mend a roof.”
“Good idea!” Bob answered, “and we’ll help him mend it. We’re pretty crowded here, and the sooner he can get into his own house again the better for us.”
That afternoon Larue accompanied them to the lake apiary21. Where the yard had been was nothing but a waste of wet ashes and rocks, but t............