The dark features of Jean Marcel lighted with eagerness.
"I geeve two marten for de dog," he said, rising quickly.
The Husky turned to the woman, shaking his head.
Marcel's lip curled at the avarice of these people whose son he had so recently snatched from death.
Then Kovik, seemingly changing his mind, seized the puppy by the loose skin of her neck and dragged her, protesting vigorously, to Jean, while the mother dog came trotting up, ears erect, curious of what the master she feared was doing with her progeny.
"Dees you' dog!" said the Esquimo.
Marcel patted the back of the puppy, still in the grasp of her owner, while she muttered her wrath at the touch of the stranger. Although they owed him much, he thought, yet these Huskies wished to make him pay dearly for the dog. Still he was glad to get her, even at such a price. So he went to the cache, loosened the lashings of his fur-pack, and returned with two prime marten pelts, offering them to the Esquimo.
Again Kovik's round face was divided by a grin. The wrinkles radiated from the narrow eyes which snapped.
"You lak' seal in riv'—ketch boy. Tak' de dog—we no want skin." And shaking his head, the Husky pushed away the pelts.
Slowly the face of Marcel changed with surprise as he sensed the import of Kovik's words. They were making him a present of the dog.