The Silver Horde | Page 3

saw
the ragged ice up-ended by the tide, but their course was well marked
now, so they swung themselves upon the sled, while the dogs shook off
their lethargy and broke into their pattering, tireless wolf-trot.
At length they came to a point where the trail divided, one branch
leading off at right angles from the shore and penetrating the
hummocks that marked the tide limit. Evidently it led to the village
which they knew lay somewhere on the farther side, hidden by a mile
or more of sifting snow, so they altered their course and bore out upon
the river.
The going here was so rough that both men leaped from their seats and
ran beside the sled, one at the front, the other guiding it from the rear.
Up and down over the ridges the trail led, winding through the frozen
inequalities, the dogs never breaking their tireless trot. They mounted a
swelling ridge and rushed down to the level river ice beyond, but as
they did so they felt their footing sag beneath them, heard a shivering
creak on every side, and, before they could do more than cry out
warningly, saw water rising about the sled-runners. The momentum of
the heavy sledge, together with the speed of the racing dogs, forced
them out upon the treacherous ice before they could check their speed.
Emerson shouted, the dogs leaped, but with a crash the ice gave way,
and for a moment the water closed over him.
Clinging to the sled to save himself, his weight slowed it down, and the
dogs stopped. "Fingerless" Fraser broke through in turn, gasping as the
icy water rose to his armpits. Slowly at first the sled sank, till it floated
half submerged, and this spot which a moment before had seemed so
safe and solid became now a churning tangle of broken fragments, men

and dogs struggling in a liquid that seemed dark as syrup contrasted
with the surrounding whiteness. The lead animals, under whose feet the
ice was still firm, turned inquiringly, then settled on their haunches
with lolling tongues. The pair next ahead of the sledge paddled
frantically, straining to reach the solid sheet beyond, but were held back
by their harness. Emerson used the sled for a footing and endeavored to
gain the ice at one side, but it broke beneath him and he lunged in up to
his shoulders. Again he tried, but again the ice broke under his hand,
more easily now.
Fraser struggled to get out in the opposite direction, each man aiming
to secure an independent footing, but their efforts only enlarged the
pool. The chill went through them like thin blades, and they chattered
gaspingly, fighting with desperation, while the wheel dogs, involved in
the harness, began to whine and cough, at which Emerson shouted:
"Cut the team loose, quick!" But the other spat out a mouthful of salt
water and spluttered:
"I--I can't swim!"
Whereupon the first speaker half swam half dragged himself through
the slush and broken debris to the forward end of the sled, and seeking
out the sheath-knife from beneath his parka, cut the harness of the two
distressed animals. Once free, they scrambled to safety, shook
themselves, and rolled in the dry snow.
Emerson next attempted to lift the nose of the sled up on the ice,
shouting at the remainder of the team to pull, but they only wagged
their tails and whined excitedly at this unusual form of entertainment.
Each time he tried to lift the sled he crashed through fresh ice, finally
bearing the next pair of dogs with him, and then the two animals in the
lead. All of them became hopelessly entangled.
He could have won his way back to the permanent ice as Fraser was
doing, but there was no way of getting his team there and he would not
sacrifice those dumb brutes now growing frantic. One of them pawed
the sheath-knife from his hand. He had become almost numb with cold

and despair when he heard the jingle of many small bells, and a sharp
command uttered in a new voice.
Out of the snow fog from the direction in which they were headed
broke a team running full and free. At a word they veered to the right
and came to a pause, avoiding the danger-spot. Even from his hasty
glance Emerson marvelled at the outfit, having never seen the like in all
his travels through the North, for each animal of the twelve stood
hip-high to a tall man, and they were like wolves of one pack, gray and
gaunt and wicked. The basket-sled behind them was long and light, and
of a design that was new to him, while the furs in it were of white fox.
The figure