Salmon in search of dogs.
Now that they had learned of conditions at the fur-posts, no Esquimos
bound south for the spring trade would sell a dog at a reasonable price.

As the disheartened Marcel watched with envious eyes the puppies, which
he realized were beyond his means to obtain, the cries from the shore of
the eldest son of his host aroused the camp. Above them, in the chutes
at the foot of the white-water, flashes of silver marked the leaping
vanguards of the salmon run, on their way to spring-fed streams at the
river's head.

Seizing their salmon spears the Esquimos hurried up-stream to take their
stands on rocks which the fish might pass. Having no spear Jean watched
the younger Kovik wade through the strong current out to a rock within
spearing reach of a deep chute of black water. Presently the crouching
lad drove his spear into the flume at his feet and was struggling on the
rock with a large salmon. Killing the fish with his knife, he threw it,
with a cry of triumph, to the beach. Again he waited, muscles tense, his
right arm drawn back for the lunge. Again, as a silvery shape darted up
the chute, the boy struck with his spear. But so anxious was he to drive
the lance home, that, missing the fish, his lunge carried him head-first
into the swift water.

With a shout of warning to those above, Jean Marcel ran down the beach.
His canoe was out of reach on the cache with the Husky's kayak, and the
clumsy skin umiak of the family was useless for quick work. In his
sealskin boots and clothes the lad would be carried to the foot of the
rapids and drowned. Jean reached the "boilers" below the white-water
before the body of the helpless Esquimo appeared. Plunging into the
ice-cold river he swam out into the current below the tail of the
chute, and when the half-drowned lad floundered to the surface, seized
him by his heavy hair. As they were swept down-stream an eddy threw
their bodies together, and in spite of Marcel's desperate efforts, the
arms of the Husky closed on him in vise-like embrace. Strong as he was,
the Frenchman could not break the grip, and they sank.

The _voyageur_ rose to the surface fighting to free himself from the
clinging Esquimo, but in vain; then his sinewy fingers found the throat
of the half-conscious boy and taking a long breath, he again went down
with his burden. When the two came up Marcel was free. With a grip on
the long hair of the now senseless lad he made the shore, and draggi