“Huh! Something! Indian think,” grunted Thomas, sniffing like the dogs.
“Indian, eh?” said the missionary sharply. “By Jove, it couldn’t be——” he paused, looking at Paul.
Quickly the boy’s hands went to his lips, he threw back his head and flung out into the storm a long weird call. Thomas glanced quickly at him. “Chippewayan,” he grunted.
Faintly and as if from a long way to the lake side came a similar call.
“Peter!” exclaimed Paul, setting off in the direction of the call. The missionary caught and held him fast.
“Hold on! Let’s be sure! Call again.”
Once more, Paul with his hands to mouth uttered his call and again from the lake came the faint response.
“From there, eh?” said the missionary, pointing north-west.
“Oui!” said Thomas, pointing a little farther north. “Indian there!”
But already the boy was off into the blinding drift.