"Carry him to the Mission, Jules."
"Yes, Father!" And Jean Marcel returned again to a room in the Mission.
Tenderly rough hands bathed and dressed the knife wound and through the night Père Breton sat by his patient, who moaned and tossed in the delirium which the fever brought.
CHAPTER XXX
CREE JUSTICE
Deep in the night a long, mournful howl, repeated again and again, roused the sleeping post. Straightway the dogs of the factor and the Crees, followed by the Esquimos' huskies on the beach, were pointing their noses at the moon in dismal chorus. With muttered curse and protest from tepee, shack and factor's quarters, the wakened people of the post, covering their ears, sought sleep, for no hour is sacred to the moon-baying husky and no one may suppress him. One wakes, and lifting his nose, pours out his canine soul in sleep-shattering lament, when, promptly, every husky within hearing takes up the wail.
The post dogs, having alternately and in chorus, to their hearts' content and according to the custom of their fathers, transformed the calm July night into a horror of sound, with noses buried in bushy tails again sought sleep. Once more the mellow light of the moon bathed the sleeping fur-post, when from the stockade behind the Mission rose a long drawn note of grief.
The dark brows of Père Breton, watching beside the delirious Marcel, contracted.