Part 29 (1/2)
”W'ere ees dees missionary, M'sieu? We mus' start een a few hours, w'en my dogs have rest.”
”What, start in the teeth of this? Listen to it!” The drumming of wind and shot-like snow on the trade-house windows steadily increased in fury.
The muscles of Marcel's face stiffened into stone as he grimly insisted:
”We mus' start to-night.”
”You are crazy, man; you need sleep,” protested McKenzie. ”I know it's a life and death matter. But you wouldn't help that girl at Whale River by losing the trail to-night and freezing. I'll see Hunter at once, but I can't allow him to go to his death. If the blow eases by morning, he can start.”
Again Marcel turned, waiting for Wallace, who nervously paced the floor, to speak. Then with a shrug he said:
”M'sieu Wallace weel wish to start to-night? I have de bes' lead-dog on dees coast. She weel not lose de trail.”
”What do you mean--Monsieur Wallace?” blurted the factor. Wallace raised a face on which agony and indecision were plainly written. But it was Jean Marcel who answered, with all the scorn of his tortured heart.
”_She ees de fiancee--of M'sieu Wallace._”
”Oh, I--I didn't--understand!” stumbled the embarra.s.sed McKenzie, reddening to his eyes. ”But--I can't advise you to start to-night, Mr.
Wallace.”
The factor went to the door. As he lifted the heavy latch, in spite of his bulk the power of the wind hurled him backward. The door crashed against the log-wall, while the room was filled with driving snow.
”You see what it's like, Wallace! No dog-team would have a chance on this coast to-night--not a chance.”
”Yes,” agreed Wallace, avoiding Marcel's eyes. Then he went on, ”You understand, McKenzie, I'm knocked clean off my feet by this news.
But--we'll want to start, at least, by morning--sooner, if the dogs are rested--that is, of course, if it's possible.”
Deliberately ignoring the man who had thus bared his soul, Marcel drew the factor to one side.
”Mon Dieu, M'sieu!” he pleaded in low tones. ”She weel not leeve. Onless we start at once, we shall be too late. Tak' me to de doctor!”
The agonized face of the hunter softened McKenzie.
”Well, all right, if Hunter will go and Mr. Wallace insists, but it's madness. I'll go over to the Mission now and talk to the doctor.”
When Jean had seen to the feeding of his tired dogs whom he left asleep in a shack, he hurried through the driving snow with the Company Indian to the Protestant Mission House, where he found McKenzie alone with the missionary.
As he entered the lighted room, the Reverend Hunter, a tall, athletic-looking man of thirty, welcomed him, bidding him remove his capote and moccasins and thaw out at the hot box-stove.
”Mr. McKenzie has shown me Gillies' message, Marcel. Now tell me all you know about the case,” said the missionary.
Briefly Marcel described the condition of Julie Breton--Gillies' crude attempt at surgery; the advance toward the shoulder of the swelling and inflammation, with the increasing fever.
When he had finished he cried in desperation:
”M'sieu, I have at Whale River credit for t'ree t'ousand dollar. Eet ees all----”
Hunter's lifted hand checked him.