ter, the blanched face of Julie Breton had looked
up at him, her lips moving in hopeless appeal, as she was swept from
sight.

Into the roaring flume he had plunged headlong, frenziedly seeking her,
as he vainly fought down through the gorge, buffeted and mauled by the
churning water, but though he hunted the length of the river below,
never found her.

Again, he was travelling with Fleur and the team in a blizzard, when out
of the smother of snow before him beckoned the wraith of Julie
Breton--always just ahead, always beckoning to him. Pushing his dogs to
their utmost he never drew nearer, never reached the wistful face he
loved, luring him through the curtain of snow.

Marcel freshened the fire and lighted his pipe. It was long before he
threw off the grip of his dreams and slept.

CHAPTER XXXVII

FOR LOVE OF A GIRL

Two days before Christmas the team of Jean Marcel, its harness brave
with colored worsted, meeting the snarls of hostile Cree curs with the
like threat of white fangs, jingled gaily past sleep-house and tepees,
and drew up before the log trade-house at Whale River. Returning the
greeting of the Crees who hailed him, he threw open the slab-door of the
building.

"Bon jour, Jean, eet ees well dees Chreesmas you come." The grave face
of Jules Duroc checked the jest on Marcel's lips as he shook his
friend's hand.

"You are sad, mon ami; what has happened to the merry Jules?" Jean
asked.

"Ah, Jean Marcel! Dere ees bad news for you at Whale River."

Across Marcel's brain flashed the memory of his dreams. Julie! Something
had happened to Julie Breton. His speeding heart shook him as an engine
a boat. A vise on his throat smothered the questions he strove to ask.
His lips twitched, but from them came no words, as his questioning eyes
held those of Jules.

"Yes, eet ees as you t'ink, Jean Marcel. She ees ver' seek."

Marcel's hands closed on Jules' arms as he demanded hoarsely:

"Mon Dieu! W'at ees eet, Jules? Tell me, w'at ees eet?"

"She has de bad arm. Cut de han' wid a knife."

Blood-poisoning, because of his medical ignorance, held less terror for
Marcel than some strange fever, insidious and mysterious. He had feared
that Julie Breton had a dread disease against which the crude skill of
the north is helpless. So, as he hastened to the Mission where he found
Mrs. Gillies installed as nurse, his hopes rose, for a wound in the hand
could not be fatal.

From the anxious-eyed Pere