mink and fisher and marten, for the goods of the Company.

Below, along the beach, Huskies from Richmond Gulf and the north coast,
from the White Bear and the Sleeping Islands, who had brought ivory of
the walrus, pelts of the white fox, seal, and polar bear, and sealskin
boots, which only their women possess the art of making waterproof, were
camped in low skin tepees, their priceless dogs tied up and under
constant guard. But while the camp of the Esquimos was a bedlam of noisy
huskies, the quarters of the Crees in the post clearing, formerly
overrun by brawling sled-dogs, were now a place of peace. The plague of
the previous summer had left the Indians but a scattering of curs.

Carrying his fur-pack and outfit to the Mission, Marcel sought the
trade-house. Passing the tepees of the Crees, he was forced to stop and
receive the congratulations of the admiring hunters on his safe return
from his "_longue traverse_" through the land of demons, which had been
the gossip of the post since the arrival of Joe and Antoine.

When his partners appeared, to stare in amazement at the man they had
announced as dead, Jean made them wince as he gripped their hands.

"Bo'-jo', Joe! Bo'-jo', Antoine!" he laughed. "You see de Windigo foun'
Jean Marcel too tough to eat! He ees good fr'en' to me now. De Husky
t'ink me devil too."

"I nevaire t'ink to see you alive at Whale Riviere, Jean Marcel!" cried
the delighted Antoine.

"Did you get de dog?" asked the practical Piquet.

"Onlee one petite pup; de Husky would not trade." Then Jean hurriedly
described his weeks on the Salmon.

As he entered the door of the long trade-house he was seized by a giant
Company man.

"By Gar! Jean Marcel!" cried Jules Duroc, his swart face lighting with
joy as he crushed the wanderer in a bear hug. "We t'ink you sure starve
out een de bush! You fin' de Beeg Salmon headwater? You see de Windigo?"

"Oui, I fin' de riviere for sure, Jules; but de Windigo he scared of me.
I tell heem Jean Marcel ees fr'en' of Jules Duroc."

The laughter in the doorway drew the attention of two men descending the
ladder from the fur-loft.

"Well, as I live, Jean Marcel!" cried Colin Gillies, the factor, and he
wrung the hand of the son of his old head man until Marcel grimaced with
pain.

"You're sure good for sore eyes, Jean; we were about giving you up!"
added Andrew McCain, the clerk, seizing Jean's free hand.

"Bon jour, M'sieu Gillies! Bon jour, Andrew! Dey