28 My Dogs in the Northland 



Away I hurried. There before me was 

 Martin, my faithful man of all work, at the 

 stable. In the pen but little was left of the 

 pigs. In a corner of the stable, with heads 

 bloody and tempers roused, were some of 

 my Eskimo dogs. Martin had caught them 

 at this feast and had wisely blocked their 

 way until I should arrive. 



Keeping a watch on the dogs that were 

 now wild to escape, we made an investiga- 

 tion of the manner in which they had won 

 their victory over us this second time. Mar- 

 tin, when attending to his morning work, 

 had found the door securely fastened as 

 usual, but right through those spruce planks 

 those dogs had cut their way with their 

 teeth. They must have worked in turns and 

 at a good deal of discomfort to themselves, 

 as many of the slivers torn off were quite 

 tinged with blood. Yet with all the mad 

 frenzy of their natures, when aroused, after 

 undoubtedly laying their plans to succeed 

 in this way, they had thus triumphed. The 

 cunning fellows selected a dark, wild, 

 stormy night. We afterward remembered 

 how the winds had howled and raged and 

 had so aided them. Thus the noise they 

 must necessarily have made in their cutting 



