"Marcel," the boy returned, without the least shyness.
Steve stooped down into a squatting position, and held out his hands invitingly. There could be no mistaking his attitude. There could be no mistaking the appeal this lonely little creature made to his generous manhood.
"That all? Any other?"
The boy came confidently within reach of the outstretched arms, and, as the man's mitted hands closed about him, he held up his face for the expected caress. Steve bent his head and kissed the ready lips.
"'Es, Brand. Marcel Brand," the boy said in that slightly halting fashion of pronouncing unaccustomed words.
Steve looked up with a start. His eyes encountered the still grinning face of the scout.
"Do you hear that?" he demanded. "Marcel Brand. It's—it's the place we're chasing for. Gee! it's well nigh a miracle!"
Quite suddenly he released the child and stood up. Then he picked the little fellow up in his strong arms.
"Come on, old fellow," he said quickly. "We'll go right along up and see your Mummy."
And forthwith he started for the frowning stockade under its mantle of snow.