"By the way, McCain, where are these remarkable Ungava pups which you say were sired by a timber wolf?"
"Over in the Mission stockade, sir."
"I want to see them and the old dog, too. I'm rather curious to put my eyes on the husky that could kill a man with a loaded gun in his hands. That part of Marcel's story needs a bit of salt."
"You won't doubt it when you see her! She's a whale of a husky," said McCain.
"Well, I never saw the dog that could kill me with a rifle handy. I'll stroll over and take a look at her."
"I'll show you the way." And McCain and Wallace went to the Mission.
Arrived at the tent in the stockade they were greeted by a fierce rumble, like the muttering of an August south-wester making on the Bay.
"We'd better not go near the tent, Mr. Wallace. I'll see if Jean's in the house. The dog won't allow anyone but Marcel near her."
Ignoring the warning, Wallace approached the tent opening to look inside, but so fierce a snarl warned him off that he stepped back with considerably more speed than his dignity admitted. Red in the face, he glanced around to learn if his precipitous flight had had an audience.
Shortly, McCain returned with Marcel, and Wallace, now that the dog's owner was near, again approached and peered into the tent.