Brooding on his imprisonment the Free Trader forgot his surroundings. The post, the river, the forest, the distant bay faded from his sight, and he fell into deep reflection. There remained nothing of physical 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_." "It is a hard post. The winter travel is pretty tough." "I beleef you." "Better to take _la Longue Traverse_ in summer, eh?" "_La Longue Traverse_--hees not mattaire w'en yo tak' heem." "Right you are. Have there been men sent out since you came here?" "_Ba oui_. Wan, two, t'ree. I don' remember. I t'ink Jo Bagneau. Nobodee he don' know, but dat ole man an' hees _coureurs du bois_. He ees wan ver' great man. Nobodee is know w'at he will do." "I'm due to hit that trail myself, I suppose," said Ned Trent. "I have t'ink so," acknowledged Achille, still with a tone of most engaging cheerfulness. "Shall I be sent out at once, do you think?" "I don' know. Sometam' dat ole man ver' queek. Sometam' he ver' slow. One day Injun mak' heem ver' mad; he let heem go, and shot dat Injun right off. Noder tam he get mad on one _voyageur_, but he don' keel heem queek; he bring heem here, mak' heem stay in dose warm room, feed heem dose plaintee grub. Purty soon dose _voyageur_ is get fat, is go sof; he no good for dose trail. Ole man he mak' heem go ver' far off, mos' to Whale Reever. Eet is plaintee cole. Dat _voyageur_, he freeze to hees inside. Dey tell me he feex heem like dat." "Achille, you haven't anything against me--do you want me to die?" The half-breed flashed his white teeth. "_Ba non_," he replied, carelessly. "For w'at I want dat you die? I t'ink you bus' up bad; _vous avez la mauvaise fortune_." "Listen. I have nothing with me; but out at the front I am very rich. I will give you a hundred dollars, if you will help me to get away." "I can' do eet," smiled Picard.