im, waiting for his report, his hand visibly shook.
Turning to Jules, he bellowed:

"Jules, you travel like all hell for that dog-team! God only knows how
they got here alive, but there's only one lead-dog on this coast that
reaches to a man's middle. That team crawling in out there is Jean
Marcel's--God bless him!--_and he's got his man!_"

With a roar Jules leaped on the sled and lashed the team headlong down
the cliff trail to the ice. Madly they raced down-river under the spur
of the rawhide goad.

"Run to the Mission, someone, and tell Pere Breton that Jean Marcel is
back!" continued Gillies. At the words, willing feet started with the
message.

The eyes of Colin Gillies were blurred as he watched through the glass
the slow approach of those who had but lately fought free from the maw
of the pitiless snows. Now he could recognize the massive lead-dog,
limping at a slow walk, her great head down. Behind her swayed the
crippled whelps of the wolf, tails brushing the ice, tongues lolling as
they swung their lowered heads from side to side, battling through the
last mile on stiffened legs, giving their last ounce at the call of
their gaunt master who reeled behind them. Far in the rear a tall figure
barely moved along the trail.

At the yelp of Jules' approaching team the dogs of Marcel pricked
drooping ears. Stopping them, Jean waited for Hunter.

"Dey sen' team. Eet ees ovair, M'sieu! We mak' Whale Riviere een t'ree
day and half, but she--she may not be dere."

Too tired to speak, Hunter slumped on the sled. With a yell, Jules
reached Marcel and gathered him into his arms.

"By Gar, Jean! You crazee fool; you stop for noding! Tiens! I damn glad
to see you, Jean Marcel!"

The fearful Marcel gasped out the question, "Julie! Ees she dere? Does
she leeve?"

"Oui, mon ami; she ees alive. You save her life."

Staggering to his lead-dog the overjoyed man threw himself beside her on
the trail where she sprawled panting.

"We 'ave save her," he cried. "Julie--has waited for Jean and Fleur."

Taking the missionary on his sled, Jules tried to force Marcel to ride
as well, but the _voyageur_ threw him off.

"No, no!" he cried. "We weel feenish on our feet--Fleur, de wolf and
Jean Marcel."

So back to the post Jules raced with Hunter. A cheering mob of Indians
met dogs and master on the river ice and carried Marcel, protesting, up
the cliff trail, where Gillies and Angus were waiting.

"I reach For' George de