id you, de raven an' wolf peek
your bones, w'ile Antoine an' Joe dance at de spreeng trade wid de Cree
girl."

Ignoring the dire prediction, Marcel continued: "Good dog are all gone
at Whale Riviere Post from de maladie. De Husky have plenty dog. I meet
dem on de coast before dey reach Whale Riviere an' want too much fur for
dem. Maybe I starve; maybe I drown een de strong-water; maybe de Windigo
get me; but I go."

And he did.

With a shrug of contempt for the tales of the medicine men, dramatically
rehearsed with all the embellishment which the imagination of his
superstitious partners could invent, the following day Marcel started.

"Bo'-jo', Antoine!" he said, as he gripped his friend's hand. "I meet
you at Whale Riviere."

The face of Beaulieu only too patently reflected his thoughts as he
shook his head.

"Bo'-jo', Jean, I nevaire see you again."

"You are dead man, Jean," added Piquet; "we tell Julie Breton dat your
bones lie up dere." And the half-breed pointed north to the dim, blue
hills of dread.

So with fur-pack and outfit, and as much smoked caribou as he dared
carry, Marcel poled his canoe up the Ghost, later to portage across the
divide into the trailless land where, in the memory of living man, the
feet of no hunter of the Hudson's Bay Company had strayed.

It was a reckless venture--this attempt to reach the Bay through an
unknown country. The demons of the Cree conjurors he did not fear, for
his father and his mother's father, who had journeyed, starved, and
feasted in trailless lands, from Labrador to the great Barren Grounds,
had never seen one or heard the wailing of the Windigo in the night. But
what he did fear was the possibility of weeks of wandering in his search
for the main stream, lost in a labyrinth of headwater lakes where game
might be scarce and fish difficult to net. For his smoked meat would
take him but a short way, when his rifle and net would have to see him
through.

But the risk was worth taking. If he could reach the Esquimos on their
spring journey south to the post, before they learned of the scarcity of
dogs at Whale River, he could obtain huskies at a fair trade in fur. And
a dog-team was his heart's desire.

Portaging over the divide to the large lake, now clear of ice, Marcel
followed its winding outlet into the northwest. There were days when,
baffled by a maze of water routes in a network of lakes, he despaired of
finding the main stream. There were nights