“At ze winter encampment of my people!” was the reply.
“Of your people. Who are you then?”
“I am Chief Louis of ze Elkhorn tribe. You hear of me, maybe?”
“Yes,” answered the corporal quickly. “Who is there that has not?”
He looked with interest on the man, who was the son of a French-Canadian and an Indian mother, and who throwing in his lot with his mother’s people had risen to the headship of the tribe. And whilst he looked at him the Chief spoke again.
“It ees not good to walk alone in ze North without dogs an’ sled as Lagoun and Canim find you.”
“It is very bad,” laughed the policeman weakly. “But part of my dogs were stolen from me, and the others died.”
“Dat is vaire bad,” was the reply. “Lagoun and Canim dey find ze sled, and dead wolves—many of dem. Dey haf been poisoned. How befell it, so?”
The corporal explained, carefully avoiding any reference to his cousin and the latter’s Indian companion, and when he had finished, the Chief nodded approbation.
“Dat was clevaire to poison ze wolves, for dey hav’ ze hunger-madness at dis time, ze mooze being scarce in ze woods.”