"That was glorious, Jackpine!" he cried. "But, good Lord, man, you'll
kill the dogs!"
Jackpine grinned.
"They go sixt' mile in day lak dat," He grinned.
"Sixty miles!"
In his admiration for the wolfish looking beasts that were carrying him
through the wilderness Howland put out a hand to stroke one of them on
the head. With a warning cry the Indian jerked him back just as the dog
snapped fiercely at the extended hand.
"No touch huskie!" he exclaimed. "Heem half wolf--half dog--work hard
but no lak to be touch!"
"Wow!" exclaimed Howland. "And they're the sweetest looking pups I ever
laid eyes on. I'm certainly running up against some strange things in
this country!"
He was dead tired when night came. And yet never in all his life had he
enjoyed a day so much as this one. Twenty times he had joined Jackpine
in running beside the sledge. In their intervals of rest he had even
learned to snap the thirty-foot caribou-gut lash of the dog-whip. He had
asked a hundred questions, had insisted on Jackpine's smoking a cigar at
every stop, and had been so happy and so altogether companionable that
half of the Cree's hereditary reticence had been swept away before his
unbounded enthusiasm.
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