The Whelps of the Wolf

by George Marsh

"I geeve otter for dog."

Kovik shook his head, his narrowed eyes wrinkling in amusement. "No husky W'ale Riv'—For' Geor'. Me trade husky W'ale Riv'."

It was useless to bargain further. The Husky knew the value of his dogs at the posts, and Jean could not afford to rob his fur-pack to get one. There was much that he needed at Whale River—and then there was Julie. It was necessary to increase his credit with the Company to pay for the home he would some day build for Julie and himself. So, when Kovik promptly refused a valuable cross-fox pelt for a dog, the disheartened boy gave it up.

But after the toil and lean days of the long trail he had taken to meet the Esquimos, he could not return to Whale River empty handed. He coveted the slate-gray and white puppy. Never had he seen a husky of her age with such bone—such promise as a sled dog. And her spirit—at four months she would bare her puppy fangs at an infringement of her rights by an old dog, as though she already wore the scars of many a brawl. Handsomer than her brothers, leader of the litter by virtue of a build more rugged, a stronger will, she was the favorite of Kovik's children. That they would object to parting with her; that the Husky would demand an exorbitant price he now knew; but he was determined to have the puppy. However, he resolved to wait until the following day, renew the bargaining for a grown dog, then suddenly make an offer for the puppy.

The next morning Jean Marcel again offered a high price for a dog, but the smiling Husky would not relent. Then Marcel, pointing at the female puppy, offered the pelt of a marten for her.

To Jean's surprise, the owner refused to part with any of the litter. They would be better than the adult dogs—these children of the slate-gray husky—he said, and he would sell but one or two, even at Whale River, where the Company needed dogs badly and would pay more than Marcel could offer.

It was a bitter moment for the lad who had swung his canoe inshore at the Husky camp with such high hopes. And he realized that it would be useless to turn north from the mouth of the Salmon in search of dogs. Now that they had learned of conditions at the fur-posts, no Esquimos bound south for the spring trade would sell a dog at a reasonable price.

As the disheartened Marcel watched with envious eyes the puppies, which he realized were beyond his means to obtain, the cries from the shore of the eldest son of his host aroused the camp. Above them, in the chutes at the foot of the white-water, flashes of silver marked the leaping vanguards of the salmon run, on their way to spring-fed streams at the river's head.

Seizing their salmon spears the Esquimos hurried up-stream to take their stands on rocks which the fish might pass. Having no spear Jean watched the younger Kovik wade through the strong current out to a rock within spearing reach of a deep chute of black water. Presently the crouching lad drove his spear into the flume at his feet and was struggling on the rock with a large salmon. Killing the fish with his knife, he threw it, with a cry of triumph, to the beach. Again he waited, muscles tense, his right arm drawn back for the lunge. Again, as a silvery shape darted up the chute, the boy struck with his spear. But so anxious was he to drive the lance home, that, missing the fish, his lunge carried him head-first into the swift water.

With a shout of warning to those above, Jean Marcel ran down the beach. His canoe was out of reach on the cache with the Husky's kayak, and the clumsy skin umiak of the family was useless for quick work. In his sealskin boots and clothes the lad would be carried to the foot of the rapids and drowned. Jean reached the "boilers" below the white-water before the body of the helpless Esquimo appeared. Plunging into the ice-cold river he swam out into the current below the tail of the chute, and when the half-drowned lad floundered to the surface, seized him by his heavy hair. As they were swept down-stream an eddy threw their bodies together, and in spite of Marcel's desperate efforts, the arms of the Husky closed on him in vise-like embrace. Strong as he was, the Frenchman could not break the grip, and they sank.