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Updated: June 23, 2025
To windward of them, and down in the plain, a cabin was burning. A team of huskies and a man were disappearing in the spruce forest. Deep down in his throat Kazan gave a rumbling whine. Gray Wolf stood as rigid as a rock. In the cabin a plague-dead man was burning. It was the law of the North. And the mystery of the funeral pyre came again to Kazan and Gray Wolf.
McGill's dogs were fastened under a brush lean-to built against the cabin, and as the rival team of huskies began filling the air with their clamor for a fight, the stranger team halted and one of the two men came forward alone. He stopped with some astonishment before the aristocratic-looking little man waiting for him in Pierre's doorway. "Is Pierre Thoreau at home?" he demanded.
In the silence which followed he could hear the padding steps of the huskies going round the house, and the sound of them sniffing about the door. Strangeways, who had been fastening on his snowshoes preparatory to departure, walked across the room and raised the latch. He stepped out, leaving the door open behind him.
The camp was suddenly discovered to be alive with skulking furry forms, starving huskies, four or five score of them, who had scented the camp from some Indian village. They had crept in while Buck and Spitz were fighting, and when the two men sprang among them with stout clubs they showed their teeth and fought back. They were crazed by the smell of the food.
There was no hope for him. Buck was inexorable. Mercy was a thing reserved for gentler climes. He manoeuvred for the final rush. The circle had tightened till he could feel the breaths of the huskies on his flanks. He could see them, beyond Spitz and to either side, half crouching for the spring, their eyes fixed upon him. A pause seemed to fall.
Then we were shoved behind a huge screen with half a dozen other huskies they looked like prize fighters to me and told to take our clothes off. Then we were examined." "Well?" they queried, leaning forward eagerly. "Well," said Allen, waving his hand in a deprecating gesture, "of course, being the perfect specimens of manhood we are, the committee jumped at us."
She understood, and had faith in him. In the days of the last snow Kazan had proved himself. A neighboring trapper had run over with his team, and the baby Joan had toddled up to one of the big huskies. There was a fierce snap of jaws, a scream of horror from Joan, a shout from the men as they leaped toward the pack. But Kazan was ahead of them all.
Just behind was Pete Bernard, a sturdy French Canadian, trying to hold his uncontrollable, half-wild huskies, who were jumping and making sudden lunges toward any stranger man or dog that wandered near; and especially toward the Yellow Peril, who was a free lance in the expedition, and as such was particularly irritating to those in harness.
In half a minute Gordon was beside him. After the first greetings the young man nodded toward the dog team. "How did you persuade Tim Ryan to lend you his huskies?" "Why don't you take a paper and keep up with the news, son? These huskies don't belong to Tim." "Meaning that Mr. Gideon Holt is the owner?" "You've done guessed it," admitted the miner complacently.
Ye must understand, mes garcons, that the Huskies make thumpin' big kettles out o' a kind o' soft stone they find in them parts, an' some o' them's big enough to boil a whole seal in. Well, when the beast is cooked, they take it out o' the pot, an' while they're tuckin' into it, the dogs come and sit in a ring round the pot to wait till the soup's cool enough to eat.
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