he post, they would
mistake him for a Cree, and resenting his entering their territory,
attack him.

Drawing his rifle from its skin case, he placed it at his feet and poled
slowly toward the shore where a bedlam of howls from the dogs signalled
his approach. The clamor quickly emptied the lodges scattered along the
beach. A group of Huskies, armed with rifle and seal spear, now watched
the strange craft. So close was the canoe that only by a miracle could
Marcel hope to escape down-stream if they started shooting.

Alive to his danger, the Frenchman snubbed his boat, leaning on his
pole, while his anxious eyes searched for a familiar figure in the
skin-clad throng, who talked and gesticulated in evident excitement. But
among them he found no friendly face.

Was it for this he had slaved overland to the Salmon and starved through
the early spring--a miserable death; when he had won through to his
goal--when the yelps of the dogs he sought rang in his ears? Surely,
among these Huskies, there were some who traded at the post.

"Kekway!" he called, "I am white man from Whale River!"

The muscles of Jean Marcel set, tense as wire cables, as he watched for
a hostile movement from the Huskies, silenced by his shout. Seemingly
surprised by his action, no answer was returned from the shore. Slowly
his hopes died. They were wild Esquimos and would show no mercy to the
supposed Cree invader of their hereditary fishing ground.

But still the movement which the Frenchman's roving eyes awaited, was
delayed. Not a gun in the whispering throng on the beach was raised;
not a word in Esquimo addressed to the stranger. Mystified, desperate
from the strain of the suspense, Marcel called again, this time in post
Husky:

"I am white man, from the fort at Whale River. Is there one among you
who trades there?"

At the words, the tension of the sullen group seemed to relax. Pointing
to a thick-set figure striding up the beach, a Husky shouted:

"There is one who goes to Whale River!"

The _voyageur_ expelled the air from his lungs with relief. Too long,
with pounding heart, he had steeled himself to face erect, swift death
from the near shore. A wrong move, and a hail of lead would have emptied
his canoe. Then to his joy he recognized the man who approached.

"Kovik!" he shouted. "Eet ees Jean Marcel from Whale Riviere!"

The Husky waved his hand to Marcel, joined his comrades, and, for a
space, there was much talk and shaking of