44 My Dogs in the Northland 



homeward journey was resumed. I had no 

 hesitancy in speaking now. As my voice in 

 unison with the pistol-like reports of the 

 whip rang out, they showed no more desire 

 for battle, but a desperate resolve to reach 

 home as speedily as possible. 



But ere the journey ended, they played 

 me a shabby trick, and in a measure got 

 their revenge on me. At the bottom of the 

 hill, on which the house of this native agent 

 was built, he had dug a trench and there 

 fixed a heavy stockade to break the force of 

 the wild storms that, sweeping over the 

 lake, drifted the snow around his home. 

 This stockade was fifteen or eighteen feet 

 high. The storms had so piled up the snow 

 on the lake side that it was now level with 

 the top ; while over the other side there was 

 a drift of only about five or six feet in 

 depth. 



There was a regular dog trail around by 

 the gate to the house, but, of course, I knew 

 nothing of this. The dogs knew, however, 

 and were always accustomed to use it. But 

 this night, as though furious and revenge- 

 ful at the white man who had conquered 

 them, when we arrived within a few yards 

 of the house, instead of taking the usual 



