s and could now be bullied with
impunity. As he did not wish to embroil his friend Kovik in his defense,
when he had smoked his last catch he would leave. But the blood of the
fighting Marcels was slowly coming to a boil. If these raw fish-eaters
thought that they could frighten the grandson of the famous Etienne
Lacasse, and the son of Andre Marcel, whose strength was a tradition on
the East Coast, he could show them their mistake. Still, avoid trouble
he must, for a fight would be suicide.

So ignoring the Huskies, who talked together in low tones, Marcel
landed, cleaned some fish for the Koviks' kettle, and carried them up to
the tepee where the family were still asleep. Returning, the hot blood
rose to the bronzed face of the Frenchman at what he saw.

The three Esquimos were coolly feeding his fish to the dogs.

Reckless of the consequences, in the blind rage which choked him, Marcel
reached the pilferers of his canoe before they realized that he was on
them. Seizing one by his long hair, with a wrench he hurled the
surprised Husky backward into the water and sent a second reeling to the
stony beach with a fierce blow in the face. The third, retreating from
the fury of the attack of the maddened white man, drew his skinning
knife; but seizing his paddle, Marcel sent the knife spinning with a
vicious slash which doubled the screaming Husky over a broken wrist.
Turning, he saw his first victims making down the beach toward the
tepees, while the uproar of the dogs was swiftly arousing the camp.

Then, as his blood cooled and his judgment returned, the youth, who had
suffered and dared much that he might have dogs for the next long snows,
realized the height of his folly. They had baited him into furnishing
them with an excuse for attacking him. Now even the faithful Kovik would
be helpless against them. He would never see Whale River and Julie
Breton again. Already the Huskies were emerging from their tepees, to
hear the tale of his late antagonists. There was no time to lose before
they rushed him.

Bounding up the beach to Kovik's tepee for his rifle, he rapidly
explained the situation to the Esquimo, while in his ears rang the
shouts of the excited Huskies and the yelping of the dogs. Jean did not
hope to escape alive from this bedlam, but of one thing he was sure, he
would die like a Marcel, with a smoking gun in his hands.

Urging Jean to get his fur-pack and smoked fish to his canoe at once,
Kovik hurried