Voyageur, the Broken-Hearted 165 



scorned any second place, and so he lay 

 down and died. 



There was something so pathetic and al- 

 most humanly tragic about Voyageur's end 

 that it is sad to write about it especially jus 

 I was the innocent cause of it. 



Well aware of the short lives of dogs, and 

 thus sadly conscious that Voyageur could 

 not last many years longer, with all his old- 

 time vigour, I was naturally anxious to 

 have some trained successors to take his 

 place. Becoming the fortunate owner of 

 some very fine young St. Bernard dogs, sev- 

 eral of which were nearly a year old, I was 

 naturally desirous of breaking them in, and 

 especially of finding out if at least one of 

 them, would develop into a good leader. In 

 the usual way of training they had already 

 had some lessons, and I was much pleased 

 with the docility and intelligence with 

 which they had acted when harnessed up 

 with older dogs. However, up to the time 

 of the strange event I am going to relate, I 

 had never tried any one of them as a leader 

 dog. 



The principal supply of white fish on 

 which our own table as well as our dogs de- 

 pended, was obtained from a fishery fifteen 



