The Son of the Wolf | Page 3

strength. Up--up--the sled poised on the top of the bank; but
the leader swung the string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling
Mason's snowshoes. The result was grievous.
Mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in the traces; and
the sled toppled back, dragging everything to the bottom again.
Slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the one
which had fallen.
'Don't,--Mason,' entreated Malemute Kid; 'the poor devil's on its last
legs. Wait and we'll put my team on.' Mason deliberately withheld the
whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash,
completely curling about the offending creature's body.
Carmen--for it was Carmen--cowered in the snow, cried piteously, then
rolled over on her side.
It was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail--a dying dog, two
comrades in anger.
Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man. But Malemute Kid
restrained himself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes,
and, bending over the dog, cut the traces. No word was spoken. The
teams were doublespanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were
under way again, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. As
long as an animal can travel, it is not shot, and this last chance is
accorded it--the crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose
being killed.
Already penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make amends,
Mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade, little dreaming that
danger hovered in the air. The timber clustered thick in the sheltered
bottom, and through this they threaded their way. Fifty feet or more
from the trail towered a lofty pine. For generations it had stood there,
and for generations destiny had had this one end in view--perhaps the
same had been decreed of Mason.

He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. The sleds
came to a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper.
The stillness was weird; not a breath rustled the frost-encrusted forest;
the cold and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote the
trembling lips of nature. A sigh pulsed through the air--they did not
seem to actually hear it, but rather felt it, like the premonition of
movement in a motionless void. Then the great tree, burdened with its
weight of years and snow, played its last part in the tragedy of life. He
heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up but, almost erect,
caught the blow squarely on the shoulder.
The sudden danger, the quick death--how often had Malemute Kid
faced it! The pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands
and sprang into action. Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice in
idle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. At his order, she threw
her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easing the
pressure and listening to her husband's groans, while Malemute Kid
attacked the tree with his ax. The steel rang merrily as it bit into the
frozen trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audible
respiration, the 'Huh!' 'Huh!' of the woodsman.
At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the snow.
But worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in the
woman's face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. Little was
said; those of the Northland are early taught the futility of words and
the inestimable value of deeds. With the temperature at sixty-five
below zero, a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. So the
sled lashings were cut, and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on a couch
of boughs. Before him roared a fire, built of the very wood which
wrought the mishap. Behind and partially over him was stretched the
primitive fly--a piece of canvas, which caught the radiating heat and
threw it back and down upon him--a trick which men may know who
study physics at the fount.
And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is
sounded. Mason was terribly crushed. The most cursory examination
revealed it.

His right arm, leg, and back were broken; his limbs were paralyzed
from the hips; and the likelihood of internal injuries was large. An
occasional moan was his only sign of life.
No hope; nothing to be done. The pitiless night crept slowly by--Ruth's
portion, the despairing stoicism of her race, and Malemute Kid adding
new lines to his face of bronze.
In fact, Mason suffered least of all, for he spent his time in eastern
Tennessee, in the Great Smoky Mountains, living over the scenes of his
childhood. And most pathetic