down blanketing the near shore.

Daylight found them on their way. Due to the wind there was as yet
little drift on the trail over the Bay ice and the freshened dogs, with
lowered heads, swung up the coast at a trot. All day with but short
respite, men and dogs battled on against the norther. The mouth of the
Little Salmon was the goal Marcel had set for himself--the river valley
from which they would cut overland behind the gray cape, to the north
coast. Forty miles away it lay--forty cruel miles of the torturing beat
of shot-like snow on the faces of men and dogs; forty miles of endless
pull and drag for the iron thews of Fleur and the whelps of the wolf.
This was the mark which the now ruthless Frenchman, with but one
thought, one vision, set for the shaggy beasts he loved.

Hunter, game though he was, at last was forced to ride on the sled, so
fierce was their pace into the wind. Steadily the great beasts ate up
the miles. At noon, floundering through drifts like the billows of a
broken sea, with Marcel ahead breaking trail, they crossed Caribou
Point, Hunter, refusing to burden the dogs, wallowing behind the sled.
There they boiled tea, then pushed on to the mouth of the Roggan.

At Ominuk, night fell like a tent, and again a white wraith of a
lead-dog, blinded by the fury she faced, kept the trail by instinct,
backed loyally by her brood of ice-sheathed wolves, foot-sore,
trail-worn, following with low noises her tireless feet.

The coast swung sharply. They were in the lee of the Cape. But a few
miles farther and a long rest in the sheltered river valley awaited
them. Marcel stopped his dogs and went to Fleur, lying on the trail, her
hot breath freezing as it left her panting mouth. Kneeling on the snow
beside her with his back to the drive, he examined each hairy paw for
pad-cracks or balled snow between the toes, but the feet of the Ungava
were iron; then he took in his hands her great head with its battered
nose, blood-caked from the snow barrage she had faced all day. Rubbing
the ice from her masked eyes, Jean placed his hooded face against his
dog's; she turned her nose and her rough tongue touched his
frost-blackened cheek.

"Fleur," he said, "we are doing it for Julie--you and Jean Marcel. We
mus' mak' de Salmon to-night. Some day we weel hav' de beeg sleep--you
and Jean."

Again he stroked her massive head with his red, unmittened hand, then
for an instant resting his face against the scarred nose,