consciousness but a sense of the grateful spring warmth from the
declining sun. At length he became vaguely aware of something else.
He glanced up. Right by him he saw a handsome French half-breed
sprawled out in the sun against a building, looking him straight in
the face and flashing up at him a friendly smile.

"Hullo," said Achille Picard, "you mus' been 'sleep. I call you two
t'ree tam."

The prisoner seemed to find something grateful in the greeting even
from the enemy's camp. Perhaps it merely happened upon the
psychological moment for a response.

"Hullo," he returned, and seated himself by the man's side, lazily
stretching himself in enjoyment of the reflected heat.

"You is come off Kettle Portage, eh," said Achille, "I t'ink so. You
is come trade dose fur? Eet is bad beez-ness, dis Conjur' House. Ole'
man he no lak' dat you trade dose fur. He's very hard, dat ole man."

"Yes," replied the stranger, "he has got to be, I suppose. This is the
country of _la Longue Traverse_."

"I beleef you," responded Achille, cheerfully; "w'at you call heem
your nam'?"

"Ned Trent."

"Me Achille--Achille Picard. I capitaine of dose dogs on dat winter
_brigade_."