Chapter 5 - The Toil of Trace and Trail

Thirty days  from  the time  it left Dawson, the Salt Water  Mail, with  Buck and  his  mates  at the  fore, arrived at Skaguay. They  were  in a wretched state,  worn  out  and  worn  down. Buck's  one  hundred and  forty  pounds had  dwindled to one hundred and  fifteen.  The rest  of his mates,  though lighter dogs,  had  relatively lost more  weight than  he. Pike, the malingerer, who,  in his lifetime  of deceit,  had often  successfully feigned a hurt  leg, was now  limping in earnest. Sol-leks was limping, and  Dub was suffering from a wrenched shoulder-blade.

They were  all terribly footsore. No spring or rebound was left in them.  Their  feet  fell heavily on the  trail,  jarring  their  bodies  and  doubling the fatigue of a day's  travel.  There  was  nothing the matter with  them  except that  they  were   dead tired.   It  was  not  the  dead-tiredness that  comes through brief  and  excessive  effort,  from  which  recovery is a matter of hours;  but  it was  the  dead-tiredness that  comes  through the  slow  and prolonged strength drainage of months of toil. There was no power of recuperation left, no reserve strength to call upon. It had  been all used,  the last least bit  of it. Every  muscle,  every  fibre,  every  cell, was  tired,  dead tired.  And  there  was  reason  for  it. In  less  than  five  months they  had travelled twenty-five hundred miles, during the last eighteen hundred of which  they  had  had  but  five days'  rest.  When  they  arrived at Skaguay they were apparently on their  last legs. They could  barely  keep the traces taut,  and  on the down grades just managed to keep  out of the way of the sled.

"Mush  on,   poor   sore   feets,"  the   driver  encouraged  them   as  they tottered down the main street  of Skaguay. "Dis is de las'. Den we get one long res'. Eh? For sure. One bully long res'."

The drivers confidently expected a long  stopover. Themselves, they had  covered twelve hundred miles with  two days'  rest, and  in the nature of reason and  common justice  they  deserved an interval of loafing.  But so many  were  the men  who  had  rushed into  the Klondike, and  so many were  the  sweethearts, wives,  and  kin  that  had  not  rushed in, that  the congested mail  was  taking on  Alpine  proportions; also,  there  were  offi- cial orders. Fresh  batches  of Hudson Bay dogs  were  to take the places  of those  worthless for the  trail.  The worthless ones  were  to be got rid  of, and, since dogs count  for little against dollars, they were to be sold.

Three  days  passed, by  which  time  Buck  and  his  mates  found how really  tired  and  weak  they were.  Then, on the morning of the fourth day, two men  from  the  States  came  along  and  bought them, harness and  all, for a song. The men addressed each other  as "Hal" and  "Charles."  Charles was  a  middle-aged, lightish-colored man,  with  weak  and  watery eyes and  a mustache that  twisted fiercely and  vigorously up,  giving  the lie to the limply  drooping lip it concealed. Hal was  a youngster of nineteen or twenty, with  a big Colt's  revolver and  a hunting-knife strapped about  him on a belt  that  fairly  bristled with  cartridges. This belt  was  the  most salient  thing  about  him. It advertised his callowness—a callowness sheer and  unutterable. Both  men  were  manifestly out  of place,  and  why  such as they  should adventure the North is part  of the mystery of things that passes understanding.

Buck heard the  chaffering, saw  the  money  pass  between the  man  and the  Government agent,  and  knew   that  the  Scotch  half-breed and  the mail-train drivers were passing out of his life on the heels of Perrault and Francois  and  the  others  who  had  gone  before.  When  driven with  his mates  to the new owners' camp,  Buck saw a slipshod and  slovenly affair, tent  half  stretched, dishes  unwashed, everything in  disorder; also,  he saw  a woman. "Mercedes"  the  men  called  her.  She was  Charles's wife and Hal's sister—a  nice family party.

Buck watched them  apprehensively as they  proceeded to take  down the tent  and  load  the sled.  There  was  a great  deal  of effort  about  their manner, but  no businesslike method. The tent  was  rolled  into  an awk- ward bundle three  times  as large  as it should have  been.  The tin  dishes  were packed away  unwashed. Mercedes continually fluttered in the way of her men  and  kept  up an unbroken chattering of remonstrance and  ad- vice. When  they put  a clothes-sack on the front  of the sled, she suggested it should go on  the  back;  and  when they  had  put  it on  the  back,  and covered it  over  with a  couple  of other  bundles, she  discovered over- looked  articles  which  could  abide  nowhere else but in that very sack, and they unloaded again.

Three men  from  a neighboring tent  came  out  and  looked  on, grinning and winking at one another.

 "You've got  a right  smart  load  as it is," said  one  of them;  "and  it's not me should tell you your business, but  I wouldn't tote  that  tent  along  if I was you."

"Undreamed of!" cried Mercedes, throwing up her hands in dainty dis- may. "However in the world could  I manage without a tent?"

"It's springtime, and  you  won't get  any  more  cold  weather," the  man replied.

She shook  her  head  decidedly, and  Charles and  Hal  put  the  last  odds and ends  on top the mountainous load.

"Think it'll ride?" one of the men asked.

"Why shouldn't it?" Charles demanded rather shortly.

"Oh, that's  all right,  that's  all right," the man  hastened meekly  to say. "I

was just a-wonderin', that is all. It seemed a mite top-heavy."

Charles turned his  back  and  drew the  lashings down as  well  as  he could,  which  was not in the least well.

"An' of course  the dogs  can hike  along  all day  with  that  contraption behind them," affirmed a second of the men.

"Certainly," said  Hal,  with  freezing politeness, taking  hold  of the  gee- pole  with  one  hand and  swinging his  whip  from  the  other.  "Mush!"  he shouted. "Mush on there!"

The dogs  sprang against the breast-bands, strained hard for a few mo- ments,  then relaxed. They were unable to move the sled.

"The lazy  brutes, I'll show  them,"  he  cried,  preparing to lash  out  at them  with the whip.

But Mercedes interfered, crying,  "Oh, Hal, you  mustn't," as she caught hold  of the  whip  and wrenched it from  him.  "The poor  dears!  Now  you must  promise you  won't be harsh with  them  for the  rest  of the  trip,  or I won't go a step."

"Precious lot you  know  about  dogs,"  her  brother sneered; "and  I wish you'd leave  me alone.  They're lazy,  I tell you,  and  you've got  to whip  them  to get anything out of them.  That's  their  way. You ask any one. Ask one of those men."

Mercedes looked  at them  imploringly, untold repugnance at sight  of pain written in her pretty face.

"They're weak  as water,  if you want  to know," came the reply  from one of the  men.  "Plum  tuckered out,  that's  what's the  matter. They  need  a rest."

"Rest be blanked," said Hal, with  his beardless lips; and  Mercedes said, "Oh!" in pain and sorrow at the oath.

 But she  was  a clannish creature, and  rushed at once  to the  defence  of her  brother. "Never  mind that  man,"  she said  pointedly. "You're  driving our dogs, and you do what  you think  best with them."

Again  Hal's  whip  fell upon the  dogs.  They  threw themselves against the  breast-bands, dug their  feet into  the  packed snow,  got  down low  to it, and  put  forth  all their  strength. The sled held  as though it were  an an- chor. After two  efforts,  they  stood  still, panting. The whip  was  whistling savagely, when once  more   Mercedes interfered.  She  dropped on  her knees  before  Buck, with tears in her  eyes,  and  put  her  arms  around his neck.

"You poor,  poor  dears,"  she cried sympathetically, "why don't you pull hard?—then you  wouldn't  be whipped." Buck did  not  like her,  but  he was  feeling  too  miserable to  resist  her,  taking  it  as  part  of  the  day's  miserable work.

One of the  onlookers, who  had  been  clenching his teeth  to suppress hot speech,  now spoke up:—

"It's not  that  I care a whoop what  becomes  of you,  but  for the dogs'  sakes  I just want  to tell you, you can help  them  a mighty lot by breaking out  that  sled.  The runners are froze  fast. Throw  your weight against the gee-pole,  right and left, and break it out."

A third time  the  attempt was  made,  but  this  time,  following the  ad- vice, Hal  broke  out  the runners which  had  been  frozen  to the snow.  The overloaded and  unwieldy sled  forged  ahead, Buck and  his mates  strug- gling  frantically under the  rain  of blows.  A hundred yards ahead the path  turned and  sloped steeply into  the main  street.  It would have  re- quired an experienced man  to keep the top-heavy sled  upright, and  Hal was not such a man.  As they swung on the turn  the sled went  over, spill- ing half its load  through the loose lashings. The dogs  never  stopped. The lightened  sled  bounded on its side  behind them.  They  were  angry  be- cause  of the  ill treatment they  had  received and  the  unjust load.  Buck was  raging. He  broke  into  a run,  the  team  following his  lead. Hal  cried "Whoa! whoa!" but they gave no heed.  He tripped and  was pulled off his feet. The capsized sled ground over  him,  and  the dogs  dashed on up  the street,  adding to the  gayety  of Skaguay as they scattered the  remainder of the outfit  along its chief thoroughfare.

Kind-hearted citizens  caught the dogs  and  gathered up  the scattered belongings. Also,  they gave  advice.  Half  the  load  and  twice  the  dogs,  if they ever expected to reach  Dawson, was what  was said. Hal and  his sis- ter and  brother-in-law listened unwillingly, pitched tent, and  overhauled the  outfit.  Canned goods   were  turned out  that  made men  laugh,   for canned goods  on the Long Trail is a thing  to dream about.  "Blankets for a hotel"  quoth one  of the men  who  laughed and  helped. "Half as many  is too   much;   get   rid   of  them.   Throw   away   that   tent,   and   all  those dishes,—who's going  to wash  them,  anyway? Good  Lord,  do  you  think you're travelling on a Pullman?"

And  so it went,  the  inexorable elimination of the  superfluous. Mer- cedes  cried  when her clothes-bags were  dumped on the ground and  art- icle after  article  was  thrown out.  She cried  in  general, and  she cried  in particular over  each  discarded thing.  She  clasped hands about  knees, rocking back  and  forth  broken-heartedly. She averred she  would not  go an inch,  not  for a dozen  Charleses. She appealed to everybody and  to everything, finally  wiping her  eyes  and  proceeding to cast out  even  art- icles of apparel that  were  imperative necessaries. And  in her  zeal, when she  had finished with  her  own,  she  attacked the  belongings of her  men and went  through them  like a tornado.

This accomplished, the outfit,  though cut in half, was still a formidable bulk. Charles and  Hal went out  in the  evening and  bought six Outside dogs.  These,  added to the six of the original team, and  Teek and  Koona, the  huskies obtained at the  Rink  Rapids on  the  record trip,  brought the team up  to fourteen. But the  Outside dogs,  though practically broken in since  their  landing, did  not  amount to much.  Three  were  short-haired pointers, one was  a Newfoundland, and  the other  two were  mongrels of indeterminate breed.  They did  not  seem  to know  anything, these  new- comers.  Buck  and  his  comrades looked  upon them  with  disgust, and though he  speedily taught them  their  places  and  what   not  to  do,  he could not  teach  them  what  to do.  They  did  not  take  kindly to trace  and trail.  With  the exception of the two  mongrels, they  were  bewildered and spirit-broken by  the  strange savage  environment in  which  they  found themselves and  by the ill treatment they had received. The two mongrels were  without spirit  at all; bones  were  the  only  things breakable about them.

With the newcomers hopeless and  forlorn, and  the old team  worn  out by twenty-five hundred miles  of continuous trail,  the  outlook was  any- thing  but  bright.  The two  men,  however, were  quite cheerful. And  they were proud, too. They were  doing  the thing  in style, with  fourteen dogs. They  had seen  other  sleds  depart over  the  Pass  for Dawson, or come  in from  Dawson, but  never  had  they seen a sled  with  so many  as fourteen dogs.  In the nature of Arctic travel  there  was a reason why fourteen dogs should not drag  one sled,  and  that  was  that  one sled  could  not carry  the food for fourteen dogs.  But Charles and  Hal did not know  this. They had worked the  trip  out  with  a pencil,  so much  to a dog,  so many  dogs,  so many  days,  Q.E.D.  Mercedes looked  over  their  shoulders and  nodded comprehensively, it was all so very simple.

Late next  morning Buck led  the  long  team  up  the  street.  There  was nothing lively  about  it, no snap  or go in him  and  his fellows.  They were starting dead weary. Four  times  he  had  covered the  distance between Salt Water  and  Dawson, and  the knowledge that, jaded  and  tired,  he was facing  the same  trail  once  more,  made him  bitter.  His  heart  was  not  in the  work,  nor  was  the  heart  of any  dog.  The Outsides were  timid  and frightened, the Insides without confidence in their masters.

Buck felt vaguely that  there  was  no depending upon these  two  men and  the woman. They did not know  how to do anything, and  as the days  went by it became  apparent that they could  not learn. They were  slack in all things,  without order or discipline. It took them  half the night  to pitch a  slovenly  camp,  and  half the morning to break  that  camp  and  get the sled  loaded in fashion  so slovenly that  for the  rest  of the  day  they  were occupied in stopping and  rearranging the  load.  Some days  they  did  not make  ten miles. On other  days  they were unable to get started at all. And on no day did  they  succeed in making more  than  half the  distance used by the men as a basis in their dog-food computation.

It was  inevitable that  they  should go  short   on  dog-food. But  they hastened it by overfeeding, bringing the  day  nearer when underfeeding would commence. The  Outside dogs,  whose  digestions  had  not  been trained by  chronic  famine  to make  the  most  of little,  had  voracious ap- petites. And  when,   in  addition to  this,  the  worn-   out  huskies pulled weakly, Hal decided that  the orthodox ration was  too small.  He doubled it. And  to cap  it all, when Mercedes, with  tears  in her pretty eyes  and  a quaver in her throat, could  not cajole him into giving  the dogs  still more, she stole from  the fish-sacks  and  fed them  slyly. But it was  not food  that Buck and  the huskies needed, but  rest. And  though they  were  making poor time, the heavy  load they dragged sapped their strength severely.

Then came  the  underfeeding. Hal  awoke  one  day  to  the  fact  that  his dog-food was  half  gone and  the  distance only  quarter covered; further, that  for love or money  no additional dog-food was to be obtained. So he cut down even  the orthodox ration and  tried  to increase  the day's  travel.  His sister  and  brother-in-law seconded him; but  they  were  frustrated by their  heavy  outfit  and  their  own incompetence. It was  a simple  matter to give the  dogs  less food;  but  it was  impossible to make  the  dogs  travel  faster,  while  their  own  inability to get under way  earlier  in the morning prevented them  from  travelling longer   hours. Not  only  did  they  not know   how   to   work   dogs,   but   they   did   not   know   how   to   work  themselves.

The first to go was Dub. Poor blundering thief that he was, always get- ting  caught and punished, he  had  none  the  less  been  a faithful  worker. His wrenched shoulder-blade, untreated and unrested, went  from bad to worse,  till finally  Hal shot  him with  the big Colt's  revolver. It is a saying of the  country that  an  Outside dog  starves to death on the  ration of the husky, so the six Outside dogs  under Buck could  do no less than  die on half  the  ration of the  husky. The Newfoundland went first,  followed by the  three  short-haired pointers, the  two  mongrels hanging more  grittily  on to life, but going  in the end.

By this  time  all the amenities and  gentlenesses of the Southland had fallen  away  from  the  three  people. Shorn  of its glamour and  romance, Arctic  travel  became  to them  a reality  too  harsh for their manhood and womanhood. Mercedes ceased  weeping over  the  dogs,  being  too occu- pied  with weeping over  herself  and  with  quarrelling with  her  husband and  brother. To quarrel was  the one thing  they  were  never  too weary to do. Their  irritability arose  out  of their  misery,  increased with  it, doubled upon it, outdistanced it. The wonderful patience of the trail which  comes to  men  who  toil hard and  suffer  sore,  and  remain sweet  of speech  and kindly, did not come to these two men and the woman. They had  no ink- ling of such  a patience. They were  stiff and  in pain;  their  muscles ached, their  bones  ached,  their  very  hearts ached;  and  because of this  they  be- came  sharp of  speech,  and  hard words were  first  on  their  lips  in  the morning and last at night.

Charles and  Hal wrangled whenever Mercedes gave  them  a chance.  It was  the  cherished belief of each  that  he  did  more  than  his  share  of the work,  and  neither forbore  to speak  this  belief  at every  opportunity. So- metimes Mercedes sided  with  her husband, sometimes with  her brother. The result  was  a beautiful and  unending family  quarrel. Starting from  a dispute as to which  should chop a few sticks for the fire (a dispute which  concerned only  Charles and  Hal),  presently would be lugged in the  rest of  the  family,   fathers,   mothers, uncles,   cousins,   people thousands  of miles  away,  and some  of them  dead.  That  Hal's  views  on art, or the sort of society  plays  his mother's brother wrote, should have  anything to do with  the  chopping of a few  sticks  of firewood, passes  comprehension; nevertheless the  quarrel was  as likely  to tend  in that  direction as in the direction of Charles's political  prejudices. And  that  Charles's sister's  tale- bearing tongue should be relevant to  the building of a Yukon  fire,  was apparent only to Mercedes, who disburdened herself of copious opinions upon that  topic,  and  incidentally upon a few  other  traits  unpleasantly peculiar to her  husband's family.  In the  meantime the  fire remained un- built, the camp  half pitched, and the dogs unfed.

Mercedes nursed a special  grievance—the grievance of sex. She was pretty and  soft,  and  had been  chivalrously treated all her  days.  But the present treatment by her husband and  brother was everything save chiv- alrous.  It was  her  custom to be helpless. They  complained. Upon  which impeachment of what  to her  was  her  most  essential sex-prerogative, she made their  lives  unendurable. She no longer  considered the  dogs,  and because she  was  sore  and  tired,  she  persisted in riding on  the  sled.  She was             pretty          and     soft,    but      she      weighed     one   hundred            and     twenty pounds—a lusty  last straw to the load dragged by the weak  and starving animals. She rode  for days,  till they  fell in the  traces  and  the  sled  stood  still. Charles and Hal  begged her  to get off and  walk,  pleaded with  her, entreated, the  while  she  wept  and importuned Heaven with  a recital  of their brutality.

On one occasion  they took her off the sled by main  strength. They nev- er did  it again.  She let her legs go limp like a spoiled child, and  sat down on  the  trail.  They  went  on  their  way,  but  she  did not move.  After  they had  travelled three  miles  they  unloaded the sled, came back for her, and by main strength put her on the sled again.

In the excess of their  own  misery  they  were  callous  to the suffering of their  animals. Hal's theory, which  he  practised on  others,  was  that  one must  get  hardened. He  had  started out  preaching it  to  his  sister  and brother-in-law. Failing  there,  he hammered it into  the  dogs  with  a club. At the  Five Fingers  the  dog-food gave  out,  and  a toothless old  squaw offered  to trade  them  a few pounds of frozen  horse-hide for the Colt's re- volver  that  kept  the big hunting-knife company at Hal's  hip. A poor  sub- stitute for  food  was  this  hide,  just  as  it  had  been  stripped from  the starved horses  of the cattlemen six months back. In its frozen  state  it was more  like strips  of galvanized iron,  and  when a dog  wrestled it into  his stomach it thawed into  thin  and  innutritious leathery strings and  into  a mass of short  hair, irritating and indigestible.

And through it all Buck staggered along  at the head  of the team  as in a nightmare. He  pulled when he could;  when he could  no longer  pull,  he fell down and  remained down till blows  from whip or club drove him to his feet again.  All the stiffness  and  gloss  had  gone  out  of his beautiful furry   coat.  The  hair  hung down, limp  and  draggled, or  matted with dried blood  where Hal's club had  bruised him.  His  muscles had  wasted away  to knotty strings, and  the flesh pads  had disappeared, so that  each rib and  every  bone  in his frame  were  outlined cleanly  through the loose hide  that  was  wrinkled in folds  of emptiness. It was  heartbreaking, only Buck's  heart  was  unbreakable. The  man  in  the  red sweater had  proved that.

As it was  with  Buck, so was  it with  his mates.  They were  perambulat- ing skeletons. There were seven  all together, including him. In their  very great  misery  they  had  become  insensible to the  bite  of  the  lash  or the bruise  of the  club.  The  pain  of the  beating was  dull  and  distant, just  as the things their  eyes  saw  and  their  ears  heard seemed dull  and  distant. They  were  not  half  living,  or quarter living.  They  were  simply  so many  bags  of bones  in which  sparks of life fluttered faintly. When  a halt  was made,  they  dropped down in the  traces  like dead dogs,  and  the  spark dimmed and paled and  seemed to  go  out.  And  when the  club  or  whip  fell upon them,  the  spark fluttered feebly up,  and  they  tottered to their feet and staggered on.

There came  a day  when Billee, the  good-natured, fell and  could  not rise.  Hal  had  traded  off  his revolver, so he  took  the  axe and  knocked Billee on the  head  as he lay in the  traces,  then  cut  the carcass  out  of the harness and  dragged it to one side.  Buck saw,  and  his mates  saw,  and they knew that this thing  was very close to them.  On the next day Koona went,  and  but  five of them  remained: Joe, too  far gone  to be malignant; Pike,  crippled  and   limping,  only   half  conscious  and   not   conscious enough longer  to malinger; Sol-leks, the one-eyed, still faithful  to the toil of trace  and  trail,  and  mournful in  that  he  had  so little  strength with which  to  pull;  Teek,  who  had  not  travelled so far  that  winter and  who was now  beaten more  than  the others  because he was  fresher;  and  Buck, still at the head  of the team,  but no longer  enforcing discipline or striving to enforce  it, blind  with weakness half the  time  and  keeping the  trail  by the loom of it and by the dim feel of his feet.

It was  beautiful spring weather, but  neither dogs  nor  humans were aware of it. Each  day  the sun  rose  earlier  and  set  later.  It was  dawn by three  in the  morning, and  twilight lingered till nine at night.  The whole  long day  was  a blaze  of sunshine. The ghostly winter silence  had  given way  to the  great  spring murmur of awakening life. This  murmur arose from all the  land,  fraught with  the joy of living.  It came  from  the  things that  lived  and  moved again,  things which  had  been  as dead and  which  had not moved during the long months of frost. The sap was rising  in the pines.  The willows and  aspens were  bursting out  in young buds.  Shrubs  and  vines  were  putting on  fresh  garbs  of green.  Crickets  sang  in  the nights,  and  in  the  days  all manner of creeping, crawling things rustled forth  into   the   sun.   Partridges  and   woodpeckers  were   booming  and knocking in the forest. Squirrels were chattering, birds  singing, and  over- head   honked  the   wild-fowl  driving  up   from  the  south  in  cunning wedges that split the air.

From every  hill slope  came  the  trickle  of running water,  the  music  of unseen  fountains.  All  things  were   thawing,  bending,  snapping.  The Yukon  was  straining to break  loose  the  ice that  bound it down. It ate away  from  beneath; the sun  ate from  above.  Air-holes formed, fissures sprang and  spread apart, while  thin sections  of ice fell through bodily  in- to the river.  And  amid  all this bursting, rending, throbbing of awakening life,  under the  blazing sun  and  through the  soft-sighing  breezes,   like wayfarers to death, staggered the two men, the woman, and the huskies.

With the dogs  falling,  Mercedes weeping and  riding, Hal swearing in- nocuously, and  Charles's  eyes  wistfully watering, they  staggered into John Thornton's camp  at the mouth of White  River.  When  they  halted, the  dogs  dropped down as though they  had  all been  struck  dead.  Mer- cedes dried her eyes and  looked  at John Thornton. Charles sat down on a log to rest. He sat down very slowly  and  painstakingly what  of his great  stiffness.   Hal   did   the   talking.  John  Thornton was  whittling  the   last touches on an axe-handle he had  made from a stick of birch. He whittled and  listened, gave  monosyllabic replies,  and,  when it was  asked,  terse advice.  He knew  the breed,  and  he gave his advice  in the certainty that  it would not be followed.

"They told  us  up  above  that  the  bottom was  dropping out  of the  trail and  that the best thing for us to do was to lay over," Hal said in response to Thornton's warning to take  no more  chances  on the  rotten ice. "They told  us we couldn't make  White  River, and  here  we are." This last with  a sneering ring of triumph in it.

"And  they  told  you  true,"  John  Thornton answered. "The  bottom's likely to drop out at any moment. Only fools, with the blind  luck of fools, could  have  made it. I tell you straight, I wouldn't risk my carcass  on that ice for all the gold in Alaska."

"That's because you're not  a fool, I suppose," said  Hal.  "All the  same, we'll go on to Dawson." He  uncoiled his whip.  "Get up  there,  Buck! Hi! Get up there! Mush  on!"

Thornton went  on whittling. It was idle, he knew,  to get between a fool and  his  folly; while two or  three  fools  more  or  less  would not  alter  the scheme  of things.

But the team  did  not get up  at the command. It had  long  since passed into  the  stage  where blows were  required to rouse  it. The whip  flashed out, here  and  there,  on its merciless errands. John Thornton compressed his lips. Sol-leks was the first to crawl to his feet. Teek followed. Joe came next, yelping with  pain.  Pike  made painful efforts.  Twice  he fell over, when half up,  and  on the  third attempt managed to rise. Buck made no effort.  He  lay quietly where he had  fallen.  The lash  bit into  him  again  and  again,  but  he neither whined nor struggled. Several  times  Thornton started, as though to speak,  but changed his mind.  A moisture came into his  eyes,  and,  as  the  whipping continued, he  arose  and  walked irresol-  utely up and down.

This was  the  first  time  Buck had  failed,  in itself  a sufficient reason to drive  Hal  into  a rage.  He  exchanged the  whip  for the  customary club. Buck refused to move  under the  rain  of heavier  blows  which  now  fell upon him.  Like his mates,  he barely  able to get up,  but,  unlike  them,  he had made up  his mind not to get up.  He had  a vague feeling  of impend- ing doom. This had been strong upon him when he pulled in to the bank, and  it had  not departed from him. What  of the thin and rotten ice he had felt under his feet all day, it seemed that he sensed disaster close at hand, out there ahead on the ice where his master was  trying to drive  him.  He refused to stir.  So greatly had  he suffered, and  so far gone  was  he, that the  blows  did  not  hurt  much.  And  as  they  continued to  fall upon him, the  spark of life within flickered and  went  down. It was  nearly  out.  He felt strangely numb. As though from  a great  distance, he was  aware that he  was  being  beaten.  The  last  sensations of pain  left him.  He  no  longer  felt anything, though very  faintly  he could  hear  the impact of the  club upon his body. But it was no longer  his body, it seemed so far away.

And then,  suddenly, without warning, uttering a cry that was inarticu- late and  more  like the  cry of an animal, John Thornton sprang upon the man  who  wielded the  club.  Hal  was  hurled backward, as though struck  by a failing  tree. Mercedes screamed. Charles looked  on wistfully, wiped his watery eyes, but did not get up because of his stiffness.

John Thornton stood  over Buck, struggling to control  himself,  too con- vulsed with rage to speak.

"If you  strike  that  dog  again,  I'll kill you," he at last managed to say in a choking voice.

"It's my  dog,"  Hal  replied, wiping the  blood  from  his  mouth as  he came back. "Get out of my way, or I'll fix you. I'm going  to Dawson."

Thornton stood  between him  and  Buck, and  evinced no intention of getting  out   of  the  way.  Hal   drew his  long   hunting-knife.  Mercedes screamed, cried,  laughed, and  manifested the  chaotic  abandonment of hysteria. Thornton rapped Hal's  knuckles with  the axe-handle, knocking the knife to the ground. He rapped his knuckles again  as he tried  to pick it up.  Then  he stooped,  picked  it up  himself,  and  with  two  strokes cut Buck's traces.

Hal had  no fight  left in him.  Besides,  his hands were  full with  his sis- ter, or his arms,  rather; while  Buck was too near dead to be of further use in hauling the  sled.  A few  minutes later  they pulled out  from  the  bank and  down the river.  Buck heard them  go and  raised his head  to see, Pike was  leading, Sol-leks was  at the wheel,  and  between were  Joe and  Teek. They were  limping and staggering. Mercedes was riding the loaded sled. Hal guided at the gee-pole,  and Charles stumbled along in the rear.

As Buck watched them,  Thornton knelt  beside  him  and  with  rough, kindly hands searched for broken bones.  By the time  his search  had  dis- closed  nothing more  than  many  bruises and  a state  of terrible starvation, the sled was a quarter of a mile away.  Dog and  man  watched it crawling along over the ice. Suddenly, they  saw its back end  drop down, as into a rut, and  the gee-pole,  with  Hal clinging  to it, jerk into the air. Mercedes's scream  came  to their  ears.  They  saw  Charles turn  and make one  step  to run back, and  then a whole  section  of ice give way and  dogs  and  humans disappear. A yawning hole  was  all that  was  to be seen.  The bottom had dropped out of the trail.

John Thornton and Buck looked  at each other.

"You poor devil," said John Thornton, and Buck licked his hand.