The Whelps of the Wolf

by George P. Marsh

  CHAPTER II

  THE END OF THE TRAIL

  In his joy at his good luck, Marcel had momentarily forgotten theancient feud between the Esquimo and the Cree. Then he realized hisposition. These rapids of the Salmon were an age-old fishing ground ofthe Esquimos, who, with their dogs, are called "Huskies." No birch-barkhad ever run the broken waters behind him--no Indian hunted so farnorth. If among these people there were any who traded at Whale Riverwhere Cree and Esquimo met in amity, they would recognize the son of theold Company head man, Andre Marcel, and welcome him. But should theychance to be wild Huskies who did not come south to the post, they wouldmistake him for a Cree, and resenting his entering their territory,attack him.

  Drawing his rifle from its skin case, he placed it at his feet and poledslowly toward the shore where a bedlam of howls from the dogs signalledhis approach. The clamor quickly emptied the lodges scattered along thebeach. A group of Huskies, armed with rifle and seal spear, now watchedthe strange craft. So close was the canoe that only by a miracle couldMarcel hope to escape down-stream if they started shooting.

  Alive to his danger, the Frenchman snubbed his boat, leaning on hispole, while his anxious eyes searched for a familiar figure in theskin-clad throng, who talked and gesticulated in evident excitement. Butamong them he found no friendly face.

  Was it for this he had slaved overland to the Salmon and starved throughthe early spring--a miserable death; when he had won through to hisgoal--when the yelps of the dogs he sought rang in his ears? Surely,among these Huskies, there were some who traded at the post.

  "Kekway!" he called, "I am white man from Whale River!"

  The muscles of Jean Marcel set, tense as wire cables, as he watched fora hostile movement from the Huskies, silenced by his shout. Seeminglysurprised by his action, no answer was returned from the shore. Slowlyhis hopes died. They were wild Esquimos and would show no mercy to thesupposed Cree invader of their hereditary fishing ground.

  But still the movement which the Frenchman's roving eyes awaited, wasdelayed. Not a gun in the whispering throng on the beach was raised;not a word in Esquimo addressed to the stranger. Mystified, desperatefrom the strain of the suspense, Marcel called again, this time in postHusky:

  "I am white man, from the fort at Whale River. Is there one among youwho trades there?"

  At the words, the tension of the sullen group seemed to relax. Pointingto a thick-set figure striding up the beach, a Husky shouted:

  "There is one who goes to Whale River!"

  The _voyageur_ expelled the air from his lungs with relief. Too long,with pounding heart, he had steeled himself to face erect, swift deathfrom the near shore. A wrong move, and a hail of lead would have emptiedhis canoe. Then to his joy he recognized the man who approached.

  "Kovik!" he shouted. "Eet ees Jean Marcel from Whale Riviere!"

  The Husky waved his hand to Marcel, joined his comrades, and, for aspace, there was much talk and shaking of heads; then he called to Jeanto come ashore.

  Grounding his canoe, Marcel gripped the hand of the grinning Kovik whilethe Huskies fell back eying them with mingled curiosity and fear.

  "Husky say you bad spirit, Kovik say you son little chief, Whale River.W'ere you come?"

  It was clear, now, why the Esquimos had not wiped him out. They hadthought him a demon, for Esquimo tradition, as well as Cree, made theupper Salmon the abode of evil spirits.

  "I look for hunteen ground, on de head of riviere," explained Jean, forthe admission that he was in search of dogs would only defeat thepurpose of his journey.

  "Good dat Kovik come," returned the Esquimo. "Some say shoot you; somesay you eat de bullet an' de Husky."

  To this difference of opinion Marcel owed his life.

  As Kovik finished his explanation, Jean laughed: "No, I camp wid noWindigo up riviere; but I starve."

  At this gentle hint, Marcel was invited to join in the supper of boiledseal and goose which was waiting at the tepee. When Kovik had prevailedupon some of the older Esquimos to forget their fears and shake handswith the man who had appeared from the land of spirits, Jean stowed hisoutfit on the cache of the Husky, freed his canoe of water and placingit beside his packs, joined the family party. Shaking hands in turn withKovik's grinning wife and children, who remembered him at Whale River,Marcel hungrily attacked the kettle, into which each dipped fingers andcup indiscriminately. Finishing, he passed a plug of Companynigger-head to his hosts and lit his own pipe.

  "W'ere you' woman?" abruptly inquired the thick-set mother of many.

  "No woman," replied Marcel, thinking of three spruce crosses in theMission cemetery at Whale River.

  "No woman, you? No dog?" pressed the curious wife of Kovik.

  "No famile." And Jean told of the deaths of parents and younger brother,from the plague of the summer before. But he failed to mention the factthat most of the dogs at the post had been wiped out at the same time.

  "Ah! Ah!" groaned the Huskies at the Frenchman's tale of the scourgewhich had swept the Hudson's Bay posts to the south.

  "He good man--Marcel! He fr'en' of me!" lamented Kovik. Sucking hispipe, he gravely nodded again and again. Surely, he intimated, theCompany had displeased the spirits of evil to have been so punished.Then he asked: "W'ere you dog?"

  "On Whale Riviere," returned Jean grimly, referring to their bones; hiseyes held by the great dogs sprawled about the beach. No such sled-dogsas these had he ever seen at the post, even with the Esquimos. But hisgrave face betrayed no sign of what was in his mind.

  Massive of bone and frame, with coats unusually heavy, even for thefar-famed Ungava breed, Jean noted the strength and size of thesemagnificent beasts as a horseman marks the points of a blooded colt.Somewhat apart from the other dogs of Kovik, tumbling and roughing eachother, frolicked four clumsy puppies, while the mother, a greatslate-gray and white animal, lay near, watching her progeny through eyeswhose lower lids, edged with red, marked the wolf strain. While thoseslant eyes kept restless guard, to molest one of her leggy, yelping impsof Satan would have been the bearding of a hundred furies. The olderdogs, evidently knowing the power in the snap of her white fangs,avoided the puppies.

  One, in particular, Marcel noticed as they romped and roughed each otheron the shore, or with a brave show of valor, noisily charged theirrecumbent mother, only to be sent about their business with the mildreprimand of a nip from her long fangs. Larger, and of sturdier buildthan her brothers, this puppy, in marking, was the counterpart of themother, having the same slate-gray patches on head and back and wearingwhite socks. As he watched her bully her brothers, Jean resolved to buythat four-months'-old puppy.

  As the northern twilight filled the river valley, the Huskies returnedto the lodge, where Jean squeezed in between two younger members of thefamily whose characteristic aroma held sleep from the fatigued_voyageur_ long enough for him to decide on a plan of action. Before hestarted to trade for dogs he must learn if the Esquimos knew that theywere scarce at the fur-posts. If rumor of this relayed up the coast fromHusky hunting party to hunting party, had reached them, he would belucky to get even a puppy. They would send their spare dogs to theposts.

  The following morning, at the suggestion of Kovik, Marcel set hisgill-net for whitefish on the opposite shore of the wide river, as theyounger Esquimos showed unmistakably by their actions that his presenceat the salmon fishing, soon to begin, was resented. But Jean needed foodfor his journey down the coast and for the dogs he hoped to buy, soignored the dark looks cast at the mysterious white man, the friend ofKovik. But not until evening did he casually suggest to the Husky thathe had more dogs than he could feed through the summer.

  The broad face of Kovik widened in a mysterious smile as he asked: "Yougeeve black fox for dog?"

  Marcel's hopes fell at the words. It was an unheard of price for a dog.The Husky knew.

  Masking his chagrin, the Frenchman laughed in ridicule:

  "I geeve otter for dog."

  Kovik shook his head, his narrowed
eyes wrinkling in amusement. "Nohusky W'ale Riv'--For' Geor'. Me trade husky W'ale Riv'."

  It was useless to bargain further. The Husky knew the value of his dogsat the posts, and Jean could not afford to rob his fur-pack to get one.There was much that he needed at Whale River--and then there was Julie.It was necessary to increase his credit with the Company to pay for thehome he would some day build for Julie and himself. So, when Kovikpromptly refused a valuable cross-fox pelt for a dog, the disheartenedboy gave it up.

  But after the toil and lean days of the long trail he had taken to meetthe Esquimos, he could not return to Whale River empty handed. Hecoveted the slate-gray and white puppy. Never had he seen a husky of herage with such bone--such promise as a sled dog. And her spirit--at fourmonths she would bare her puppy fangs at an infringement of her rightsby an old dog, as though she already wore the scars of many a brawl.Handsomer than her brothers, leader of the litter by virtue of a buildmore rugged, a stronger will, she was the favorite of Kovik's children.That they would object to parting with her; that the Husky would demandan exorbitant price he now knew; but he was determined to have thepuppy. However, he resolved to wait until the following day, renew thebargaining for a grown dog, then suddenly make an offer for the puppy.

  The next morning Jean Marcel again offered a high price for a dog, butthe smiling Husky would not relent. Then Marcel, pointing at the femalepuppy, offered the pelt of a marten for her.

  To Jean's surprise, the owner refused to part with any of the litter.They would be better than the adult dogs--these children of theslate-gray husky--he said, and he would sell but one or two, even atWhale River, where the Company needed dogs badly and would pay more thanMarcel could offer.

  It was a bitter moment for the lad who had swung his canoe inshore atthe Husky camp with such high hopes. And he realized that it would beuseless to turn north from the mouth of the Salmon in search of dogs.Now that they had learned of conditions at the fur-posts, no Esquimosbound south for the spring trade would sell a dog at a reasonable price.

  As the disheartened Marcel watched with envious eyes the puppies, whichhe realized were beyond his means to obtain, the cries from the shore ofthe eldest son of his host aroused the camp. Above them, in the chutesat the foot of the white-water, flashes of silver marked the leapingvanguards of the salmon run, on their way to spring-fed streams at theriver's head.

  Seizing their salmon spears the Esquimos hurried up-stream to take theirstands on rocks which the fish might pass. Having no spear Jean watchedthe younger Kovik wade through the strong current out to a rock withinspearing reach of a deep chute of black water. Presently the crouchinglad drove his spear into the flume at his feet and was struggling on therock with a large salmon. Killing the fish with his knife, he threw it,with a cry of triumph, to the beach. Again he waited, muscles tense, hisright arm drawn back for the lunge. Again, as a silvery shape darted upthe chute, the boy struck with his spear. But so anxious was he to drivethe lance home, that, missing the fish, his lunge carried him head-firstinto the swift water.

  With a shout of warning to those above, Jean Marcel ran down the beach.His canoe was out of reach on the cache with the Husky's kayak, and theclumsy skin umiak of the family was useless for quick work. In hissealskin boots and clothes the lad would be carried to the foot of therapids and drowned. Jean reached the "boilers" below the white-waterbefore the body of the helpless Esquimo appeared. Plunging into theice-cold river he swam out into the current below the tail of thechute, and when the half-drowned lad floundered to the surface, seizedhim by his heavy hair. As they were swept down-stream an eddy threwtheir bodies together, and in spite of Marcel's desperate efforts, thearms of the Husky closed on him in vise-like embrace. Strong as he was,the Frenchman could not break the grip, and they sank.

  The _voyageur_ rose to the surface fighting to free himself from theclinging Esquimo, but in vain; then his sinewy fingers found the throatof the half-conscious boy and taking a long breath, he again went downwith his burden. When the two came up Marcel was free. With a grip onthe long hair of the now senseless lad he made the shore, and draggingthe Husky from the water, stretched exhausted on the beach.

  Shaking with cold he lay panting beside the still body of the boy, whenthe terrified Esquimos reached them.

  The welcome heat of a large fire soon thawed the chill from the bones ofMarcel; but the anxious parents desperately rolled and pounded theHusky, starting his blood and ridding his stomach of water, before hefinally regained his voice, begging them to cease.

  With the boy out of danger they turned to his rescuer, and only byvigorous objection did Marcel escape the treatment administered theHusky. He would prefer drowning, he protested with a grimace, to thepounding they had given the boy.

  "You lak' seal in de water," cried the relieved father with admiration,when he had lavished his thanks upon Jean; for the Esquimos, althoughpassing their lives on or near the water, because of its lowtemperature, never learn to swim.

  "My fader taught me to swim een shallow lak' by Fort George," explainedthe modest Frenchman.

  "He die, eef you no sweem lak' seal," added the grateful mother, herround face oily with sweat from the vigorous rubbing of her son, nowsnoring peacefully by the fire.

  Then the Huskies returned to their fishing, for precious time was beingwasted. The boy's spear was found washed up on the beach and loaned toJean, who labored the remainder of the day spearing salmon for hisjourney down the coast.

  That evening, after supper, Jean sat on a stone in front of the tepeewatching the active puppies. Inside the skin lodge the Esquimo and hiswife conversed in low tones. Shortly they appeared and Kovik, grinningfrom long side-lock to side-lock, said:

  "You good man! You trade dat dog?" He pointed at the large slate-graypuppy sprawled near them.

  The dark features of Jean Marcel lighted with eagerness.

  "I geeve two marten for de dog," he said, rising quickly.

  The Husky turned to the woman, shaking his head.

  Marcel's lip curled at the avarice of these people whose son he had sorecently snatched from death.

  Then Kovik, seemingly changing his mind, seized the puppy by the looseskin of her neck and dragged her, protesting vigorously, to Jean, whilethe mother dog came trotting up, ears erect, curious of what the mastershe feared was doing with her progeny.

  "Dees you' dog!" said the Esquimo.

  Marcel patted the back of the puppy, still in the grasp of her owner,while she muttered her wrath at the touch of the stranger. Although theyowed him much, he thought, yet these Huskies wished to make him paydearly for the dog. Still he was glad to get her, even at such a price.So he went to the cache, loosened the lashings of his fur-pack, andreturned with two prime marten pelts, offering them to the Esquimo.

  Again Kovik's round face was divided by a grin. The wrinkles radiatedfrom the narrow eyes which snapped.

  "You lak' seal in riv'--ketch boy. Tak' de dog--we no want skin." Andshaking his head, the Husky pushed away the pelts.

  Slowly the face of Marcel changed with surprise as he sensed the importof Kovik's words. They were making him a present of the dog.

  "You--you geeve to me--dese puppy?" he stammered, staring into thegrinning face of the Esquimo, delighted with the success of his littleruse.

  Kovik nodded.

  "T'anks, t'anks!" cried Jean, his eyes suspiciously moist as he wrungthe Husky's hand, then seized that of the chuckling woman. "You are goodpeople; I not forget de Kovik."

  He had done these honest Esquimos a wrong. Now, after the fear ofdefeat, and the bitterness, the puppy he had coveted was his. He was notto return to Whale River empty handed, the laughing-stock of hispartners. It had been indeed worth while, his plunge into the bad-lands,for in two years he would have the dog-team of his dreams. Some day thisfour-months-old puppy should make the fortune of Jean Marcel.

  But little he realized, as he exulted in his good luck, how vital a partin his life, and in the life of Julie Breton, this wild puppy with
thewhite socks was to play.