reat fury:

"What, you cheap kimootisks, will you let this pair of malamutes go for
seven mink and a cross fox. Are you men? Are you poverty-stricken? Are
you blind? A breed dog and a male giant for seven mink and a cross fox?
Non, I will buy them myself first, and kill them, and use their flesh
for dog-feed, and their hides for fools' caps! I will--"

"Twelve mink and a Number Two Cross," came a voice out of the crowd.

"Twelve mink and a Number One," shouted another.

"A little better--a little better!" wailed Paquette. "You are waking
up, but slowly--mon Dieu, so slowly! Twelve mink and--"

A voice rose in Cree:

"Nesi-tu-now-unisk!"

Paquette gave a triumphant yell.

"The Indian beats you! The Indian from Little Neck Lake--an Indian
beats the white man! He offers twenty beaver--prime skins! And beaver
are wanted in Paris now. They're wanted in London. Beaver and
gold--they are the same! But they are the price of one dog alone. Shall
they both go at that? Shall the Indian have them for twenty
beaver--twenty beaver that may be taken from a single house in a
day--while it has taken these malamutes two and a half years to grow? I
say, you cheap kimootisks--"

And then an amazing thing happened. It was like a bomb falling in that
crowded throng of wondering and amazed forest people.

It was the closely hooded stranger who spoke.

"I will give a hundred dollars cash," he said.

A look of annoyance crossed Reese Beaudin's face.

He was close to the bronze-faced stranger, and edged nearer.

"Let the Indian have them," he said in a low voice. "It is Meewe. I
knew him years ago. He has carried me on his back. He taught me first
to draw pictures."

"But they are powerful dogs," objected the stranger. "My team needs
them."

The Cree had risen higher out of the crowd. One arm rose above his
head. He was an Indian who had seen fifty years of the forests, and his
face was the face of an Egyptian.

"Nesi-tu-now Nesoo-sap umisk!" he proclaimed.

Henri Paquette hopped excitedly, and faced the stranger.

"Twenty-two beaver," he challenged. "Twenty-two--"

"Let Meewe have them," replied the hooded stranger.

Three minutes later a single dog was pulled up on the log platform. He
was a magnificent beast, and a rumble of approval ran through the crowd.

The face of Joe Delesse was gray. He wet his lips. Reese Beaudin,
watching him, knew that the time had come. And Joe Delesse, seeing no
way of escape, whispered