Deliberately ignoring the man who had thus bared his soul, Marcel drew the factor to one side.
"Mon Dieu, M'sieu!" he pleaded in low tones. "She weel not leeve. Onless we start at once, we shall be too late. Tak' me to de doctor!"
The agonized face of the hunter softened McKenzie.
"Well, all right, if Hunter will go and Mr. Wallace insists, but it's madness. I'll go over to the Mission now and talk to the doctor."
When Jean had seen to the feeding of his tired dogs whom he left asleep in a shack, he hurried through the driving snow with the Company Indian to the Protestant Mission House, where he found McKenzie alone with the missionary.
As he entered the lighted room, the Reverend Hunter, a tall, athletic-looking man of thirty, welcomed him, bidding him remove his capote and moccasins and thaw out at the hot box-stove.
"Mr. McKenzie has shown me Gillies' message, Marcel. Now tell me all you know about the case," said the missionary.
Briefly Marcel described the condition of Julie Breton—Gillies' crude attempt at surgery; the advance toward the shoulder of the swelling and inflammation, with the increasing fever.
When he had finished he cried in desperation:
"M'sieu, I have at Whale River credit for t'ree t'ousand dollar. Eet ees all——"