CHAPTER XXI
THE BLIND CLUTCH OF CIRCUMSTANCE
Three days later, he had run the strong-water of the Ghost to Conjuror'sFalls, where he exchanged Beaulieu's canoe for his own, cached theprevious fall, and continued on to the Whale until the moon set, when hecamped.
Then next morning, long before the rising sun, reaching the smokingsurface in his path, rolled the river mists back to fade on theridges, Marcel, with Fleur in the bow, was well started on histhree-hundred-mile journey. Travel as he might, he could not hope toovertake the canoe bearing the tale of the tragedy to Whale River; buteach day when once the news had reached the post, the story, passedfrom mouth to mouth among the Crees, would gather size and distortionwith Marcel not present to refute it. There was great need for speed,so he drove his canoe to the limit of his strength, running all rapidswhich skill and daring could outwit.
Different, far, from the home-coming he had pictured through the lastweeks, would be his return to Whale River. True, there would have beenno long June days with Julie Breton, as in previous summers, no walksup the river shore when the low sun turned the Bay to burnished copper,and later, the twilight held deep into the night. If she were notalready married her days would be too full to spare much time to her oldfriend Jean Marcel. But there would have been rest and ease, after themonths of toil and famine--long talks with Jules and Angus, with worrybehind him in the hills. Instead he was returning to his friends brandedas a criminal by the evidence of the cache on the Ghost.
At times, when the magic of the young spring, in the air, the forest,the hills, for a space swept clean his troubled brain of dark memory, hedreamed that the water-thrushes in the river willows called to him:"Sweet, sweet, sweet, Julie Breton!" That yellow warblers and friendlychickadees, from the spruces of the shore, hailed him as one of theelect, for was he not also a lover? That the kingfishers which scurriedahead of his boat gossiped to him of hidden nests. Deeply, as hepaddled, he inhaled the scent of the flowering forest world, thefragrance of the northern spring, while his birch-bark rode the chokedcurrent. And then, the stark realization that he had lost her, and theshadow of his new trouble, would bring him rough awakening.
Meeting no canoes of Cree hunters bound for the trade, for it was yetearly, in nine days Marcel turned into the post. He smiled bitterly ashe saw in the clearing a handful of tepees. Around the evening firesthey had doubtless already convicted Jean Marcel, alive or dead.Familiar with the half-breed weakness for exaggeration, he wondered inwhat form the story of the cache on the Ghost had been retailed at thetrade-house. Well, he should soon know.
The howling of the post dogs announced his arrival, stirring Fleur afterher long absence from the sight of her kind to a strenuous reply.Leaving his canoe on the beach Marcel went at once to the Mission, wherethe door was opened by the priest.
"Jean Marcel!" The bearded face of the Oblat lighted with pleasure as heopened his arms to the wanderer. "You are back, well and strong? Theterrible famine did not reach you?" he asked in French.
Jean's deep-set eyes searched the priest's face for evidence of a changetoward him but found the same frank, kindly look he had always known.
"Yes, Father, I beat the famine but I have bad news. Antoine is dead. Hewas----"
"Yes, I know," Pere Breton hastily broke in. "They brought the word. Itis terrible! And Piquet, is he dead also?"
"Yes, Father," Marcel said quietly. "Joe Piquet was killed by Fleur,here, after he stabbed Antoine!"
"_Juste Ciel!_ Killed by Fleur after he stabbed Antoine?" repeated thepriest, staring at the husky.
"Yes, I wish to tell you all first, Father, before I go to thetrade-house--and Julie?" Jean inquired, his voice vibrant with fear ofwhat the answer might be.
"Put the dog in the stockade and I will call Julie."
Ah, then she was not married. Marcel breathed with relief.
"We have been very sad here, wondering whether you had starved--werealive," continued the priest. "The tale Piquet's uncle, Gaspard Lelac,and sons brought in day before yesterday made us think you also mighthave----"
"Did they say Antoine had been stabbed?" interrupted Marcel, for thepriest had avoided mention of the cause of Beaulieu's death.
"They said they found his body." Pere Henri still shunned the issue.
"Where?" demanded Marcel.
"Buried on the river shore!"
"They lie!" As Marcel had anticipated, the half-breeds had embellishedthe sufficiently damning evidence of the cache. He realized that hefaced a battle with men who would not scruple to lie when the starkfacts already looked badly enough.
"They never were truthful people, my son. We have hoped and prayed foryour coming to clear up the mystery."
Jean put Fleur in the stockade and returned to the house. Julie Bretonstood in the doorway.
"Welcome home, Jean!" she cried in French, giving him both hands."Why--you are not thin!" She looked wonderingly at his face. "Wethought--you also--had starved." Her eyes filled with tears as she gazedat the man already numbered with the dead.
Swept by conflicting emotions, Marcel swallowed hard. Were thesesisterly tears of joy at his safe return or did she weep for the JeanMarcel she once knew, now dishonored?
"There, there! _Ma petite!_" consoled Pere Henri, stroking the darkhead. "We have Jean here again, safe; all will be well in time."
"Julie had you starved out in the 'bush,' Jean, when we heard theirstory," explained the priest.
But the puzzled youth wondered why Pere Henri did not mention thecharges that the half-breeds must have made on reaching Whale River.
Recovering her self-control Julie excused herself to prepare supper.Then before asking what the Lelacs had told the factor, Marcel relatedto the priest the grim details of the winter on the Ghost; of thedeaths of Antoine and Piquet, of his fortunate meeting with thereturning caribou, and of his discovery, on his return to the old camp,of the visit of the Lelacs' canoe.
"Father, it looks bad for me. They found Antoine stabbed and Piquet'sfur and outfit. I brought his rifle back to the camp and cached it withhis stuff and Antoine's to bring it all down river in the spring totheir people."
At this the heavy brows of the priest lifted in surprise. Marcelcontinued:
"The cache was empty. It was a starvation camp. Antoine was dead, andPiquet also, for his outfit was there. Seeing these things, what couldanyone think? That the third man, Jean Marcel, did this and then wentinto the barrens for caribou. There he starved out, or else found meatand would return, when he could clear himself if able. Father, it was mywish to tell you my story before I heard the tale the Lelacs brought tothe post. Then you could judge between us."
The priest leaned forward in his chair and rested his hands on Marcel'sshoulders. His eyes sought those of the younger man which met his gazeunwaveringly. "Jean Marcel," he said, "I have known you since yourfather brought you to Whale River as a child. You have never lied to me.True, the circumstances are unfortunate; but you have told me thetruth. We did not believe that you had killed your comrades; you wouldhave starved first; nor did Gillies or McCain or Jules believe in thetruth of the charge of the Lelacs. They are waiting to hear your story.Also, since hearing your side, I see why the Lelacs are anxious to haveit believed at the trade-house that you were responsible for the deathsof these men. They are grinding an axe of their own. It is not alonebecause they are kin of Piquet that they wish to discredit and injureyou."
"How do you mean, Father?" Marcel asked, curious as to the significanceof the priest's last statement.
"I will tell you later, my son. You should report at the trade-housenow. They are waiting for you."
Cheered with the knowledge that his old friends were still staunch, thatthe factor had waited for his return before expressing even an opinion,Marcel hurried to the trade-house.
Meeting no one as he passed the scattered tepees, he flung open theslab-door of the log-building and with head high, entered.
"Jean Marcel! By Gar, we hear you arriv
e!" roared the big Jules, rushingupon the youth with open arms. "You not starve out, eh?"
Then Gillies and McCain, wringing his hand, added their welcome. Surely,he thought, with choked emotion, these men had not turned against himbecause of the tales of Lelac.
"Jean, you had a hard winter with the rabbits gone," suggested Gillies."You must have found the caribou this spring?"
"Yes, I find de caribou, M'sieu, but I travel far for dem; eet was hardtime een Mars."
"And the dog, you didn't have to eat your dog, Jean?" asked McCain.
Marcel's face hardened.
"De dog and Jean, dey feast and dey starve togeder. I am no Creedog-eater. Dat dog she save my life, one, two tam, dees winter, M'sieu."
Never had the thought of sacrificing Fleur as a last resort entered themind of Marcel in the lean days on the barrens.
"Well, my lad," said Gillies heartily, "we are sure glad to have youback alive. We hear there was much starvation on the East Coast thisyear, with the rabbit plague and the scarcity of deer."
They also, Marcel saw, were waiting to hear his story before alluding tothe charges of the half-breed kinsmen of Piquet.
"M'sieu Gillies," Jean began. "I weesh to tell you what happen on deGhost. De Lelacs bring a tale to Whale Riviere dat ees not true."
"We have paid no attention to them, Jean, trusting you would show up andcould explain it all then. I know you and I know the Lelacs. I was sorryto hear about Antoine and Piquet but I don't think you had any part init, lad. Be sure of that!"
"T'anks, M'sieu." Then slowly and in great detail Marcel related to thethree men, sitting with set faces, the gruesome history of the pastwinter. When he came to the night that Fleur had destroyed the crazedPiquet, the Hudson's Bay men turned to each other with exclamations ofwonder and admiration.
"That's a dog for you! She got his wind just in time!" muttered Gillies.
"Tiens! Dat Fleur she is lak de wolf," added Jules.
"You ask eef I eat her, M'sieu," Marcel turned on McCain grimly. "Couldyou eat de dog dat save your life?"
"No, by God! I'd starve first!" thundered the Scotchman.
"I love dat dog," said Jean quietly, and went on with his tale.
Breathless, they heard how he had pushed deeper and deeper beyond thehunting grounds of the Crees into the nameless barrens until he reachedstreams flowing northeast into Ungava Bay, and at last met thereturning caribou; how the great strength of Fleur beat the drag of thenet, when he was slowly freezing in the lake; and then he came to hisreturn to the Ghost.
In detail Marcel enumerated the articles belonging to Antoine and Piquetwhich he had placed on the stage of the cache beside Beaulieu's bodywhen he left for the Salmon country and which had been taken by theLelacs to Whale River.
"I lashed Antoine een hees shed-tent and put heem on de cache, for thewolverine and lynx would get heem een de snow." As Marcel talked McCainand Gillies exchanged significant looks.
"Um!" muttered the factor, when Jean had finished. "Something queerhere!"
"What, M'sieu?" Marcel demanded.
"Why, Lelac says he found the body of Antoine buried under stones on theshore and that there was nothing on the cache except the empty grubbags."
"Dey say de fur and rifle was not dere?"
"Yes, nothing on the cache!"
"Den I must have de rifle and de fur; ees dat eet?"
"Yes, that's what they insinuate."
"Ah-hah!" Marcel scowled, thinking hard. "Dey say dey fin' noding, so donot turn over to you de rifle and fur-pack."
"Yes, they claim you must have hidden them as you hid the body."
"Den how do dey know Piquet ees dead too?" Marcel's dark featuresrelaxed in a dry smile. It was not, then, solely the desire forvengeance on the murderer of their kin that had prompted the half-breedsto distort the facts.
"They say his extra clothes and his outfit were in the cabin, only hisrifle and fur missing. Now, Jean," he continued, "I am perfectlysatisfied with your story. I believe every word of it. I knew yourfather and I know you. The Marcels are not liars. But the Lelacs aregoing to make trouble over the evidence they found at your camp.Suspicion always points to the survivor in a starvation camp, and youknow the circumstances are against you, my lad."
"M'sieu," Marcel protested. "Eef I keel Antoine, I would tak' heem intode bush and hide heem, I would not worry ovair de fox and wolverine."
"Of course you would have hidden the body somewhere. We appreciate that.But as they are trying to put this thing on you they ignore that side ofit. What you admit they found,--Antoine's body with a stab wound, andPiquet's outfit, makes it look bad to people who don't know you as wedo. They won't believe that the famine got Piquet in the head. They'llsay that's a tale you made up to get yourself off."
Marcel went hot with anger. His impulse was to seek the Lelacs and haveit out, then and there. But he possessed the cool judgment of a longline of ancestors whose lives had often depended on their heads, so hechoked back his rage.
"Now I don't want it carried down the coast that you killed yourpartners, Jean," went on Gillies. "Young as you are, you'll never liveit down. And besides, there's no knowing what the government might do.I'll have to make a report, you know. So we've got to do some tallthinking between us before the hunters get in."
While the factor talked, the swift brain of Marcel had struck upon aplan to trap and discredit the Lelacs, but he wished to think it over,alone, before proposing it at the trade-house, so held his tongue. Whenhe was ready he would ask the factor to hold a hearing. Then he couldput some questions to his accusers that would make them squirm. Onequestion he did ask before packing his fur and outfit from the beach upto the Mission.
"Have de Lelac traded dere fur, M'sieu?"
"No, we haven't started the trade yet."
"W'en dey trade dere fur weel you hold it from de oder fur, separate?"
"Why, yes, I'll do that for you, but you can't hope to identify skins,Jean."
A corner of Marcel's mouth curled in a quizzical smile. "Wait, M'sieuGillies; I tell you later," and with a "Bon-soir!" he went out.
The Whelps of the Wolf Page 22