Marcel freshened the fire and lighted his pipe. It was long before he threw off the grip of his dreams and slept.
CHAPTER XXXVII
FOR LOVE OF A GIRL
Two days before Christmas the team of Jean Marcel, its harness brave with colored worsted, meeting the snarls of hostile Cree curs with the like threat of white fangs, jingled gaily past sleep-house and tepees, and drew up before the log trade-house at Whale River. Returning the greeting of the Crees who hailed him, he threw open the slab-door of the building.
"Bon jour, Jean, eet ees well dees Chreesmas you come." The grave face of Jules Duroc checked the jest on Marcel's lips as he shook his friend's hand.
"You are sad, mon ami; what has happened to the merry Jules?" Jean asked.
"Ah, Jean Marcel! Dere ees bad news for you at Whale River."
Across Marcel's brain flashed the memory of his dreams. Julie! Something had happened to Julie Breton. His speeding heart shook him as an engine a boat. A vise on his throat smothered the questions he strove to ask. His lips twitched, but from them came no words, as his questioning eyes held those of Jules.