George Tracy Marsh

“ Holding the aroused Fleur with difficulty on her rawhide leash, Marcel snowshoed through the timber in the direction from which the sound had come. After traveling some time they stopped to listen. From somewhere ahead, seemingly but a few hundred yards down the valley, floated the eerie sobbing. Michel’s gun slipped to the snow from his palsied hands. Turning, Jean gripped the boy’s arm.
“Why you come? You no good to shoot. De Windigo eat you w’ile you hunt for your gun.” ”

“ Jules, the largest, marked like his mother, like the other puppy Julie had chosen, with slate-gray patches on head and back, was all dog; but the rogues, Colin and Angus, mottled with the lighter gray of their sire and with his rangier build, inherited much of his wolf nature. ”

“ But Fleur was a conscientious mother and under her stern tutelage and the firm but kind treatment of Jean—who loved to rough and wrestle the puppies in the dry snow—the shaggy ruffians grew in the wisdom of trace and trail and in their wild natures ripened love for the master who fed and romped with them and meted out punishment only to him who had sinned.
In search of black and silver foxes, whose pelts—worth in the world of cities their weight in gold—are the chief inspiration of the red hunter’s dreams, Jean had run his new trap lines far in the valleys of the Salmon watershed. ”