That night the rejoicing of the bateau men ashore was that of men
who had come out from under a strain and were throwing off its
tension for the first time in many days. A great fire was built,
and the men sang and laughed and shouted as they piled wood upon
it. In the flare of this fire a smaller one was built, and kettles
and pans were soon bubbling and sizzling over it, and a great
coffee pot that held two gallons sent out its steam laden with an
aroma that mingled joyously with the balsam and cedar smells in
the air. David could see the whole thing from his window, and when
Joe Clamart came in with supper, he found the meat they were
cooking over the fire was fresh moose steak. As there had been no
trading or firing of guns coming down, he was puzzled and when he
asked where the meat had come from Joe Clamart only shrugged his
shoulders and winked an eye, and went out singing about the
allouette bird that had everything plucked from it, one by one.
But David noticed there were never more than four men ashore at
the same time. At least one was always aboard the bateau, watching
his door and windows.
And he, too, felt the thrill of an excitement working subtly
within him, and this thrill pounded in swifter running blood when
he saw the men about the fire jump to their feet suddenly and go
to meet new and shadowy figures that came up indistinctly just in
the edge of the forest gloom.
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