"Welcome back, Jean; you are going to Fort George instead of Baptiste?" the factor asked, shaking Marcel's hand.
"Yes, M'sieu, my team ees stronger team dan Baptiste's."
"When do you start?"
"Een leetle tam; I jus' feed my dogs."
"Are they in good shape? They must be tired from the river trail."
"Dey will fly, M'sieu."
"Thank heaven for that, lad. We've got just one good dog left in the mail team—the one you gave me. The rest are scrubs and they came in to-day dead beat. Two of our Ungavas died in November."
"M'sieu," said Marcel quietly, "my dogs will make For' George een t'ree days."
"It's never been done, Jean, but I hope you will."
When Marcel brought his refreshed dogs to the trade-house an hour later for his rations, a silent group of men awaited him. As Fleur trotted up, ears pricked, mystified at being routed out and harnessed in the dark, after she had eaten and curled up for the night, they were eagerly inspected by the factor.