With rather a dreary feeling of lonesomeness Rod watched him disappear around the first long, Spruce-covered point, then went back into the Shack and whistled to keep the mercury of his spirits from congealing.
Other eyes had seen François wind around the first turn that shut him out from Rod's vision: Blue Wolf's eyes; the little bead eyes of Carcajou; the shifting, treacherous, cat-like orbs of Pisew, the Lynx. Mooswa's big almond eyes blinked solemnly from a thicket of willow that lined the river bank.
"I wonder if he'll bring the same Huskies back in his train?" said Blue Wolf, as they returned through the Boundaries together.
"I should think he would," ventured Mooswa.
"Don't know about that," continued Rof, "these Breeds have no affection for their Dogs, nor anything else but their own Man-Cubs. They do like them, I must say. Why, I've heard one of them, a big, rough Man he was too, cry every night for Moons because of the death of his Cub. He was as savage as any Wolf, though, for he killed another Man in a fight just at that time, and thought no more of it than I did over killing a Sheep at Lac La Biche. But every night he howled, and moaned, and whimpered for his lost Cub, just as a Mother Wolf might when her young are trapped, or stricken with the breath of the Firestick, or killed in a Pack-riot. Yes, they're queer, the Men," he mused in a low growl. "When François goes to The Landing, if one of the other Breeds stumps him for a trade, he'll swap off the whole Train."
"I'm sure he'll stick to Marsh Maid," declared Pisew; "she'll be back again all right, Brother Rof." Blue Wolf looked sheepishly at Mooswa. What a devil this Lynx was to read his thoughts like that.
"I hope nothing will happen François, for the sake of The Boy," wheezed Mooswa. "These Breed Men also forget everything when the fire-water, that makes them like mad Bulls, is in camp; it is always at The Landing too," he muttered, despondently. "When I was a Calf at the Fort, I heard the old Factor say--I think I've told you about that time--"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Carcajou impatiently, for he was a quick-thinking little Animal, "what did the Factor say about these Breed Men?"
"I'm coming to that," asserted Mooswa, ponderously. "It was at the time I was a Calf in the Fort Corral, and the Factor, who was my Boy's father, said that a Breed would sell his Soul for a gallon of this Devil-water that puts madness in their blood."
"What's a Soul?" asked Carcajou. "I wonder if I smashed François's in the Shack."