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16 Abbott's Monthly [[image - drawing of a boy carrying a rifle]] [[caption]] "I am about to shoot. Suddenly the wolf, he mak' again that noise. [[/caption]] his partner. "That's all bunk—sheer bunk! There's no white-eared wolf around here. And as for bein' anything in the name o' Lac d'Esprit de Diable—why, that's bunk too. Isn't it, Dick?" "You call heem bunk?" Calet whirled to face Tip. A queer blue flame danced fearfully in the depths of the man's sunken eyes. His lips quivered. His quick-drawn breath showed him thoroughly agitated. For an instant McKane and Bowen feared their guest would again collapse. But Louis Calet stifled a moan and sank dejectedly onto a three-legged stool before the fire, where he stared into the flames as if vainly seeking comfort. "Qui. Perhaps he ees bunk when you do not know." He shook his head. "But to me—non! M'sieurs, eet ees no bunk, these wolf weeth white ears. Eet ees no bunk, thees name, Lac d'Esprit de Diable. Eet ees true—true!" he insisted, smashing one great fist into his other palm with conviction. "Take another drink, Louis," suggested Dick Bowen. "What you so worked up about, anyhow?" The other waved the bottle away. "M'sieurs," he stated in a flat, discouraged tone, "thees ees my last night on airth. I spend heem weeth my frien's. Before midnight he weel come for me—thees spirit of the davil, thees white-eared wolf!" There seemed nothing McKane could say. He patted the breed's massive shoulder reassuringly. "Well," he observed, and dropped to a box while he relighted his pipe, "if you feel that way, Louis, why not get it off your chest? You've got the heebie-jeebies, is all. do you good, Louis, to tell the whole yarn. What do you mean, the devil will come for you tonight?" Calet stared at his ham-like hands. "M'sieur," he said earnestly, "thees talk of the davil, she ees not crazee lak' you think. I have met thees davil. Tonight he weel come for me—oui!" There was a momentary silence. Then Bowen managed a short laugh. "Well, go ahead, Louis, tell us how and where you met the devil. You mean a white-eared wolf is the devil connected with this lake? Say, Tip and I have hunted that wolf every day and never laid eyes on 'im yet. How do you explain that, eh?" Calet turned for a long look at the speaker, reversed to study McKane, and meeting disbelief on both faces, placed his black head between his palms and groaned softly. "M'sieurs, I have met thees white-eared wolf. Tonight he weel keel me. Eet ees written! "T'ree days ago, m'sieurs," he proceeded slowly, reluctantly, "I, Louis Calet, was one happy man. The trappeeng, she ees good thees winter. The pelts are ver' good. The weather, she ees won-dair-ful! I am the happy man." He turned suddenly on Bowen. "M'sieur, you have heard how thees white-eared wolf ees in the league weeth le diable of thees lake?" He swung abruptly to McKane. "M'sieur, you have heard how thees wolf cast the spell? And that when eet ees cast the accurst man shall die in t'ree days?" Tip blinked while he tamped down ashes in his pipe. "Reckon Dick an' I have heard some yarn like that, Louis. 'Course, we don't put any stock in it," he added quickly. "You can't tell me there's anything to this spirit stuff. And I doubt if this so-called white-eared wolf really exists." "But m'sieur, I have see heem. Not once but many times!" "You have, Louis?" Bowen looked astonished. For May, 1931 17 "You're sure? Calet shrugged his shoulders. "I know the wolf, m'sieur, he insisted gently. Look here, Dick: you and I'll keep quiet. Luis, tell us your yarn from start to finish. You claim this is your last night on earth, eh? Because this white-eared wolf, supposed to be the devil spirit of Lac d'Esprit de Diable, got on your trail, cast a three-day spell on you. That right? "Oui." Louis fell silent a moment. Then, after his keen eyes played on the cabinet door as if grudgingly conceding its security, he turned back to the fire, wet his lips, and prepared to begin. "M'sieurs, you know Louis Calet many years, non? He ees always your frien'? He is the honest man, the good trapper, non? Then, m'sieurs believe Louis now when he say he weel tell you no lie. He weel tell you the truth about this davil-wolf. "Bon! I, m'sieurs, am the God-fearing man. The davil-fearing man. I say, 'Louis, thees white-eared wolf which ees about the Lac d'Esprit de Diable, you do not hurt heem. Then he weel not hurt you. She is safe for you to come to thees lake.' "So. I know that eef the man shoot thees wolf he bring the t'ree-day curse. I have heard, m'sieurs of Baptiste Tremaine, Jean LeGrae, othairs. They have come here. They shoot--pouf!--at thees white-eared wolf. T'ree days they are haunted. Then, they die. So I come here one, two, t'ree years, but always I am ver' careful. "This year, for one mont' theengs are good. I have the fine pelts. I am content. Sometimes I visit the good frien's, M'sieur Bowen. M'sieur McKane, who also trap in thees valley, around thees lake. One day I tak' my rifle to go for the traps. I put on the snow-shoes, but, perhaps, I am not in what-you-call, the swell humor, non? One cord, she bust. I stumble and fall. That mak' me ver' angry. Who knows--perhaps theengs, they have gone too well? "Up from the snow I leap. Curses! Why am thees awkward? Wal, eet ees notheeng beeg m'sieurs--I see you theenk that. I also theenk that, but I forget eet give the davil one opening. I drow on the snow-shoe and set out. As I do I hear the cry of the wolf. "Eet fix my attention, m'sieurs. I frown. 'Luis,' I say, 'thees ees not ord'nary wolf. He have strange cry, lak' [un bebe] on the doorstep. You know? Left by mamma who ees poor, to someone who ees rich. The wolf-cry was like that. I t'ink, 'Louis, that ees one funny wolf!' "Ah, well, I set out for my traps. In the first ees nothing and the bait ees gone. Wol--so! In the second ees nothing. I t'ink, 'Louis, thees is not good today. Maybe tomorrow, non? But I am unhappy for it. "I reach the third trap. There I stand still, the s'prise, m'sieur, ees large on my face. For there--there are t'ee paws of the fox. But no fox!" Tip McKane turned sharply. "Three paws but no fox? Never heard o' such a thing!" Dick Bowen frowned in agreement. Calet shrugged his shoulders, then seemed to remember something. "M'sieur," he asked Tip, "what ees the hour now?" He knew that even in the wilderness McKane's daily routine was fixed by the silver watch he had carried for years. The trapper rose, glanced at the timepiece lying on the fireplace shelf, and sat down again. "Nine-thirty, Louis. Why?" The French-Canadian's great frame trembled as a shutter passed over it. Again he pressed his face into his hands. Finally releasing them, he stared woe-be-gone into the fire. "Louis," he said in a far-away tone, "have but two and a half hours on thees airth!" "Go on with your story," Bowen requested hastily. "How about those three fox paws?" Calet sighed and with his lips to continue. "Oui," he agreed, "how about those, eha? M'sieurs," he stated impressively, "recall that the fox weell gnaw off one leg sometimes. Perhaps he weel gnaw off two. I can believe that. But, m'sieurs, eet ees eempossible for the silver fox to gnaw t'ree legs, for then he cannot walk. Non?" "Sure--and he'd never get three legs in the trap," admitted Tip. "Right! I look around. There ees no sign of struggle. I theenk, 'Louis, thees ees ver' funny. Eef the fox was in the trap how can he get out? Eef sometheeng has got him out, why are there not marks? Mais non. Searching I find none. "I am what-you-call, fooled. 'Louis,' I say finally, 'today you are crazee. Go back to the cabin. Drink the good whiskey you have bought. The brain-sickness, he ees after you!' "Ah, m'sieurs, I turn. Suddenly I hear the cry of the wolf. Again eet ees like the tiny bebe which hungers for milk. Eet go to my heart. I look, look hard! But notheeng. "Huh! Thees ees grow serious. Quickly I turn and run. I mean to come here, m'sieurs, for I am ver' frightened. And suddenly--" The man broke off to pass a hand over his eyes. A long drawn shutter racked his frame and finally burst from his purple lips. Both Bowen and McKane stared apprehensively, the latter turning for a swift survey of the cabin is if he half expected the doctor burst open. (Continued on page 68) DAN BURLEY, author of the "Vacant Chair," published in our first issue, returns to Abbot's Monthly with the chilling tale of a visitor from another world, in a "gooseflesh" short story of eery horror called "DEMON BALU" We believe Mr. Burley has surpassed himself in this tale of the thing which invades the quiet of the Abbey of Neville, breaks up the wedding of a peasant lad and his sweetheart, and causes destruction to the whole town. PUBLISHED COMPLETE IN OUR JUNE ISSUE. PROUD by Joseph Davis I am not shamed to know my skin Is pigment of the swine, In fact I'm proud to know my skin I'm marked by the Divine; But since we claim it is the sun that burns the night so black I hear the whole world throwing fun At God behind his back.
