CHAPTER VII
THE LONG TRAIL TO THE SOUTH COAST
A day's hard paddle past Big Island the dreaded Cape of the Four Windsthrust its bold buttresses far out into the sea toward the White Bear,and Marcel knew that wind here meant days of delay, for no canoe couldround this grim headland feared by all _voyageurs_, except in fairweather. So, after a few hours' sleep, he toiled all day down the coastand at midnight had put the gray cape behind him.
Two days later when Marcel went ashore on the Isle of Graves of theEsquimos, to boil his kettle, he found, to his delight, a Fort Georgegoose-boat on the same errand. The Crees who had just left the post toshoot the winter's supply of gray and snowy geese, or "wavies," as theyare called from their resemblance in flight to a white banner waving inthe sun, had met, two nights before off the mouth of Big River, thecanoe he was following. The dog-thieves, who were strangers, did notstop at the post, but had continued south.
With two paddles they were not holding their lead, he laughed tohimself, but were coming back. If he hurried he would overhaul thembefore they reached Rupert. He did not know the Rupert River, and ifonce they started inland he would be caught by the "freeze-up" in astrange country, so he continued on late into the night.
Then followed day after day of endless toil at the paddle, for he knewhe must travel while the weather held. He could not hope to make Rupert,or even East Main before the wind changed; which might mean idling fordays on a beach pounded by seas in which no canoe could live. At times,with a stern breeze, he rigged a piece of canvas to a spruce pole andsailed. But one thought dominated him as mile after mile of the grayEast Coast slid past; the thought of having his puppy once more in hiscanoe, fretting at the gulls and ducks and geese, as he headed north.
Only through necessity did he stop to shoot geese, whose gray and whitelegions were gathering on the coast for the annual migration. At dawnthe "gou-luk!" of the gray ganders marshalling their families out to thefeeding grounds, which once sent his blood leaping, now left him cold.He was hunting bigger game, and his heart hungered for his puppy, beatenand half-starved, in all likelihood, travelling somewhere ahead downthat bleak coast in the canoe of two men who did not know that close ontheir heels followed an enemy as dogged, as relentless, as a wolf onthe trail of an old caribou abandoned by the herd.
And so, after days of ceaseless dip and swing, dip and swing, which atnight left his back and arms stiff and his fingers numb, Jean Marcelturned into the mouth of the East Main River and paddled up to the post,where he learned that the canoe of the half-breeds had not been seen,and that no hunters of their description traded there. So he turnedagain to the Bay and headed south for Rupert House. Off the Wild GeeseIslands he met what he had for days been dreading, the first Septembernorth-wester, and was driven ashore. For the following three days herested and hunted geese, and when the storm whipped itself out, went on,and at last, crossing Boatswain's Bay, rounded Mount Sherrick andpaddled up Rupert Bay to the famous old post, which, since the days ofthe Merry Monarch and his favorite, Prince Rupert, the first Governor ofthe "Company of Merchants-Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay," hasguarded the river mouth--an uninterrupted history of two centuries and ahalf of fair dealing with the red fur-hunters of Rupert Land.
"So you're the son of Andre Marcel? Well, well! Time does fly! Why,Andre and I made many a camp together in the old days. There was a man,my lad!"
Jean straightened his wide shoulders in pride at this praise of hisfather by Alec Cameron, factor at Rupert. When he had explained theobject of his long journey south in the fall, the latter raised hisbushy eyebrows in amazement.
"You mean to tell me that you paddled from Whale River in fifteen days,after a dog?"
"Oui, M'sieu Cameron."
"Well, you didn't waste the daylight or the moon either. You're sure ason of Andre Marcel. It must be a record for a single paddle; and allfor a pup, eh?"
"Oui, all for a pup!"
"You deserve to get that dog. Now, these half-breeds you describedropped in here in June behind the Mistassini brigade, and traded theirfur. Then they started north after dogs."
"Dey were onlee a day ahead of me up de coast."
"Queer I haven't seen 'em here yet. Pierre!" Cameron called to a Companyman passing the trade-house. "Have those two Mistassini strangers whowent north in June, got back yet?"
"No, but Albert meet dem in Gull Bay two day back. Dey have one pup deytrade from Huskee!"
"There you are, Marcel! Your men crossed over to Hannah Bay to huntgeese. They'll be here in a week or two on their way up-river. You waithere and we'll get your dog when they show up."
"T'anks, M'sieu Cameron!" The dark eyes of Jean Marcel snapped. At lasthe was closing in on his quarry. "I weel go to Hannah Bay now and get mydog."
"Two to one, lad! They may get the best of you, and I've no men tospare; they're all away goose hunting. You'd better wait here."
"M'sieu, Andre Marcel would go alone and tak' his dog. I, hees son, alsoweel tak' mine."
"Good Lord! Andre Marcel would have skinned them alive--those two. Well,good luck, Jean! but I don't like your tackling those breeds alone."
Jean shook hands with the factor.
"Bon-jour, M'sieu Cameron, and t'anks!"
"If you don't drop in here on your way back, give my regards to Gilliesand his family, and be careful," said the factor as Marcel left him.
The Whelps of the Wolf Page 8
