“Queer words, cap’n,” said Frontin reflectively. “He was repeating something that he had previously said. He must have seen our smoke. H’m! Then he would not have shot the bear unless forced to it. He was scouting us, eh? The bear attacked him, they killed each other----” “Ay,” said Crawford, opening his firebag. “No quarter, quoth he,” resumed Frontin. “Death of my life! There is nothing in sight, though his ship may be hidden like ours. That name of Moses Deakin--a singular name! Have ye ever heard it before?” “Ay,” said Crawford again. Frontin turned and gazed curiously at him, while he fumbled with flint and steel. Presently he had the tinder aglow--and abruptly he pinched it out. A sudden blaze swept into his steel-blue eyes. He hastily thrust away pipe and firebag. “I have it--quick, now!” he exclaimed sharply. “Two men were out together, even as we are. Moses Deakin left this man, started back to their ship. He’ll have heard the gunshot and will return to see what it means. Back, out of sight! It’s our chance to catch him--and if we catch Moses Deakin we have the best prize on the bay. Back, back! Prime the guns and wait!” Frontin paused not to reason why, but slid away and vanished among the hummocks above. Crawford stooped over the dead man and explored beneath the torn, frozen-red garments. His hand came away with a crinkle of paper, and he gave the document one sharp look that widened his eyes. Then he hastily turned the body face down as it had first lain, and followed his lieutenant into hiding. No footsteps had left any trace on the ice. Here was death and nothing else. Crouched beside Frontin among the hummocks, Crawford briefly told what he knew of this Moses Deakin. “A Boston fur-pirate; I heard queer tales of him both in New York and Boston. They say he’s a great, hard, cold devil who sees visions, has dealings with the foul fiend and is cruel as any Mohawk. It is supposed that he has a secret post somewhere on the bay and agents among the Indians; he sneaks in and gets his furs when the straits open, and goes again swiftly. This is rumour, but he’s reality. Either the French or the English would blow him out of the water if they could catch him at work--he’s done them both a deal of harm.” “We don’t care for furs,” said Frontin. “Then why is he of value to us?” “Because they say he knows the bay as no other man does--every river and shallow of it. That’s how he eludes capture. You comprehend? If we catch him, we find the northwest passage and the south sea beyond.” “But,” said Frontin thoughtfully, “I thought you had been tempted by the Star Woman, of whom Iberville told you!” “An Indian legend, a wild dream!” Crawford’s tone was impatient. “If nothing better offered, I’d chance it--but not if we can catch Moses Deakin and find the northwest passage!”