"Why, you won't make your trapping-grounds before the freeze-up, if you head down the coast now. You're crazy, man! Besides, they are two days ahead of you, to start with, and with two paddles will keep gaining," objected the factor.
"M'sieu Gillies," the boy ignored the factor's protest, "will you geeve me letter of credit for de Company posts?"
"Why, yes, Jean, you've got three hundred dollars credit here, but, man, stop and think! You can't overhaul those breeds alone, and if they belong in the East Main or Rupert River country they'll be back in the bush by the time you reach the posts, even if you can trail them that far. It's three hundred and fifty miles to Rupert House; you might be a month on the way."
Jean Marcel shook his head doggedly, determination written in the stone-hard muscles of his dark face. Then he suddenly demanded of the factor:
"What would my father, André Marcel, do eef he leeved? Because of de freeze-up would he geeve hees pup to dose dog-stealer? I ask you dat, M'sieu?"
Gillies' honest eyes frankly met the questioner's.
"André Marcel was the best canoeman on this coast, and no man ever did him a wrong who didn't pay." The factor hesitated.
"Well, M'sieu!" demanded Jean.
"André Marcel," Gillies continued, "would have followed the men who stole his dog down this coast and west to the Barren Grounds."
Jules Duroc nodded gravely as he added: "By Gar! André Marcel, he would trail dose men into de muskegs of Hell."