"You—you geeve to me—dese puppy?" he stammered, staring into the grinning face of the Esquimo, delighted with the success of his little ruse.
Kovik nodded.
"T'anks, t'anks!" cried Jean, his eyes suspiciously moist as he wrung the Husky's hand, then seized that of the chuckling woman. "You are good people; I not forget de Kovik."
He had done these honest Esquimos a wrong. Now, after the fear of defeat, and the bitterness, the puppy he had coveted was his. He was not to return to Whale River empty handed, the laughing-stock of his partners. It had been indeed worth while, his plunge into the bad-lands, for in two years he would have the dog-team of his dreams. Some day this four-months-old puppy should make the fortune of Jean Marcel.
But little he realized, as he exulted in his good luck, how vital a part in his life, and in the life of Julie Breton, this wild puppy with the white socks was to play.
CHAPTER III
THE FRIEND OF DEMONS
When Marcel put his canoe into the water the following morning, to cross to his net, three young Esquimos, who had been loitering near Kovik's lodge, followed him to the beach, and as he left the shore, hurled at his back a torrent of Husky abuse.