"No, brother. I have said that they will do no harm. We have far to go yet. We cannot camp here in the open without wood or shelter. Let us hurry."
I looked at Corlaer for support, but his attention was centered on the pathless trail ahead of us, and I felt myself outvoted. There was nothing for it but to keep on. Both these men I had known for years. With them I had tracked the Eastern Wilderness. But never had I known them so perverse as this night. What folly to nourish a belief in an absurd totemic tradition! It was amazing. Corlaer was a white man like myself. Tawannears might be red, but he was as well educated as I, according to the white man's theory, better far than Corlaer.
"Oooow-woouuow-aarrrgh!"
Louder and louder rose that cry of dreadful menace. The gray shapes were now so many rustling bulks in the moonlit darkness. Looking back I could see eyes that gleamed red or green as the silver light caught them, fluffy brushes flicking high, the drive of powerful shoulders and haunches. They were big brutes!
I stopped abruptly, and swung musket to shoulder. Before I could pull trigger I heard the sucking fall of snowshoes behind me, and Tawannears laid his hand on my arm.
"Of what avail, brother?" he asked gently. "If you shoot one, the others will be driven mad by the smell of blood. They will overwhelm you."
"Why don't you mention yourself?" I snarled.
"Heed me, and they will do us no hurt," he said, ignoring my thrust. "They do not know. When they learn who we are, it will be different."
"Do you mean to tell me you will risk our lives on your ridiculous heathen theory?" I demanded.
"I am trying to save all our lives, which, I fear, may be lost if you persist, brother."