The Whelps of the Wolf Part 31

With a roar Jules leaped on the sled and lashed the team headlong down the cliff trail to the ice. Madly they raced down-river under the spur of the rawhide goad.

"Run to the Mission, someone, and tell Pere Breton that Jean Marcel is back!" continued Gillies. At the words, willing feet started with the message.

The eyes of Colin Gillies were blurred as he watched through the gla.s.s the slow approach of those who had but lately fought free from the maw of the pitiless snows. Now he could recognize the ma.s.sive lead-dog, limping at a slow walk, her great head down. Behind her swayed the crippled whelps of the wolf, tails brus.h.i.+ng the ice, tongues lolling as they swung their lowered heads from side to side, battling through the last mile on stiffened legs, giving their last ounce at the call of their gaunt master who reeled behind them. Far in the rear a tall figure barely moved along the trail.

At the yelp of Jules' approaching team the dogs of Marcel p.r.i.c.ked drooping ears. Stopping them, Jean waited for Hunter.

"Dey sen' team. Eet ees ovair, M'sieu! We mak' Whale Riviere een t'ree day and half, but she--she may not be dere."

Too tired to speak, Hunter slumped on the sled. With a yell, Jules reached Marcel and gathered him into his arms.

"By Gar, Jean! You crazee fool; you stop for noding! Tiens! I d.a.m.n glad to see you, Jean Marcel!"

The fearful Marcel gasped out the question, "Julie! Ees she dere? Does she leeve?"

"Oui, mon ami; she ees alive. You save her life."

Staggering to his lead-dog the overjoyed man threw himself beside her on the trail where she sprawled panting.

"We 'ave save her," he cried. "Julie--has waited for Jean and Fleur."

Taking the missionary on his sled, Jules tried to force Marcel to ride as well, but the _voyageur_ threw him off.

"No, no!" he cried. "We weel feenish on our feet--Fleur, de wolf and Jean Marcel."

So back to the post Jules raced with Hunter. A cheering mob of Indians met dogs and master on the river ice and carried Marcel, protesting, up the cliff trail, where Gillies and Angus were waiting.

"I reach For' George de night of second day, but de dreef and wind at de Cape----" He was checked by a hug from the blubbering McCain as Colin Gillies, with eyes blurred by tears, welcomed him home.

"You have saved her, Jean," said the factor, "now you must sleep." With hands raised in wonder he turned to the group. "Shades of Andre Marcel!

Two days to Fort George! It will never be done again." Then they took the swaying Marcel, asleep on his feet, and his dogs, away to a long, warm rest.

But the Crees sat late that night smoking much Company plug as they shook their heads over the feat of the son of Andre Marcel who feared neither Windigo nor blizzard. And later, the tale travelled down to the southern posts and out to Fort Churchill on the west coast and from there on to the Great Slave and the Peace, of how the mad Marcel had driven his flying wolves one hundred and fifty miles in two sleeps, and returned, without rest, in three, in the teeth of a Hudson's Bay norther. And hearing it, old runners of the trails shook their heads in disbelief, saying it was not in dogs or men to do such a thing; but they did not know the love and despair in the heart of Jean Marcel which spurred him to his goal, nor did they fathom the blind devotion of his great lead-dog, who, with her matchless endurance and that of her sons, had made it possible.

CHAPTER XLI

AS YE SOW

Fresh from a London hospital though he was, John Hunter found that the condition of Julie Breton demanded the exercise of all his skill as a surgeon. But the operation, aided by the girl's young strength and vitality, was successful, and she slowly overcame the grip of the infection.

Four days after Marcel reeled into Whale River with his battered dogs, bringing the man who was winning back life for Julie Breton, an exhausted dog-team limped in from the south. Rus.h.i.+ng into the trade-house the white-faced Wallace grasped Gillies' hand, hoa.r.s.ely demanding:

"Does she live, Gillies?"

"She's all right, Mr. Wallace; doing well, the doctor says," answered Gillies. "She's going to pull through, thanks to Jean Marcel and Dr.

Hunter. I take my hat off to those two men."

Wallace's eyes s.h.i.+fted to the floor as he ventured:

"When did they get in?"

"Oh, they came through against that blow in three days and a half. The greatest feat of man and dogs in my time. When did you leave East Main?"

Wallace stared incredulously at Colin Gillies' wooden face.

"East Main? Why, didn't Marcel tell you?"

"No," replied Gillies, but he did not say that his wife had been told by Hunter of the presence of Wallace at Fort George the night Marcel brought the news. However, the factor did not further embarra.s.s his chief by questions. And Wallace did not see fit to inform him that not until the wind died, two days after the relief party started, had he left Fort George.

"I suppose she's too sick to see me?" the nervous Inspector hazarded.

"Yes, no one sees her except Mrs. Gillies and Hunter."

"Well, I'll look up Father Breton," and Wallace went out followed by an expression in Colin Gillies' face which the Inspector would not have cared to see.

For a week Wallace remained at Whale River and then, a.s.sured by Dr.

Hunter of Julie's safety, left, to return later. When, meeting Marcel in the trade-house, he had attempted to thank him, the cold glitter in the eyes of the Frenchman as he listened with impa.s.sive face to the halting words of the Inspector of the East Coast, filled Colin Gillies with inward delight.

When Gillies bade good-bye to his chief, he said casually, "Well, I suppose we'll have a wedding here in June, Mr. Wallace."

"Yes, Gillies, Father Breton and I are only waiting for Julie to set the date. Good-bye; I'll be up the coast next month," and was off.

But what piqued Gillies' curiosity was whether Dr. Hunter had told Pere Breton just what happened at Fort George when the tragic call for help came in on Christmas night. Jean Marcel's mouth had been shut like a sprung trap, even Jules and Angus did not know; of that, Gillies was sure. But why had the doctor not told Pere Breton, as well as Mrs.

Gillies? He was Julie's brother and ought to know. If Hunter had enlightened the priest, then Colin Gillies was no judge of men, for he had always admired the Oblat.

The first week in February Julie Breton was sitting up, and Mr. Hunter bade good-bye to the staunch friends he had made at Whale River. Not always are the relations between Oblat or Jesuit, and Protestant missionaries, unduly cordial in the land of their labors, but when the Reverend Hunter left the Mission House at Whale River, there remained in the hearts of Pere Breton, his sister and Jean Marcel, a love for the doctor, clergyman and man which the years did not dim.

One day, later on, Marcel and Fleur were making their afternoon call on Julie, who was propped in bed, her hair hanging in two thick braids.

"We leave in a few days," Jean said in French. "Michel is anxious to get back to his traps."

"Oh, don't go so soon, Jean. I haven't yet had an opportunity to talk to you as I wished."

"If you mean to thank me, I am glad of that," he said, his lips curling in a faint smile.

"Why should I not thank you, Jean Marcel, who risked your life like a madman to help me? I do now thank you with all my heart. But for you, I would not be here. Dr. Hunter told me I could not have lived had he arrived one day later."

With a gesture of impatience Marcel turned in his chair and gazed through the window on the world of snow.

The dark eyes in the pale face of the girl were strangely soft as they rested on the sinewy strength of the man's figure; then lifted to the strong profile, with its bony jaw and bold, aquiline nose.

"You do not care for my thanks, Jean?" she asked.

"Please!" he begged. "It is over, that! You are well again! I am happy; and will go back to my trap-lines."