The Whelps of the Wolf

by George P. Marsh

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  BITTER-SWEET

  To Jean Marcel it had been a happy moment--that of his exoneration bythe hunters of Whale River. For weeks, with rage in his heart, he hadsilently borne the black looks of the Crees whom he could not avoid ingoing to his net and crossing the post clearing to the trade-house. Forweeks his name had been a byword at the spring trade--Marcel, the manwho had murdered his partners. But now the stain of infamy had beenwashed clean from an honored name. In his humble grave in the MissionCemetery, Andre Marcel could now sleep in peace, for in the eyes of thesmall world of the East Coast, his son had come scathless through thelong snows. The tale would not now travel down the coast in theInspector's canoe that another white man had turned murderer for thescanty food of his friends.

  And with his acquittal by the Company and the Crees, his love for JulieBreton, more poignant from its very hopelessness, gave him no rest. Ashe struggled with renunciation, he brought himself to realize that,after all, it had been but presumption on his part to hope that thisgirl with her education of years in a Quebec convent, her acquaintancewith the ways of the great world "outside," should look upon a humbleCompany hunter as a possible husband. He had all along mistaken herkindness, her friendship, for something more which she had never felt.In comparison with Wallace who, Jean had heard Gillies say, might someday go to Winnipeg as Assistant Commissioner of the Company, he was asnothing. Doomed by his inheritance and his training to a life beyond thepale of civilization, he could offer Julie Breton little but a love thatknew no bounds, no frontiers; that would find no trail, which led toher, too long; no water too vast; no height too sheer; to separate them,did she but call him.

  So, in the hour of his triumph, the soul-sick Marcel went to one whonever had failed him; who loved him with a singleness of heart butrarely paralleled by human kind; who, however humble his lot, would givehim the worship accorded to no king--his dog.

  Seated beside Fleur with her squealing children crawling over him, hecircled her great neck with his arms and told his troubles to a hairyear. She sought his hand with her tongue, her throat rumbling withcontent, for had she not there on the grass in the soft June sun, allher world--her puppies and her God, Jean Marcel?

  There, Julie Breton, having in vain announced supper from the Missiondoor, found them, man and dog, and led Marcel away, protesting. The girlwore the frock she had donned in honor of his return, and never to Jeanhad she seemed so vibrant with life, never had the color bathed her darkface so exquisitely, nor the tumbled masses of her hair so allured him.But as he entered the Mission, he saw Inspector Wallace seated inconversation with the priest, and his heart went cold.

  During the meal, served by a Cree woman, the admiring eyes of Wallaceseldom left Julie's face. At first he seemed surprised at the presenceof Marcel at the table but the priest made it quite evident to theCompany man that Jean was as one of the family. However, as theFrenchman rarely joined in the conversation and early excused himself,leaving Wallace a free field, the Inspector's temper at what might haveseemed presumption in a Company hunter was unmarred.

  July came and to the surprise of Gillies and Whale River, the bigCompany canoe still remained under its tarpaulin on the post landing.That the priest looked kindly on the possibility of such abrother-in-law was evident from his hospitality to Wallace, but whatpiqued the curiosity of Colin Gillies and McCain was whether Wallace, aScotch Protestant, had as yet accepted the Catholic faith, for theOblat, Pere Breton, could not marry his sister to a man of anotherreligious belief. However, deep in the spell of the charming Julie,Inspector Wallace stayed on after the trade was over, giving as hisreason his desire to go south with the Company steamer which shortlywould be due.

  Although to Jean she was the same merry Julie, each morning visiting thestockade to play with Fleur's puppies, who now had their eyes well openand were beginning to find an uncertain balance, he avoided her, rarelyseeing her except at meal time. Of the change in their relations henever spoke, but man-like he was hurt that she failed to take him totask for his moodiness. In the evening, now, she walked on theriver-shore with Wallace, and talked through the twilight when the sunlingered below the rim of the world in the west. Jean Marcel had goneout of her life. He ceased to mention the Inspector's name, and absentedhimself from meals when the Scotchman was expected.

  Julie had said: "Jean, you are one of us, always welcome. Why do youstay away when Monsieur Wallace comes?" And he had answered: "You knowwhy I stay away, Julie Breton."

  That was all.