THE WAY OF A DOG
When Wallace and Gillies had surveyed the bodies of the dead
half-breeds, the factor turned grimly to his chief.
"Well, Wallace, I don't see how we can send the Lelacs south for trial,
now; they wouldn't keep that long."
"Gillies," said the Inspector with a frown, ignoring the ghastly
witticism, "I want you to run down the men who did this. Whether they
deserved it or not, I won't have men murdered in this district without
trial. The lawlessness of the East Coast has got to stop."
Gillies turned away, suppressing with difficulty his anger. Shortly in
control of his voice, he answered:
"Mr. Wallace, I have put in many years, boy and man, on this coast and I
think I understand the Crees. To punish the men who did this, provided
we knew who they were, would be the worst thing the Company could do.
When the Lelacs stole Beaulieu's fur and rifle, they put themselves
outside the Cree law, and as sure as the sun will set in Hudson's Bay
to-night, the Lelacs would never have got out of the bush alive this
winter."
"I know," objected Wallace, "but to overpower our guards and kill them
under our noses----"
"What of it? The Lelacs had robbed a dead man and would have killed Jean
Marcel, if he hadn't been a son of Andre Marcel, who was a wolf in a
fight. The Lelacs were three-quarter Cree and the Indians here have a
way of meting out justice to their own people in a case like this that
even Canadian officials might envy. You may be sure that the Lelacs were
formally tried and condemned in some tepee last night before this thing
happened."
"These two guards must have been asleep," complained Wallace.
"Well, we'll never know, Mr. Wallace. They say that they were thrown
from behind and didn't recognize the men who did it. Even if they did,
they wouldn't tell who they were, and it's useless to try to make them.
The Crees have taken the Lelacs off our hands. They have saved us time
and money by ridding us of these vermin. In my opinion we should thank
rather than attempt to punish them."
So Inspector Wallace slowly cooled off and in the afternoon went to the
Mission to make his daily call on Julie Breton only to be informed, to
his surprise, that she could not see him.
Meanwhile the condition of the wounded man was unchanged, but Pere
Breton faced a problem which he deemed necessary to discuss with his
friends Jules Duroc and McCain.
Throughout the day, Fleur had fretted in the stockade, running back and
forth followed by her complaining puppies, thrusting her nose between
the pickets to whine and howl by turns, mourning the strange absence of
Marcel.
"Fleur will not grant sleep to Whale River to-night, unless something is
done," said the priest to the two men who were acting in turn as
assistant nurses.
"Why can't we bring her in; let her see him and sniff his hand; it might
quiet her?" suggested McCain. "It will only make her worse to shut her
up somewhere else."
"By Gar! Who weel tak' dat dog out again?" objected Jules. "Once she
here, she nevaire leeve de room."
"Yes, she will, Jules. She'll go back to her pups after a while. We'll
bring them outside under the window and let 'em squeal. She'll go back
to 'em then."
"I am strong man," said Jules, "but I not love to hold dat dog. She weel
eat Jean Marcel, she so glad to see heem, an' we mus' keep her off de
bed."
At that moment Julie entered the room. "I will take Fleur to see him;
she will behave for me," volunteered the girl.
So not without serious misgivings, it was arranged that the grieving
Fleur should be shown her master.
That night when Julie had fed Fleur, she opened the stockade gate and
stroking the great head of the dog, said slowly:
"Fleur would see Jean, Jean Marcel?"
At the sound of the master's name, Fleur's ears went forward, her slant
eyes turning here and there for a sight of the familiar figure. Then
with a whine she looked at Julie as if for explanation.
"Fleur will see Jean, soon. Will Fleur behave for Julie?"
With a yelp the husky leaped through the gate and ran to and fro
outside, sniffing the air; then as if she knew the master were not
there, returned, shaggy body trembling, every nerve tense with
anticipation, slant eyes eagerly questioning as she whimpered her
impatience.
Taking the dog by her plaited collar of caribou hide, to it Julie
knotted a rope and led her into the Mission where McCain, Jules and Pere
Breton waited.
"Fleur will be good and not hurt Jean. She must not leap on his bed. He
is very sick."
Seeming to sense that something was about to happen having to do with
Marcel, Fleur met the girl's hand with a swift lick of her tongue. With
the rope trailing behind, the end of which Jules and McCain seized to
control the dog in case she became unmanageable, Julie Breton opened the
door of Marcel's room, where with fever-flushed face the unconscious man
lay on a low cot, one arm hanging limply to the floor. When the husky
saw the motionless figure, she pricked her ears, thrusting her muzzle
forward, and sniffed, and as her nose revealed the glad news that here
at last lay the lost Jean Marcel, she raised her head and yelped wildly.
Then swiftly muzzling Marcel's inert body she started to spring upon the
bunk to wake him, when Julie Breton's arms circled her neck and aided by
the drag on the rope, checked her.
"Down, Fleur! No! No! You must not hurt Jean."
Seeming to sense that the mute Marcel was not to be roughly played with,
the intelligent dog, whimpering like one of her puppies, caressed the
free hand of the sick man, then, ignoring the weight on the rope
dragging her back, she strained forward to reach his neck with her
tongue, for his head was turned from her. But Jean Marcel did not return
her caress.
Puzzled by his indifference, then sensing that harm had come to the
unconscious Marcel, the dog raised her head over the cot and rocked the
room with a wail of sorrow.
The wounded man sighed and turning, moaned:
"They took Fleur and now they take Julie. There is nothing left--nothing
left!"
At the words, the nose of the overjoyed dog reached the hot face of
Marcel, but his eyes did not see her.
Again Julie's strong arms circled Fleur's neck, restraining her. The
slant eyes of the husky looked long into the pale face which showed no
recognition; then she quietly sat down, resting her nose on his arm. And
for hours, with Julie seated beside her, Fleur kept vigil beside the
bed, until the priest and McCain insisted on the dog's removal.
When Jules brought a crying puppy outside the window of the sick room,
for a time Fleur listened to the call of her offspring without removing
her eyes from Marcel's face. But at length, maternal instinct
temporarily conquered the desire to watch by the stricken man. Her
unweaned puppies depended on her for life and for the moment mother love
prevailed. With a final caress of the limp hand of Marcel, reluctantly,
with head down and tail dragging, she followed Julie to the stockade.