THE WHELPS OF THE WOLF
The following morning Jean Marcel forgot the cloud hanging over him in
his joy at the event which had taken place since dawn. Rousing Julie and
her brother, he led them to the stockade. There in all the pride of
motherhood lay the great Fleur with five blind, roly-poly puppies,
whimpering at her side.
"Oh, the little dears!" cried Julie. "How pretty they are!"
First speaking to Fleur and patting her head, Jean picked up a squirming
ball of fur and as the mother whined anxiously, put it in Julie's arms.
"Oh, mon cher!" cried the girl, nestling the warm little body to her
cheek. "What a morsel of softness!" But when Pere Breton reached to
touch the puppy a rumble from Fleur's deep throat warned him that Julie
alone was privileged to take such liberties with her offspring.
Jean quieted the anxious mother, whose nose sought his hand. "See,
Father, what a dog-team she has given me."
One after another he proudly exhibited the puppies. "Mark the bone of
their legs. They will make a famous team with Fleur as leader. Is it not
so?"
"They are a possession to be proud of, Jean," agreed the priest,
standing discreetly out of reach, for Fleur's slant eyes never left him.
"Which of them do you wish, Julie?" Jean asked. "One, you know, is for
you."
"Oh, Jean; you are too good!" cried the girl. "I should love this one,
marked like Fleur," and she stooped to take the whimpering puppy in her
arms, while Jean's hand rested on Fleur's massive head, lest the fear of
the mother dog for the safety of her offspring should overpower her
friendship for Julie.
As the girl fearlessly reached and lifted the puppy, Fleur suddenly
thrust forward her long muzzle and licked her hand.
"_Bon!_" cried Jean, delighted. "Fleur would allow no one on earth to do
that except you. The puppy's name must be Julie."
In his joy at the coming of Fleur's family Marcel had forgotten, for the
time being, the hearing. But later in the morning at the trade-house,
Gillies, whose obstinacy had been deeply aroused by the attitude of
Inspector Wallace, planned with the accused man how they should handle
the Lelacs.
For the factor had no intention of permitting Jean's exoneration to
hang in the balance of the prejudiced mind of Wallace. The canny Scot
realized that if the Lelacs were thoroughly discredited at the hearing
at which the leaders of the Crees would be present; were shown to have
an ulterior motive in their attempt to fix the crime upon Marcel, there
would be a strong reaction in favor of Jean--that his story would be
generally accepted; so to this end he carefully laid his plans. Wallace,
busy prying into the books of the post, he did not take into his
confidence, wishing to surprise him as well as the Crees by the
bomb-shell the defense had in store for the Lelacs.
At noon Wallace overheard Jules and McCain talking of Fleur's puppies
which they had just seen.
"By the way, McCain, where are these remarkable Ungava pups which you
say were sired by a timber wolf?"
"Over in the Mission stockade, sir."
"I want to see them and the old dog, too. I'm rather curious to put my
eyes on the husky that could kill a man with a loaded gun in his hands.
That part of Marcel's story needs a bit of salt."
"You won't doubt it when you see her! She's a whale of a husky," said
McCain.
"Well, I never saw the dog that could kill me with a rifle handy. I'll
stroll over and take a look at her."
"I'll show you the way." And McCain and Wallace went to the Mission.
Arrived at the tent in the stockade they were greeted by a fierce
rumble, like the muttering of an August south-wester making on the Bay.
"We'd better not go near the tent, Mr. Wallace. I'll see if Jean's in
the house. The dog won't allow anyone but Marcel near her."
Ignoring the warning, Wallace approached the tent opening to look
inside, but so fierce a snarl warned him off that he stepped back with
considerably more speed than his dignity admitted. Red in the face, he
glanced around to learn if his precipitous flight had had an audience.
Shortly, McCain returned with Marcel, and Wallace, now that the dog's
owner was near, again approached and peered into the tent.
There was a deep growl from within, and with a cry of surprise the
Inspector was hurled backward to the ground by the rush of a great, gray
body. At the same instant, Jean Marcel, calling to Fleur, leaped
headlong at his dog, seizing her before she could strike at the neck of
the prostrate Wallace. Calming the husky, he held her while the
discomfited Inspector got to his feet.
"You should not go so near, M'sieu. She ees not use to stranger," said
Jean brusquely.
"I--I didn't think she was so cross," sputtered the ruffled Inspector.
"Why, she's a regular wolf of a dog!"
"Now, sir," demanded the secretly delighted McCain, "do you believe she
could kill a man?"
Surveying Fleur's gigantic frame critically as Jean stroked her glossy
neck, soothing her with low words crooned into a hairy ear, the
enlightened Inspector of the East Coast posts admitted:
"Well, I don't know but what she could. I never saw such a beast for
size and strength. Let's have a look at the pups."
Jean brought from the tent the blind, squirming balls of fur.
"They are beauties, Marcel! I'll buy a couple of them. They can go down
by the steamer if they're weaned by that time. What do you want for
them?"
Marcel smiled inscrutably at Inspector Wallace and said:
"M'sieu, dese pups are not to sell."
"I know, but you don't want all of them. That would give you six dogs.
All you need for a team is four."
But Jean Marcel only shook his head, repeating:
"Dey are not to sell!"