It was a thick, wild place and it struck
him that Tavish could not have chosen a spot of more sinister aspect in
which to hide himself and his secret. A terribly lonely place it was,
and still as death as they went down into it. They heard not even the
howl of a dog, and surely Tavish had dogs. He was on the point of
speaking, of asking the Missioner why Tavish, haunted by fear, should
bury himself in a place like this, when the lead-dog suddenly stopped
and a low, lingering whine drifted back to them. David had never heard
anything like that whine. It swept through the line of dogs, from throat
to throat, and the beasts stood stiff-legged and stark in their traces,
staring with eight pairs of restlessly blazing eyes into the wall of
darkness ahead. The Cree had turned, but the sharp command on his lips
had frozen there. David saw him standing ahead of the team as silent and
as motionless as rock. From him he looked into the Missioner's face.
Father Roland was staring. There was a strange suspense in his
breathing. And then, suddenly, the lead-dog sat back on his haunches and
turning his gray muzzle up to the sky emitted a long and mournful howl.
There was something about it that made David shiver. Mukoki came
staggering back through the snow like a sick man.
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