ne--the "Injun-devil" of
the superstitious--was responsible for the sound. What could it be? he
queried. No furred prowler of the night, and he knew the varied voices
of them all, had such a muffled cry. Puzzled and curious he left his
rabbit-skin robes and stood with the terrified Michel beside the fire.
In an uproar, the dogs ran into the "bush" with manes bristling and
bared fangs, to hurl the husky challenge down the valley at the
invisible menace.

"Eet ees de Windigo! Dey tell me at Whale Riviere not to come een dees
countree! De Windigo an' Matchi Manito ees loose here," whimpered Michel
through chattering teeth.

Jean Marcel did not know what it was that made night horrible with its
moaning but he intended to learn at once. The lungs behind that noise
could be pierced by rifle bullet and the cold steel of his knife. There
was not a creature in the north with which Fleur would not readily
battle. He would soon learn if the hide of a Windigo was tough enough to
turn the knife-like fangs of Fleur, and the bullets of his 30-30.

Seizing Michel by the shoulders he shook the boy roughly.

"I tell you, Michel, de devil dat mak' dat soun' travel on four feet.
You tie up de pup an' wait here. Fleur an' I go an' breeng back hees
skin."

But the panic-stricken Michel would not be left alone, and when he had
fastened the excited puppies, with shaking hands he drew his rifle from
its skin case and joined Marcel.

Holding with difficulty on her rawhide leash the aroused Fleur leaping
ahead in the soft footing, Marcel snow-shoed through the timber in the
direction from which the sound had come.

After travelling some time they stopped to listen.

From somewhere ahead, seemingly but a few hundred yards down the valley,
floated the eerie sobbing. Michel's gun slipped to the snow from his
palsied hands.

Turning, Jean gripped the boy's arm.

"Why you come? You no good to shoot. De Windigo eat you w'ile you hunt
for your gun."

Picking up the rifle, the boy threw off the mittens fastened to his
sleeve by thongs, and gritting his teeth, followed Marcel and Fleur.

Shortly they stopped again to listen. Straight ahead through the spruce
the moaning rose and fell. Fleur, frantic to reach the mysterious enemy,
plunged forward dragging Marcel, followed by the quaking boy who held
his cocked rifle in readiness for the rush of beast or devil. Passing
through scrub, a small clearing opened up before them. Checking Fleur,
Ma