Now there was a crowd surrounding them and Philippe realised it all could have been a mistake on his part. A few Ojibwe guides came from Camp, and even the Jesuit missionary, to take in the spectacle. It was clear he had never seen the man before. But Philippe, like all young fools, pushed aside any doubt in his ability and picked up the small axe.
His adversary was still a riddle. All he knew is that the man had arrived only hours ago, portaging his single canoe from Rainy Lake. The man’s eyes were like ice and his hair black as jet. What’s more, the man was a head taller than any voyageur he had ever seen.
“You’re making a mistake,” The Jesuit stepped into Phillipe’s path. “This is no ordinary man. He is no Voyageur, either. He has no code and has no kin. He is a Winterer, a Runner of the Woods!”
The priest grabbed hold of Philippe’s shirt, and pleaded quietly in his ear, saying no louder than a whisper, “There is not a man here who will blame you if you turn around. Not a single man. You will lose everything! A year’s wages! And that’s if you’re lucky. They say he has killed a thousand men, with a demon wolf by his side!”
Phillipe pushed the priest away and called upon the stranger, who stood nearly 50 yards away from the agreed target, on the edge of the tree–line.
“I don’t know who you are,” he yelled. “But I am not afraid of you or the reputation you have with some men. What is your name? Come, speak!”
The man, removing his buckskin coat, scratched his thick beard and his countenance warmed.
“My name is K’evin Jacques. And You, I’m a afraid, have made an erroneous judgment in challenging me.”
With the words barely out of his mouth, the man called Jacques, wrenched his body and with a guttural cry heaved his Indian tomahawk. The weapon flew through the air perfectly, and with a sound that no man witness would ever forget, cleared its way through the tree, splitting it open like a sword through a sail, then tumbling its way to stillness on the ground beside his foes feet.
Silence rang out amongst all men.
“Through the tree!” One man whispered.
“Impossible!” Said another.
Philippe’s own axe dropped from his hand, and his ears began to burn thinking of what it all meant. Then the Winterer spoke again, this time to all the voyageurs at the Grande Portage.
“Keep your money, you filthy animal. But beware, all of you. Trouble is coming.”
Then, suddenly, he let out a piercing whistle.
” Night Spirit! Hyip!”
With that, a giant grey wolf sprinted from behind the men gathered, and picked up Jacques’ tomahawk with his mouth, before disappearing into the forest along with his master.
“The natives say he is more than a man,” said the Jesuit, again to the young fool.
“They say he is the incarnation of a warrior who once lived long ago.”
“I’ve never… I’ve never seen a man who could….” Philippe stammered.
“Silence,” said the priest.
waiting for the rest of the stories….