The Whelps of the Wolf

by George P. Marsh

  CHAPTER XXII

  IN THE DEPTHS

  Although it would have been pure suicide for anyone to attempt to takeFleur from the stockade against her will, Marcel feared that some darknight those who wished his disgrace might loose their venom in an injuryto his dog. So, refusing a room in the Mission House, he pitched histent on the grass inside the spruce pickets where Fleur might lie besidehim.

  Here his staunch friend Jules sought Jean out. It seemed that InspectorWallace had been up the coast at Christmas, had stayed a week, andalthough no one knew exactly what had transpired, whether he had as yetbecome a Catholic, there was no doubt in the minds of the curious thatthe Scotchman would shortly remove the sole obstacle to his marriage toJulie Breton.

  With head in hands, Jean Marcel listened to the news, none the lessbitter because anticipated. The loyal Jules' crude attempt to consolethe brokenhearted hunter went unheard. Fate had made him its cat's-paw.Not only had he lost his heart's desire, but his name was now a bywordat Whale River; the woman he held dear and his honor, both gone. Therewas nothing left to lose. He was indeed bankrupt.

  During supper, Jean was plied with questions by Julie, who, in hisabsence, had had his story from her brother. To the half-breeds shenever once alluded, seemingly interested solely in the long hunt forcaribou on the barrens and in Fleur's rescue of her master from thelake.

  For the delicacy of the girl in avoiding the tragedy which was plainlyclaiming his thoughts, he was deeply grateful. Clearly from the first,she had believed in the honor of Jean Marcel. But with what wasevidently a forced gaiety, the girl sought, on the night of his return,to banish from his mind thoughts of the cloud blackening the future--ofthe trying days ahead.

  "Come, Jean Marcel," she laughed, speaking to him, as always, in French,"are you not glad to see us that you wear a face so dismal? You have nottold me how you like this muslin gown." She pirouetted on her shapelymoccasined feet challenging his approval. "Henri says I'm growing thin.Is it not becoming? No? Then I shall eat and grow as fat as big Marie,the Montagnais cook at the Gillies'."

  The sober face of Jean Marcel lighted at her pleasantry. His broodingeyes softened as they followed the trim figure in the simple muslingown. It was a rare picture indeed for a man who had but just finishedseven months in the "bush," half the time with the spectre of starvationhaunting his heels--this girl with the dusky eyes and hair, the vividmemory of whose face he had carried with him into the nameless barrens.But she belonged to another and he, Jean Marcel, was branded as amurderer at Whale River, even if he escaped the law.

  Presently, when Pere Breton was called from the room to minister to aCree convert, Julie became serious.

  "Jean Marcel, I have much to say to you; but it is hard--to begin."

  "I should think you would have little to say to Jean Marcel."

  "Why, because some half-breeds have brought a story to Whale River whichwas not true?"

  "Well, enough of it is true, Julie, to make the Indians believe, whenthey hear it, that Jean Marcel killed his partners to save himself fromstarvation."

  "Not if Pere Breton and Monsieur Gillies have any influence with theCrees. They will not allow them to believe such a cruel falsehood,"protested Julie, vehemently.

  Marcel smiled indulgently at the girl's ignorance of Cree psychology.

  "The harm is already done," he said. "One man is found stabbed; also theoutfit of another gone. The third man comes back. No matter what M'sieuGillies and Pere Henri tell them they will believe the man guilty whogot out alive."

  "They will not believe these Lelacs, when they are shown to be liars,"she insisted, stamping her foot impatiently.

  "They have lied about the rifle and fur only, Julie. They are tellingthe truth when they say they found Antoine and some of Piquet's outfit.The rest does not matter except to make me a thief as well as murderer."

  "Oh, but it is all so unjust, so terrible to be accused like this whenbecause of your good heart you wished to bury Antoine decently in thespring instead of leaving him in the snow where they would never havefound him. It is too----" Julie Breton's voice broke with emotion.Through tears her dark eyes flashed in protest at the pass to which ablind fate had brought an innocent man.

  Marcel was deeply touched by this revelation of the girl's loyalty; buther tears roused his heart to a wild beating. Unable to speak, he facedher, his dark features illumined with the gratitude and love he couldnot voice. For a space he sat fighting for the mastery of his emotions.Then he said huskily:

  "Julie Breton, you give me great happiness--when you say you believeme--are still my friend."

  "Oh, la, la! Nonsense!" she cried, dabbing with, a handkerchief at herwet eyes as she recovered her poise, "you are a boy, so foolish, Jean.Do you think that we, your friends who know you, will permit this thing?It is impossible!" And changed the subject, nor did she allow him toreturn to it.