"_Nipoo-win Ooyoo!_" he said, his eyes shining like points of flame. A
shiver seemed to be running through him.
For a moment the Missioner did not seem to hear him. Then he cried:
"Give them the whip! Drive them on!"
The Cree turned, unwinding his long lash.
"_Nipoo-win Ooyoo!_" he muttered again.
The whip cracked over the backs of the huskies, the end of it stinging
the rump of the lead-dog, who was master of them all. A snarl rose for
an instant in his throat, then he straightened out, and the dogs lurched
forward. Mukoki ran ahead, so that the lead-dog was close at his heels.
"What did he say?" asked David.
In the gloom the Missioner made a gesture of protest with his two hands.
David could no longer see his face.
"He is superstitious," he growled. "He is absurd. He would make the very
devil's flesh creep. He says that old Beaver has given the death howl.
Bah!"
David could _feel_ the other's shudder in the darkness. They went on for
another hundred yards. With a low word Mukoki stopped the team. The dogs
were whining softly, staring straight ahead, when David and the
Missioner joined the Cree.
Father Roland pointed to a dark blot in the night, fifty paces beyond
them. He spoke to David.
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