The Whelps of the Wolf

by George P. Marsh

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE FANGS OF THE HALF-BREEDS

  One night when Jean returned late from his nets after a long paddle,seeking the exhaustion that would bring sleep and temporary respite fromhis grief, a canoe manned by three men drifted alongshore toward hisbeached canoe. Occupied with his thoughts, Marcel took no notice of thecraft. Removing from the boat the fish he had caught, he was about tolift and place it bottom up on the beach when the bow of the approachingbirch-bark suddenly swung sharply and jammed into the stern of his own.

  With an exclamation of irritation at the clumsiness of the people in theoffending canoe, Jean looked up to stare into the faces of the threeLelacs.

  "You are good canoeman," he sneered, roughly pushing with his paddle thehalf-breeds' canoe from his own. That the act was intentional, he knew,but he was surprised that the Lelacs, convicted of theft, and on paroleat the post awaiting the Company's decision as to their punishment,would dare to start trouble.

  As Jean shoved off the Lelacs' canoe, the half-breeds, as if at apreconcerted signal, shouted loudly:

  "W'at you do to us, Jean Marcel? Ough! Why you beat me wid de paddle? Hetry to keel us!"

  The near beach was deserted, but the shouts in the still night wereaudible on the post clearing above. The uproar waked the sleepinghuskies at the few remaining Esquimo tepees on the shore, whose howlingquickly aroused the post dogs.

  It was evident to Jean that his enemies had chosen their time and place.Obeying scrupulously the orders of Gillies since the trial, Marcel hadavoided the Lelacs, holding in check the just wrath which had promptedhim to take personal vengeance upon his traducers. Now, instead, theyhad sought him, but from their actions, intended to make him seem theaggressor.

  "Bon!" he muttered between his teeth. Life had little value to him now,he would give these thieves what they were after.

  "You 'fraid to come on shore? You squeal lak' rabbit; you t'ief!" hetaunted.

  Continuing to shout that Marcel was attacking them, the Lelacs landedtheir canoe and the elder son, evidently drunk, lurched toward the manwho waited.

  "Rabbit, am I?" roared the frenzied half-breed, and struck savagely atJean with his paddle. Dodging the blow, before the breed could recoverhis balance, the Frenchman lunged with his one hundred and seventypounds behind his fist into Lelac's jaw, hurling him reeling into thewater ten feet away. Then the two Lelacs reached him.

  Gasping for breath, the younger brother fell backward, helpless from akick in the pit of his stomach as the maddened Marcel grappled with thefather. Over and over they rolled on the beach, Lelac, frenzied bydrink, snarling with hate of the man he had tried to destroy, fightinglike a trapped wolverine; the no less infuriated Marcel resolved now torid Whale River forever of this vermin.

  It was not long before the bands of steel cable which swathed the arms,shoulders and back of Jean Marcel overcame the delirious strength of thecrazed half-breed, and Lelac was forced down and held on his back. Thenlike the jaws of a wolf-trap, the fingers of Marcel's right hand shut onthe throat of the under man. The bloodshot eyes of Lelac bulged fromtheir sockets. Blood filled the distorted face. The mouth gaped for air,barred by the vise on his throat. In a last feeble effort to freehimself, a helpless hand clawed limply at Marcel's wrist--then herelaxed, unconscious, on the beach.

  Getting to his feet, Jean looked for the others, to see the youngerbrother still nursing his stomach, when an oath sounded in his ears and,struck from the rear, a sharp twinge bit through his shoulder, as hestumbled forward.

  Leaping away from a second lunge, and drawing his knife with his lefthand, Marcel slashed wildly, driving before him the half-breed whom thewater had revived. Then, as he fought to reach him, the shape of hisretreating enemy slowly faded from Marcel's vision; his strength ebbed;the knife slipped from his fingers as darkness shut down upon him, andhe reeled senseless to the stones.

  With a snarl of triumph, Lelac, crouched on the defensive, sprang to thecrumpled figure, a hand raised to drive home the knife-thrust, whensomething sang shrilly through the air. The upraised arm fell. With agroan, the half-breed pitched on his face, the slender shaft of aseal-spear quivering in his back.

  Close by, a kayak silently slid to the shore and a squat Husky, hisbroad face knotted with fear, ran to the unconscious Marcel. Swiftlycutting the shirt from the Frenchman's back, he was staunching the flowof blood from the knife wound, when people from the post clearing,headed by Jules Duroc, reached the beach.

  "By Gar! Jean Marcel!" gasped Jules recognizing his friend. "He ees cutbad?"

  The Husky shook his head. "He not kill."

  Staring at the dead man transfixed by the spear and his unconsciousfather, Jules roared: "De t'ief, dey try _revanche_ on Jean Marcel!"

  Stripping off his own shirt, Jules bandaged Marcel's shoulder. As heworked, one thing he told himself. Had they killed Marcel, the Lelacswould not have gone south for trial. Father and son would never haveleft the beach at Whale River alive.

  Then he said to the gathering Crees, "Tak' dem!" pointing to the youngerLelac now shedding maudlin tears over his dead brother, and to thehalf-choked father, resuscitated by a rough immersion in the river fromunfriendly hands. Seizing the pair, rapidly sobering and now fearful fortheir fate, the Crees kicked them up the cliff trail.

  "Tiens!" exclaimed Jules to the Husky, finishing the bandaging. "Dey trykeel Marcel but he lay out two w'en he get de cut?"

  The Husky nodded, "A-hah! I hear holler an' dey run on heem. He put alldown. One in water, he get up an' cut heem wid knife. He fall and,whish! I spear dat one."

  "By Gar! You good man wid de seal-spear, John Kovik." And Jules wrungthe Esquimo's hand.

  "I cum fast een kayak to fight for heem; I too slow," and the Huskyshook his head sadly.

  "Ah, you cum jus' een time. You save hees life."

  The Husky placed a hand on the thick hair of the senseless man, as hesaid, "He ketch boy, Salmon Rive'. He frien' of me!"

  Jean Marcel's bread upon the waters had returned to him.

  With the unconscious Marcel in his arms, Jules Duroc climbed the cliff,the grateful Kovik at his heels, to meet the inhabitants of Whale Riveron the clearing. The news of the fight on the beach had spread swiftlythrough the post and many and fierce were the threats made against theLelacs as they were shut in a small shack and placed under guard.

  In front of the trade-house, Gillies, followed by McCain and Wallace,met Jules with his burden.

  "How did this happen, Jules? Is he badly hurt?" demanded the factor.Jules explained briefly.

  "Stabbed in the back? Too bad! Too bad! Take him to the MissionHospital."

  "Well, Gillies, this settles it! The Lelacs go south for trial, now, andthey won't need you as a witness either," announced Wallace.

  "Yes, we'll have to get rid of them," admitted the factor. "They werecrazy to do this after what has happened. I should have shut them up.Too bad Jean didn't use his knife instead of his hands on them!"

  "Or his feet!" added McCain. "The Husky says he put one Lelac out ofbusiness with a kick and choked the old man unconscious, when the onewho was knocked into the river stabbed him. He fought them with his barehands. I take off my hat to Jean Marcel."

  "Who started this affair, anyway?" asked Wallace. "The Lelacs, under acloud here, couldn't have dared to."

  Gillies turned on his chief.

  "What do we care who started it? Haven't they tried to ruin Marcel? Iordered him to keep away from them, but didn't he have sufficient causeto start--anything?"

  "The Crees say the Lelacs got drunk on sugar-beer and were waiting forJean to get back from down river," broke in McCain, fearing a rowbetween Gillies and the Inspector. "John Kovik, the Husky, saw them rushhim, and John got there in time to throw his seal-spear at young Lelac,after he had stabbed Marcel from behind."

  "Oh, that explains it; Marcel was defending himself," said the ruffledInspector.

  "Yes, and you will notice, Mr. Wallace," rasped Gillies, "that Marcelfought th
em with his hands, until he was cut, one man against three. Ifhe had used his knife on the old man, he wouldn't have been hurt. Doesthat prove what we've told you about him?"

  It was at this point that Julie Breton and her brother, late in hearingthe news, reached Jules carrying his burden, whose bandages were nowreddening with blood.

  "Oh, Jules, is he badly hurt?" cried the girl, peering in the dusk atthe ashen face of Marcel. Then she noticed the bandages, and putting herhands to her face, moaned: "Jean Marcel, what have they done to you;what have they done to you?"

  "Eet bleed hard, Ma'm'selle," Jules said softly, "but eet ees onlee eende shouldair. Don' cry, Ma'm'selle Julie!"

  Supporting the sobbing girl, Pere Breton ordered:

  "Carry him to the Mission, Jules."

  "Yes, Father!" And Jean Marcel returned again to a room in the Mission.

  Tenderly rough hands bathed and dressed the knife wound and through thenight Pere Breton sat by his patient, who moaned and tossed in thedelirium which the fever brought.