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I've seen him go down in a dogfight on the main street with fifty dogs on
top of him； and when they were separated； he'd appear on all his four legs；
unharmed； while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be
lying dead。
I saw him steal a chunk of moose…meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache
so heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs。 Dinwiddie's
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squaw cook； who was after him with an axe。 As he went up the hill； after
the squaw gave up； Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his
Winchester into the landscape。 He emptied his magazine twice； and
never touched that Spot。 Then a policeman came along and arrested him
for discharging firearms inside the city limits。 Major Dinwiddie paid his
fine； and Steve and I paid him for the moose…meat at the rate of a dollar a
pound； bones and all。 That was what he paid for it。 Meat was high that
year。
I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes。 And now I'll tell you
something also。 I saw that Spot fall through a water…hole。 The ice was
three and a half feet thick； and the current sucked him under like a straw。
Three hundred yards below was the big water…hole used by the hospital。
Spot crawled out of the hospital water…hole； licked off the water； bit out
the ice that had formed between his toes； trotted up the bank； and whipped
a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner。
In the fall of 1898； Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water；
bound for Stewart River。 We took the dogs along； all except Spot。 We
figured we'd been feeding him long enough。 He'd cost us more time and
trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the Chilcoot
especially grub。 So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and pulled
our freight。 We camped that night at the mouth of Indian River； and
Steve and I were pretty facetious over having shaken him。 Steve was a
funny cuss； and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing when a
tornado hit camp。 The way that Spot walked into those dogs and gave
them what…for was hair…raising。 Now how did he get loose？ It's up to
you。 I haven't any theory。 And how did he get across the Klondike
River？ That's another facer。 And anyway； how did he know we had
gone up the Yukon？ You see； we went by water； and he couldn't smell
our tracks。 Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog。 He
got on our nerves； too； and； between you and me； we were just a mite
afraid of him。
The freeze…up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson
Creek； and we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was
bound up White River after copper。 Now that whole outfit was lost。
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Never trace nor hide nor hair of men； dogs； sleds； or anything was ever
found。 They dropped clean out of sight。 It became one of the mysteries
of the country。 Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart； and six weeks
afterward that Spot crawled into camp。 He was a perambulating skeleton；
and could just drag along； but he got there。 And what I want to know is；
who told him we were up the Stewart？ We could have gone to a
thousand other places。 How did he know？ You tell me； and I'll tell you。
No losing him。 At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog。
The buck who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an axe； missed
him； and killed his own dog。 Talk about magic and turning bullets aside…
… I； for one； consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a
big buck at the other end of it。 And I saw him do it with my own eyes。
That buck didn't want to kill his own dog。 You've got to show me。
I told you about Spot breaking into our meat cache。 It was nearly the
death of us。 There wasn't any more meat to be killed； and meat was all
we had to live on。 The moose had gone back several hundred miles and
the Indians with them。 There we were。 Spring was on； and we had to
wait for the river to break。 We got pretty thin before we decided to eat
the dogs； and we decided to eat Spot first。 Do you know what that dog
did？ He sneaked。 Now how did he know our minds were made up to
eat him？ We sat up nights laying for him； but he never came back； and
we ate the other dogs。 We ate the whole team。
And now for the sequel。 You know what it is when a big river breaks
up and a few billion tons of ice go out； jamming and milling and grinding。
Just in the thick of it； when the Stewart went out； rumbling and roaring；
we sighted Spot out in the middle。 He'd got caught as he was trying to
cross up above somewhere。 Steve and I yelled and shouted and ran up
and down the bank； tossing our hats in the air。 Sometimes we'd stop and
hug each other； we were that boisterous； for we saw Spot's finish。 He
didn't have a chance in a million。 He didn't have any chance at all。
After the ice…run； we got into a canoe and paddled down to the Yukon； and
down the Yukon to Dawson； stopping to feed up for a week at the cabins at
the mouth of Henderson Creek。 And as we came in to the bank at
Dawson； there sat that Spot； waiting for us； his ears pricked up； his tail
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wagging； his mouth smiling； extending a hearty welcome to us。 Now
how did he get out of that ice？ How did he know we were coming to
Dawson； to the very hour and minute； to be out there on the bank waiting
for us？
The more I think of that Spot； the more I am convinced that there are
things in this world that go beyond science。 On no scientific grounds can
that Spot be explained。 It's psychic phenomena； or mysticism； or
something of that sort； I guess； with a lot of Theosophy thrown in。 The
Klondike is a good country。 I might have been there yet； and become a
millionaire； if it hadn't been for Spot。 He got on my nerves。