Breed of the Wolf/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI.
The following morning Jean Marcel forgot the cloud hanging over him in his joy at the event which had taken place since dawn. Rousing Julie and her brother, he led them to the stockade. There in all the pride of motherhood lay the great Fleur with five blind, roly-poly puppies whimpering at her side.
“Oh, the little dears!” cried Julie. “How pretty they are!”
First speaking to Fleur and patting her head, Jean picked up a squirming ball of fur and, as the mother whined anxiously, put it in Julie’s arms.
“Oh, mon cher!” cried the girl, nestling the warm little body to her cheek. “What a morsel of softness!” But when Père Breton reached to touch the puppy a rumble from Fleur’s deep throat warned him that Julie alone was privileged to take such liberties with her offspring.
Jean quieted the anxious mother whose nose sought his hand. “See, father, what a dog team she has given me.”
One after another he proudly exhibited the puppies. “Mark the bone of their legs. They will make a famous team with Fleur as leader. Is it not so?”
“They are a possession to be proud of, Jean,” agreed the priest, standing discreetly out of reach, for Fleur’s slant eyes never left him.
“Which of them do you wish, Julie?” Jean asked. “One, you know, is for you.”
“Oh, Jean, you are too good!” cried the girl. “I should love this one, marked like Fleur.” And she stooped to take the whimpering puppy in her arms, while Jean’s hand rested on Fleur’s massive head, lest the fear of the mother dog for the safety of her off spring overpower her friendship for Julie. As the girl fearlessly reached and lifted the puppy, Fleur suddenly thrust forward her long muzzle and licked her hand.
“Good!” cried Jean, delighted. “Fleur would allow no one on earth to do that except you. The puppy’s name must be Julie.”
In his joy at the coming of Fleur’s family Marcel had forgotten, for the time being, the hearing. But later in the morning at the trade house, Gillies, whose obstinacy had been deeply aroused by the attitude of Inspector Wallace, planned with the accused man how they should handle the Lelacs.
For the factor had no intention of permitting Jean’s exoneration to hang in the balance of the prejudiced mind of Wallace. The canny Scot realized that if the Lelacs were thoroughly discredited at the hearing at which the leaders of the Crees would be present, and were shown to have an ulterior motive in their attempt to fix the crime upon Marcel, there would be a strong reaction in favor of Jean. His story would then be generally accepted. To this end he carefully laid his plans. Wallace, busy prying into the books of the post, he did not take into his confidence, wishing to surprise him as well as the Crees by the bombshell the defense had in store for the Lelacs.
At noon Wallace overheard Jules and McCain talking of Fleur’s puppies which they had just seen.
“By the way, McCain, where are these remarkable Ungava pups which you say were sired by a timber wolf?”
“Over in the mission stockade, sir.”
“I want to see them and the old dog, too. I’m rather curious to put my eyes on the husky that could kill a man with a loaded gun in his hands. That part of Marcel’s story needs a bit of salt.”
“You won’t doubt it when you see her. She’s a whale of a husky,” said McCain.
“Well, I never saw the dog that could kill me, with a rifle handy. I’ll stroll over and take a look at her.”
“I’ll show you the way.”
Arrived at the tent in the stockade, McCain and Wallace were greeted by a fierce rumble, like the muttering of an August southwester making on the bay.
“We’d better not go near the tent, Mr. Wallace. I’ll see if Jean’s in the house. The dog won’t allow any one but Marcel near her.”
Ignoring the warning, Wallace approached the tent opening to look inside, but so fierce a snarl warned him off that he stepped back with considerably more speed than his dignity admitted. Red in the face, he glanced around to learn if his precipitous flight had had an audience.
Shortly, McCain returned with Marcel, and Wallace, now that the dog’s owner was near, again approached and peered into the tent.
There was a deep growl from within, and with a cry of surprise the inspector was hurled backward to the ground by the rush of a great, gray body. At the same instant Jean Marcel, calling to Fleur, leaped headlong at his dog, seizing her before she could strike at the neck of the prostrate Wallace. Calming the husky, he held her while the discomfited inspector got to his feet.
“You should not go so near, m’sieu. She ees not use to stranger,” said Jean brusquely.
"I—I didn’t think she was so damned cross,” sputtered the ruffled inspector. “Lord, but she’s a wolf of a dog!”
“Now, sir,” demanded the secretly delighted McCain, “do you believe she could kill a man?”
Surveying Fleur’s gigantic frame critically as Jean stroked her glossy neck, soothing her with low words crooned into a hairy ear, the enlightened inspector of the east-coast posts gave ground on the point.
“Well, I don’t know but what she could,” he admitted. “I never saw such a beast for size and strength. Let’s have a look at the pups.”
Jean brought from the tent the blind, squirming balls of fur.
“They are beauties, Marcel! I’ll buy a couple of them. They can go down by the steamer if they’re weaned by that time. What do you want for them?”
Marcel smiled inscrutably at Inspector Wallace.
“M’sieu, dese pups are not to sell.”
“I know, but you don’t want all of them. That would give you six dogs. All you need for a team is four.”
But Jean Marcel only shook his head, repeating:
“Dey are not to sell!”