264 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER 



traces to die. Eelentless as death is Northern cold; 

 and wherever these long midwinter journeys are made, 

 gruesome traditions are current of hunter and husky. 



I remember hearing of one old husky that fell 

 hopelessly lame during the north trip. Often the 

 drivers are utter brutes to their dogs, speaking in 

 curses which they say is the only language a husky can 

 understand, emphasized with the blows of a club. Too 

 often,, as well, the huskies are vicious curs ready to 

 skulk or snap or bolt or fight, anything but work. But 

 in this case the dog was an old reliable that kept the 

 whole train in line, and the driver had such an affec 

 tion for the veteran husky that when rheumatism 

 crippled the clog s legs the man had not the heart to 

 shoot such a faithful servant. The dog was turned 

 loose from the traces and hobbled lamely behind the 

 scampering teams. At last he fell behind altogether, 

 but at night limped into camp whining his joy and 

 asking dumbly for the usual fish. In the morning 

 when the other teams set out, the old husky was power 

 less to follow. But he could still whine and wag his 

 tail. He did both with all his might, so that when 

 .the departing driver looked back over his shoulder, he 

 saw a pair of eyes pleading, a head with raised alert 

 ears, shoulders straining to lift legs that refused to 

 follow, and a bushy tail thwacking thwacking 

 thwacking the snow! 



&quot; You ought to shoot him/ advised one driver. 



&quot; You do it you re a dead sure aim,&quot; returned the 

 man who had owned the dog. 



But the other drivers were already coasting over 

 the white wastes. The owner looked at his sleighs as 

 if wondering whether they would stand an additional 



