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Updated: June 24, 2025
At the moment that the husky's fangs touched the skin of Micky's throat, Jan was upon him like a battering-ram, shoulder to shoulder, with an impact that sent the husky rolling, all four feet in the air, a position in which no barracks dog had ever before seen Sourdough, and one in which any of them would have given a day's food to find him.
After dinner the three of them went to Baree, and David unfastened the chain from the big husky's collar. For a few moments the dog did not seem to sense his freedom; then, like a shot so unexpectedly that he almost took David off his feet he leaped over the birch log and disappeared in the forest. The Frenchman was amused. "The wolves," he reminded softly.
One of these forepaws was twisted; it had been broken. "You poor devil!" said David aloud. He sat down on a birch log within six feet of the end of the chain, and looked steadily into the big husky's one bloodshot eye as he said again: "You poor devil!" Baree, the dog, did not understand. It puzzled him that this man did not carry a club. He was used to clubs.
Jan had glared menacingly at him, at Sourdough, while he, the acknowledged canine master and terror of that countryside, had all four feet in the air. A flame of hatred surged about the husky's heart. His snarl as he bounded to his feet was truly awe-inspiring. His writhen lips drew up and back crescent-wise over red gums, showing huge yellow fangs and an expression of most daunting ferocity.
"Let him come in, then, if he wants his chance," said Jack indifferently. "The losers will take care of him." Joe made haste to join them. They squatted in a circle around the blanket. Under the strong excitement of the game, each nature revealed itself. Black Shand became as pale as paper, while Husky's face turned purple.
In a gray streak that traveled with the speed of a bullet he was at the big husky's throat. When they pulled him off, the husky was dead. Joan thought of that now, as the baby kicked and tousled Kazan's head. "Good old Kazan," she cried softly, putting her face down close to him.
Her eyes showed no change as they moved along the line. None of them could tell what thoughts lay behind that direct, calm glance. Having inspected each one, her eyes returned to Jack as if inviting him to speak further. "Husky speaks first, according to arrangement," said Jack, waving his hand. Husky's speech was moist, incoherent, and plaintive.
While rage gnawed at Husky's vitals, and he tried not to show it, Big Jack shook the cup with cool confidence and tossed the dice on the floor. Strange if he could not beat three! The little cubes rolled, staggered, and came to a stop. For a second the four stared incredulously. A pair of ones! An extraordinary change took place in Husky. He grunted and blinked.
So quickly that the eye could scarcely follow her movement faithful Gray Wolf sank her gleaming fangs in the husky's shoulder. A gray streak nothing more tangible than a streak of gray, silent and terrible, shot through the dawn-gloom. It was Kazan. He came without a snarl, without a cry, and in a moment he and the husky were in the throes of terrific battle.
She showed Sam how to apply the mass to the wound before rebandaging it. Husky strained away. "Poison! Poison!" he cried. "Keep her away from me!" "You crazy!" said Bela impatiently. "Look at me!" She chewed some of the poultice and swallowed it before Husky's eyes. "Are you afraid, too?" she asked Sam. He shook his head, smiling, and ate one of the leaves.
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