CHAPTER XL
"HE'S GOT HIS MAN!"
Whale River was astir. Before the trade-house groups of Crees critically inspected the dogs of Baptiste Laval, who fretted and yelped, eagerly waiting the "Marche!" which would send them off on the river trail. Inside, the grave-faced Gillies gave big Jules his parting instructions.
"He never started home in that blizzard, Jules; McKenzie wouldn't allow the missionary to take such a chance. But Jean surely left yesterday morning and with fresh dogs he'll come through in four days, even with a heavy trail. You ought to meet him this side the Cape."
"Yes, M'sieu. But I t'ink he travel more fas' dan dat. I see heem to-morrow, maybe."
"No, he never started that last day of the blow. It would have been suicide. Poor lad! he must have been half crazy, with her on his mind."
"How ees she dis noon, M'sieu?"
"The fever holds about the same—no worse; but she must be operated on very soon. The poison is extending. If you meet them at the Cape you ought to get the doctor here a day ahead of Jean, with his tired dogs."
Surrounded by the Crees who were wishing them luck on their trip to meet and relay Marcel home, Baptiste had cracked his dog-whip with a loud, "Marche!" when an Indian with arms raised to attract attention came running from the shore across the clearing.