"Why, the pups have grown inches since you left here in August, Jean. They're almost as big as Fleur, now," said Gillies, throwing the light from his lantern on the team.
"Tiens! Dat two rear dog look lak' timber wolves," cried Jules, as Colin and Angus turned their red-lidded, amber eyes lazily toward him, opening cavernous mouths in wide yawns, for they were still sleepy. Fleur, alive to the subdued tones of Jean Marcel and sensing something unusual, muzzled her master's hand for answer.
"What a team! What a team!" exclaimed McCain. "Never have the Huskies brought four such dogs here. They ought to walk away with a thousand pounds. Are they fast, Jean?"
"Dey can take a thousand all day, M'sieu. W'en you see me again, you will know how fast dey are. A'voir!" Marcel gripped the hands of the others, then turned to Père Breton, the muscles of his dark face working with suffering.
"Father," he said, "if she should wake and can understand, tell her—tell her to wait—a little longer till Jean and Fleur return. If—if she—cannot wait for us—tell her that Fleur and Jean Marcel will follow her—out to the sunset."
Then he turned, cracked his whip, hoarsely shouted: "Marche, Fleur!" and disappeared with his dogs into the night.