we care who started it? Haven't they tried to ruin Marcel? I
ordered him to keep away from them, but didn't he have sufficient cause
to start--anything?"

"The Crees say the Lelacs got drunk on sugar-beer and were waiting for
Jean to get back from down river," broke in McCain, fearing a row
between Gillies and the Inspector. "John Kovik, the Husky, saw them rush
him, and John got there in time to throw his seal-spear at young Lelac,
after he had stabbed Marcel from behind."

"Oh, that explains it; Marcel was defending himself," said the ruffled
Inspector.

"Yes, and you will notice, Mr. Wallace," rasped Gillies, "that Marcel
fought them with his hands, until he was cut, one man against three. If
he had used his knife on the old man, he wouldn't have been hurt. Does
that prove what we've told you about him?"

It was at this point that Julie Breton and her brother, late in hearing
the news, reached Jules carrying his burden, whose bandages were now
reddening with blood.

"Oh, Jules, is he badly hurt?" cried the girl, peering in the dusk at
the ashen face of Marcel. Then she noticed the bandages, and putting her
hands to her face, moaned: "Jean Marcel, what have they done to you;
what have they done to you?"

"Eet bleed hard, Ma'm'selle," Jules said softly, "but eet ees onlee een
de shouldair. Don' cry, Ma'm'selle Julie!"

Supporting the sobbing girl, Pere Breton ordered:

"Carry him to the Mission, Jules."

"Yes, Father!" And Jean Marcel returned again to a room in the Mission.

Tenderly rough hands bathed and dressed the knife wound and through the
night Pere Breton sat by his patient, who moaned and tossed in the
delirium which the fever brought.

CHAPTER XXX

CREE JUSTICE

Deep in the night a long, mournful howl, repeated again and again,
roused the sleeping post. Straightway the dogs of the factor and the
Crees, followed by the Esquimos' huskies on the beach, were pointing
their noses at the moon in dismal chorus. With muttered curse and
protest from tepee, shack and factor's quarters, the wakened people of
the post, covering their ears, sought sleep, for no hour is sacred to
the moon-baying husky and no one may suppress him. One wakes, and
lifting his nose, pours out his canine soul in sleep-shattering lament,
when, promptly, every husky within hearing takes up the wail.

The post dogs, having alternately and in chorus, to their hearts'
content and according to the custom of their fathers, t