Part 31 (1/2)

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: