ArticleField.comInternet's Fastest Growing Free Content Article DirectoryThe storm lightened and faint streaks of light shot through the clouds. "Well, let’s be moving," said Sam. "Moving where?" demanded Dick, bitterly. But the old man led forward the hound. "Remember the lake where we lost the track of that Chippewa?" he inquired. "Well, a foot of light snow is nothing. Mush on, Mack!" […]
Sam shook his head. Dick insisted. He even threatened force. But then the woodsman roused his old-time spirit and fairly beat the young man into submission by the vehemence of his anger. The effort left him exhausted. He sank back into himself, and refused, in the apathy of weariness, to give any explanation. Chapter 26 […]
Soon it became necessary to kill another dog. Dick, with a remnant of his old feeling, pleaded for the life of Billy, his pet. Sam would not entertain for a moment the destruction of the hound. There remained only Claire, the sledge-dog, with her pathetic brown eyes, and her affectionate ways of the female dog. […]
"Give it _up_!" cried the young man. "Of course not; what you thinking of?" "There’s the caribou," suggested Sam, doubtfully; "or maybe Jingoss has more grub than he’s going to need. It’s a slim chance." They still further reduced the ration of pemmican. The malnutrition began to play them tricks. It dizzied their brains, swarmed […]
Always they ate pemmican. Of this there remained a fairly plentiful supply, but the dog meat was running low. It was essential that the team be well fed. Dick or Sam often travelled the entire day a quarter of a mile one side or the other, hoping thus to encounter game, but without much success. […]
