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And all the time the dog ran with him； at his heels。 When he fell
down a second time； it curled its tail over its forefeet and sat in front of
him facing him curiously eager and intent。 The warmth and security of
the animal angered him； and he cursed it till it flattened down its ears
appeasingly。 This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man。
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He was losing in his battle with the frost。 It was creeping into his body
from all sides。 The thought of it drove him on； but he ran no more than a
hundred feet； when he staggered and pitched headlong。 It was his last
panic。 When he had recovered his breath and control； he sat up and
entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity。
However； the conception did not come to him in such terms。 His idea of
it was that he had been making a fool of himself； running around like a
chicken with its head cut offsuch was the simile that occurred to him。
Well； he was bound to freeze anyway； and he might as well take it
decently。 With this new…found peace of mind came the first glimmerings
of drowsiness。 A good idea； he thought； to sleep off to death。 It was
like taking an anaesthetic。 Freezing was not so bad as people thought。
There were lots worse ways to die。
He pictured the boys finding his body next day。 Suddenly he found
himself with them； coming along the trail and looking for himself。 And；
still with them； he came around a turn in the trail and found himself lying
in the snow。 He did not belong with himself any more； for even then he
was out of himself； standing with the boys and looking at himself in the
snow。 It certainly was cold； was his thought。 When he got back to the
States he could tell the folks what real cold was。 He drifted on from this
to a vision of the old…timer on Sulphur Creek。 He could see him quite
clearly； warm and comfortable； and smoking a pipe。
〃You were right； old hoss； you were right；〃 the man mumbled to the
old…timer of Sulphur Creek。
Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most
comfortable and satisfying sleep he had ever known。 The dog sat facing
him and waiting。 The brief day drew to a close in a long； slow twilight。
There were no signs of a fire to be made； and； besides； never in the dog's
experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no
fire。 As the twilight drew on； its eager yearning for the fire mastered it；
and with a great lifting and shifting of forefeet； it whined softly； then
flattened its ears down in anticipation of being chidden by the man。 But
the man remained silent。 Later； the dog whined loudly。 And still later it
crept close to the man and caught the scent of death。 This made the
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animal bristle and back away。 A little longer it delayed； howling under
the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold sky。 Then
it turned and trotted up the trail in the direction of the camp it knew； where
were the other food…providers and fire…providers。
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THAT SPOT
I don't think much of Stephen Mackaye any more； though I used to
swear by him。 I know that in those days I loved him more than my own
brother。 If ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again； I shall not be responsible
for my actions。 It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food
and blanket； and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail； should turn
out the way he did。 I always sized Steve up as a square man； a kindly
comrade； without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his nature。
I shall never trust my judgment in men again。 Why； I nursed that man
through typhoid fever； we starved together on the headwaters of the
Stewart； and he saved my life on the Little Salmon。 And now； after the
years we were together； all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is the
meanest man I ever knew。
We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897； and we started too
late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze…up。 We packed our outfit
on our backs part way over； when the snow began to fly； and then we had
to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way。 That was how we came
to get that Spot。 Dogs were high； and we paid one hundred and ten
dollars for him。 He looked worth it。 I say LOOKED； because he was
one of the finest…appearing dogs I ever saw。 He weighed sixty pounds； and
he had all the lines of a good sled animal。 We never could make out his
breed。 He wasn't husky； nor Malemute； nor Hudson Bay； he looked like
all of them and he didn't look like any of them； and on top of it all he had
some of the white man's dog in him； for on one side； in the thick of the
mixed yellow… brown…red…and…dirty…white that was his prevailing colour；
there was a spot of coal…black as big as a water…bucket。 That was why
we called him Spot。
He was a good looker all right。 When he was in condition his
muscles stood out in bunches all over him。 And he was the strongest…
looking brute I ever saw in Alaska； also the most intelligent…looking。 To
run your eves over him； you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own
weight。 Maybe he could； but I never saw it。 His intelligence didn't run
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that way。 He could steal and forage to perfection； he had an instinct that
was positively gruesome for divining when work was to be done and for
making a sneak accordingly； and for getting lost and not staying lost he
was nothing short of inspired。 But when it came to work； the way that
intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of wobbling；
stupid jelly would make your heart bleed。
There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity。 Maybe； like