Upon the plain below he knelt upon the
toboggan, with his rifle in front of him; and at his low, hissing
commands, which reached no farther than the dogs' ears, the team
stretched their long bodies in pursuit of the missioner and his
huskies.
Jean knew that whoever was ahead of him was not far away, and he
laughed and hunched his shoulders when he saw that his magnificent
Malemutes were making three times the speed of the huskies. It was a
short chase. It led across the narrow plain and into a dense tangle of
swamp, where the huskies had picked their way in aimless wandering
until they came out in thick balsam and Banksian pine. Half a mile
farther on, and the trail broke into an open which led down to the
smooth surface of a lake, and two-thirds across the lake was the
fleeing missioner.
The Malemute leader flung open his jaws in a deep baying triumph, and
with a savage yell Jean cracked his caribou whip over his back. He saw
the man ahead of him lean over the end of his sledge as he urged his
dogs, but the huskies went no faster; and then he caught the glitter
of something that flashed for a moment in the sun.
"Ah!" said Jean softly, as a bullet sang over his head. "He fires at
Jean de Gravois!" He dropped his whip, and there was the warm glow of
happiness in his little dark face as he leveled his rifle over the
backs of his Malemutes.
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