the lie. But what
did he do? He told his tale to Pere Breton, here, before he learned what
the Lelacs had said.

"He freely admitted that Beaulieu had been stabbed when he might have
denied it and got off scot free. Does that look like a guilty man?
Answer me that!" thundered Gillies to his superior officer.

The force of Gillies' argument was not lost on the unreceptive Wallace.

The stone-hard features of Marcel reflected no emotion but deep in his
heart smoldered a hatred of this Inspector of the Company, who, not
satisfied with taking Julie Breton from him, now flouted his honor as a
Marcel and a man.

"Well?" demanded Gillies, impatiently, his frank glance holding the pale
eyes of Wallace.

"Yes, what you say, Gillies, has its weight, no doubt. If he had wanted
to avoid this thing, he might have done it, when he learned that the
Lelacs had held the fur. Still, I'll think it over. It may be best to
send him 'outside' to be tried, as a warning to these people. I can't
seem to swallow that tale of the dog killing Piquet, however. Sounds
fishy to me!"

"Have you seen the dog?" demanded Gillies.

"No!"

"Well, when you see her, you won't doubt it. She's the most powerful
husky I've ever seen--weighs a hundred and forty pounds. She's got a
litter due soon."

"Oh, I'd like to take a pup or two back with me."

"Well, you'll have to see Marcel about that," chuckled Gillies. "Her
pups are worth a black fox skin. We'll have this hearing to-morrow,
then, if it's agreeable to you, Mr. Wallace. When you see the Lelacs you
may understand why we believe so strongly in Marcel."

As Wallace went out, Gillies drew Jean aside.

"I have little faith in Inspector Wallace, Jean. He would send you south
for trial if he could find sufficient reason for it."

"M'sieu Gillies, Jean Marcel will never go south to be tried by strange
men for the thing he did not do."

"What do you mean, my son? You would not make yourself an outlaw? It
would be better to go."

"I shall not go, M'sieu." And Colin Gillies believed in his heart that
Marcel spoke the truth.

CHAPTER XXVI

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 dea