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Updated: May 5, 2025
For that is the one position in which even a Sourdough may with safety be attacked. His own great weight and swiftly silent movement had been responsible for Sourdough's complete downfall.
And for Jan, as he caught sight in the gloaming of his ancient enemy, his hackles had risen very stiffly, his pendent lips had twitched ominously. Jan was perfectly well aware that the killing of Sourdough or any other dog he had seen since his return to cities would be a supremely easy matter for him. Indeed it would be for almost any dog having his experience of the wild.
To him, as to the outside world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming feature. "I'm much obliged to you, Euchre," replied Duane. "But of course I won't live with any one unless I can pay my share." "Have it any way you like, my son," said Euchre, good-humoredly. "You make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin' grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck. Thet man doesn't live who can beat my bread."
He's sour, all right, and a fighter from way back; but the way he's built he somehow doesn't seem to make trouble with any dog that kow-tows to him. But God help the husky that don't kow-tow. Sourdough will have his salute as boss, or he'll have blood. That's the sort of a duck Sourdough is." "Ah! Well, he'll get civility from us, won't he, Jan? and if that's all he wants, there'll be no trouble.
O'Malley, having borrowed Jan's services as helper, was busy giving tracking lessons to Micky Doolan on the prairie, half a mile from barracks. He did not know that the sergeant had been watching him through binoculars from the barracks, and that he had spent a quarter of an hour in carefully devised efforts to exacerbate the never very amiable temper of Sourdough. "Tsss sss!
And so he thought it was a challenge to combat; and combat, as the husky saw it, meant an effort to kill by any and every means available. In the same way, the reckless scorn of himself and of a palpable advantage, which Jan had shown after knocking him over, was a thing not to be comprehended for what it really was by Sourdough.
In this case it was responsible for tactics by which, had he but known it, Sourdough presented his enemy with triple-thick armor, and schooled him finely for the task that lay before him. Sourdough's second slash cost Jan a split ear, but gave him flashlight vision of his fight with Grip in Sussex, with Grip of the wolf-like fighting methods.
He was leaving the Sourdough, when he suddenly turned back to the bar from the door. "Got another hunch?" was the query. "I sure have," he answered. "Flour's sure going to be worth what a man will pay for it this winter up on the Klondike. Who'll lend me some money?"
In his mind's eye he pictured himself sitting down to a meal of "mulligan" and sourdough flapjack in some friend's mining shack, and, if this dream came true, how quickly he would shape his course toward the spot he had been directed to by the ciphered note in the blue envelope! "I'd walk in on them like old Rip Van Winkle." He smiled and glanced at his dog.
Pete equipped himself with tinware and cutlery, doubled one leg under and sat upon it before the fire. From the ovens and skillets on the embers Pete heaped his plate with a savory stew, hot sourdough bread, fried rabbit, and canned corn fried to a delicate golden brown.
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