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"
The
hell
!
"
Henry
cried
in
wrath
,
leaving
the
cooking
to
come
and
count
the
dogs
.
"
You
're
right
,
Bill
,
"
he
concluded
.
"
Fatty
's
gone
.
"
"
An
'
he
went
like
greased
lightnin
'
once
he
got
started
.
Could
n't
'
ve
seen
'
m
for
smoke
.
"
"
No
chance
at
all
,
"
Henry
concluded
.
"
They
jes
'
swallowed
'
m
alive
.
I
bet
he
was
yelpin
'
as
he
went
down
their
throats
,
damn
'em
!
"
"
He
always
was
a
fool
dog
,
"
said
Bill
.
"
But
no
fool
dog
ought
to
be
fool
enough
to
go
off
an
'
commit
suicide
that
way
.
"
He
looked
over
the
remainder
of
the
team
with
a
speculative
eye
that
summed
up
instantly
the
salient
traits
of
each
animal
.
"
I
bet
none
of
the
others
would
do
it
.
"
"
Could
n't
drive
'em
away
from
the
fire
with
a
club
,
"
Bill
agreed
.
"
I
always
did
think
there
was
somethin'
wrong
with
Fatty
anyway
.
"
And
this
was
the
epitaph
of
a
dead
dog
on
the
Northland
trail
--
less
scant
than
the
epitaph
of
many
another
dog
,
of
many
a
man
.
Breakfast
eaten
and
the
slim
camp-outfit
lashed
to
the
sled
,
the
men
turned
their
backs
on
the
cheery
fire
and
launched
out
into
the
darkness
.
At
once
began
to
rise
the
cries
that
were
fiercely
sad
--
cries
that
called
through
the
darkness
and
cold
to
one
another
and
answered
back
.
Conversation
ceased
.
Daylight
came
at
nine
o'clock
.
At
midday
the
sky
to
the
south
warmed
to
rose-colour
,
and
marked
where
the
bulge
of
the
earth
intervened
between
the
meridian
sun
and
the
northern
world
.
But
the
rose-colour
swiftly
faded
.
The
grey
light
of
day
that
remained
lasted
until
three
o'clock
,
when
it
,
too
,
faded
,
and
the
pall
of
the
Arctic
night
descended
upon
the
lone
and
silent
land
.
As
darkness
came
on
,
the
hunting-cries
to
right
and
left
and
rear
drew
closer
--
so
close
that
more
than
once
they
sent
surges
of
fear
through
the
toiling
dogs
,
throwing
them
into
short-lived
panics
.
At
the
conclusion
of
one
such
panic
,
when
he
and
Henry
had
got
the
dogs
back
in
the
traces
,
Bill
said
:
