“Mush on,” the sergeant roared as the long lash snapped and sizzled around their ears and flanks.
Howls of pain rent the air as the dogs struggled to their feet and strained at the traces. With bent heads and lolling tongues they moved slowly forward. It was Pedro who bore the main brunt of the storm, as he nosed his way onward. At length the wheel-dog lagged, surged back and dropped in his tracks. He refused to move, buried his nose in the snow and seemed to pay no heed to the whining lash. There was no time for delay, so he was unhitched, thrust rudely aside, and replaced by the dog ahead. Then on again they pressed, the snow becoming deeper, and the wind fiercer. Several times Marion begged to be allowed to walk. But North only laughed, reminding her that she had no snow-shoes.
Even Pedro at length stopped, squatted in the snow, and turned appealing eyes upon his master’s face.
“Played out, old boy?” North queried. “You’ve certainly done well.” He then turned to the constable. “Take my place, Rolfe, I’m going to help the dogs.”
From the front of the sled he procured a rope, both ends of which he attached to Pedro’s harness. With the loop thus formed placed over his shoulders he went ahead, broke down the trail, making it easier for the team to follow. In this manner they were able to make better progress, and they were just in sight of thick woods beyond when the huskies dropped and refused to go a step farther. They, too, were cast adrift, and the sergeant and Pedro, assisted now by the constable, tried to draw the sled. They went but a short distance when they were forced to give up in despair.
“It’s no use,” North panted, “we can’t make it. I guess you’ll have to walk, after all, Marion, unless you
