"Whoa!" shouted Jules, and Baptiste checked his dogs.
"What does he say?" called Angus McCain. "A dog-team down river? Do you hear that, Gillies?"
"Husky," replied the factor drily. "Couldn't possibly be Marcel!"
"No, he couldn't have come through that norther," agreed McCain.
"What's that he says, Jules?" demanded Gillies.
Jules Duroc, hands and shoulders in motion, was talking excitedly to the Cree who had joined the group by the sled. Turning suddenly, he ran back to the factor.
"Felix say dat a team crawl up de riviere trail lak' dey ver' tired. He watch dem long tam."
"That's queer, but it's some Husky—can't be Marcel. Why, good Lord, man! he hasn't been away six days."
Angus disappeared, to return with an old brass-bound telescope and hurried to the river shore with Jules, followed by the scoffing Gillies. To the naked eye, a black spot was discernible on the river ice.
"There are two men following a team," announced Angus, the glass at his eye. "They're barely moving. Now they've stopped; the dogs must be played out. The driver's trying to get them up! Now he's got them going!"