"Bien!" muttered the Frenchman, "I will go!"
Two days later, back in camp on the Ghost, Marcel announced to his partners, Antoine Beaulieu and Joe Piquet, his intention of returning to the Bay by the Big Salmon.
"W'at you say, Jean; you go home tru de Windigo countree?" cried Piquet, his swart face blanched by the fear which the very mention of the forbidden land aroused, while Antoine, speechless, stared wide-eyed.
"Oui, nord of de divide, I see beeg lac. Eet ees Salmon water for sure. I portage cano' to dat lac and reach de coast by de riviere. You go wid me an' get some dog?" Marcel smiled coolly into the sober faces of his friends.
"Are you crazee, Jean Marcel?" protested Antoine. "De spirit have run de game an' feesh away. De Windigo eat you before you fin' de Salmon, an' eef he not get you first, you starve."
"Ver' well, you go back by de Whale; I go by Salmon an' meet de Husky. I nevaire hunt anoder long snow widout dogs."
"Ah-hah! Dat ees good joke! You weel nevaire see de Husky," broke in Piquet. "W'en Matchi-Manitou ees tru wid you, de raven an' wolf peek your bones, w'ile Antoine an' Joe dance at de spreeng trade wid de Cree girl."
Ignoring the dire prediction, Marcel continued: "Good dog are all gone at Whale Riviere Post from de maladie. De Husky have plenty dog. I meet dem on de coast before dey reach Whale Riviere an' want too much fur for dem. Maybe I starve; maybe I drown een de strong-water; maybe de Windigo get me; but I go."
And he did.
With a shrug of contempt for the tales of the medicine men, dramatically rehearsed with all the embellishment which the imagination of his superstitious partners could invent, the following day Marcel started.