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68 ABBOTT'S MONTHLY The Devil Wolf - (Continued from page 17) Finally Louis Calet nodded discouragedly. "I see, m'sieurs, thees spirit of the davil. I see the white-eared wolf!" Again silence fell. Outside the moan of the wind reached a higher note. Snow battered against the cabin's walls, hurled itself in a devilish fury on the parchment windows. The flames in the fireplace sucked upward with a wild, eager crackling. "Yes," Calet repeated, "I see the white-eared wolf. Oh, I know, m'sieurs, you theenk Louis, he ees crazee. I theenk so too at first. I blink my eyes so and look again. I see heem! "He ees ver' large wolf. He ees lak' the beeg dog, weeth long tail, beeg body, long paws. He ees stand one hundred yards away among the fir trees that sway in the wind. Their branches seem to lift so not to touch heem. They do not weesh to see heem, lak' as if they gather their arms about themselves and shudder. "But he stand quiet. And, m'sieurs, I swear thees wolf, he look right at me. As if lak' you say, 'Louis, I have come to haunt you. I, the white-eared wolf, the davil wolf. Shoot me!" "I breeng up my rifle. I am ver' angry, for now I know he have stolen the silver fox which was in my trap. Only the white-eared wolf can steal the fox without sign of the struggle. "I am about to shoot. Suddenly the wolf, he mak' again that noise. Eet ees not lak' the other wolf, m'sieurs. Eet--ah, all I know, eet ees like the cry of seex-months bebe which is hungry. Which want hees mothair. "But thees cry now, when I can shoot him ver' easily, eet stop me. I drop my rifle. 'Louis!' I cry out. 'You must not shoot thees wolf. He ees the spirit lak' of the davil. To hurt heem would mean the t'ree-day curse. Then lak' Baptiste Tremaine, Jean LeGrae, and othairs, you are doomed!' "For one moment I am looking straight at thees wolf. His ears, my frien's are long. They are pointed. They are the ears of one dam' beeg wolf exactly. But they are white. "Yes, white! insisted Louis Calet in the face of incredulous looks from his listeners. He wiped his brow clear of shining perspiration beads. "You theenk I am crazee? But m'sieurs, the ears of thees wolf--they are white like the sheet of papair! "Ah, well! For one long moment we look, M'sieur le Wolf and I. Again he mak' the weird howl. He turn and trot away. I do not see him for the fir trees until I catch the glimpse as he trot ovair the hill. "So," said Louis, "ees the first time. I am ver' frighten, m'sieurs. I tremble. I am cold from the sweat on my body. But soon I say, 'Louis, this will not do,' and pick up my rifle. "Ah, so good so far, mais non?" Calet heaved a long sigh. "But, m'sieurs, eet ees not for long. I am half sick, also ver' angry. I start back to the cabin. I theenk I will drink the whiskey and forget. For, m'sieurs, the meeting thees white-eared wolf, she ees one ver' bad theeng! "Yet I have done notheeng to make heem angry. What does le diable want with Louis Calet anyhow? One poor trapper, m'sieurs, can do heem no good. And thank the angels for their sweet voices, my frien's—I have restrained from hurting the white-eared wolf which ees the davil's temptation. Therefore, all ees well. I am yet safe. "Huh! So I theenk. At my cabin the snowshoes I kick off. The door, I find with surprise, ees open. Well, maybe M'sieur Bowen, M'sieur McKane, they are come for the visit. Ver' good! I push the door more open. Ah, m'sieurs, m'sieurs! The cabin ees panic. Wrecked, you see? The food which I have for future use, eet ees all about. How did one find eet? Eh? "My pans are on the floor. The table, she ees turn ovair. The window ees broke and the hinge on my door ees also, what-you-say, bust. The blankets of my bunk are all ovair. M'sieurs, eet ees one hellish wreck!" "What did it, Louis? I mean, who?" McKane corrected himself hastily. Collect shrugged. "Who? That ees what I think. I am glad I cache my furs so they too were not found. I am ver' angry now, more angry than before. Do you see, my frien's, theengs have happen all day? The anger at my snowshoe thong, finding my traps robbed! So that I am not in good humor. At thees time le diable works! Suddenly, for the third time today hear the cry of the bebe. M'sieur, I cannot describe heem. Thees cry go right to your heart. Eet make you feel lak' eef you were a woman you would gladly weep. Eet ees awful, eet ees touching on the heart strings, eet geev the warning for something ver' ver' bad to happen. "Angry for the cabin and othair theengs, I hear thees cry. My temper ees pouf! I snatch up my rifle and run to the door. The gun is ready, and when I see sometheeng run ver' swiftly down the slope from my cabin—then I weesh to keel. I fire, once, twice, t'ree times. And m'sieurs, my frien's, you can say Louis Colet ees one good shot, non? Now, too, for I hit thees theeng t'ree times. "Suddenly my heart turn upside down. I drop my rifle lak' she ees burning. I stagger lak' sick man. I am terrified. For, m'sieurs, m'sieurs!—I have shot thees white-eared wolf!" Dick Bowen jerked to his feet and flung a nervous arm on to the mantel shelf. "You mean you knew it was damned bad luck to shoot that wolf—if there is such a wolf," he added, "and yet, Louis, you shot him?" Calet groaned and bowed his head. "M'sieur, I did eet!" "Then where's the pelt?" demanded Tip McKane. "In three shots you certainly killed him?" Louis made a quick gesture. "M'sieur, eet ees impossible! This white-eared wolf does not die! He ees le diable! The spirit of thees Lake of the Davil! "Ah, I am brought to my senses. There comes one last cry of the white-eared wolf, a cry which ees different, which show he ees now triumphant. I have struck heem one, two, t'ree times but eet mak' no difference, m'sieur. He does not even fall. He stops to look at me. Then lifts his head for the terrible cry again. Vengeance, eet say. I theenk for May, 1931 69 I have shot the li'le bebe which is cry for hees mothair. Eet ees terrible! "Ah, well," Calet resumed after pausing to master his emotions, "I return to my cabin and drink whiskey all day. For, m'sieurs, I, Louis Calet am now the doomed man!" McKane knocked the ashes from his pipe. "Bunk, Louis," he said rather sharply. "Pure bunk! What the heck has shooting a white-eared wolf got to do with evil spirits? I've heard of this fellow, but you Canucks are a superstitious lot. I think, Louis, you were sick that day. You imagined it all. You were just sick, Louis. Come; weren't you, now? Calet did not get angry. He looked up at his friend with a face gone gray and haggard. His eyes glowed strangely, now, consuming the man's inner spirit with a slow, blue flame. For a long moment he started McKane, then shook his head and again released a worried, anxious sigh. "M'sieur, perhaps, thees evil spirits do not harm the stranger. But I know I have heard of Baptiste Tremaine and Jean LeGrae. We, of the French-Canadian people know about the white-eared wolf. I was not what you say--delirious. I had no fever that day. And I tal you, I saw thees white-eared wolf! I heard his cry! "M'sieur," he went on earnestly, "you forget. The davil ees always tempt the man. He ees roam about the world every day; he want to mak' you, mak' me, do something to serve heem. Then he own us. That ees establish, m'sieur, by mens who have the ver' fine education. That I, Louis Calet, have been taught at the knee of my sainted mothair. You too--" "Why, sure, Louis--we've heard about the devil and his works. But what Tip means," Bowen explained kindly, "is that a white-eared wolf--" "M'sieur! Cannot the davil use which he will? Eet ees the fact he weeshed tempt us. In thees valley, my frien's, of the Lac of d'Esprit de Diable, M'sieur Davil has made one white-eared wolf to do his work. Thees wolf ees the spirit of the davil, who ees live in thees lake. That ees how she ees, my frien's. Therefore all which I tal you ees true. I do not have to seek before I can theenk these theengs!" Calet sat back with the air of a man who had delivered a clinching argument. His hearers silently reloaded their pipes, convinced against their wills that certainly something eerie and weird lay behind it all. Yet both men showed by their expressions that they were loathe to accept what was virtually a legend of the north country. SUDDENLY came a terrific crash. The cabin rocked on its foundations. McKane's quick spring to the door prevented it flying open, while Louis, his face white as a sheet of paper, crouched with drawn hunting knife before the slab table he flung over with one blow. The man's breath came in swift, panting gasps. His eyes, if wildly alight before, fairly flamed now. "It's all right Louis - nothing happened." Dick Bowen's hand on his could gently forced him back onto his three-legged stool. McKane by now had a birch log jammed against a lower cross-brace of the door so that it could not, he though, again burst open from the force of the wind. He looked to the windows, still intact, listened to the howling, shrieking gale that had replaced the day-long blizzard, and finally returned to the fire. There was a long silence. "The time, M'sieur Tip?" dully asked Louis. "Hmm. Nearly eleven o'clock!" "Gosh," said Bowen, "I had no idea it was that late. No, Louis," he added quickly as their guest rose in embarrassment, "don't go." He went over and patted the giant trapper's shoulder. "Tip and I want you to stay here all night, Louis. You say this is the third and last day of this so-called curse? Then we'll wait up till midnight, just to show you it's all bunk." Calet seated himself again. "I have many thanks, my frien's. I weel tell you the rest of the story. I have one more hour to live." 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