illery--but the most tremendous, the most
stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All
movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the
slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at
the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across the
ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes
that his is a maggot's life, nothing more.

Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things
strives for utterance.

And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him--the
hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality,
the vain striving of the imprisoned essence--it is then, if ever, man
walks alone with God.

So wore the day away. The river took a great bend, and Mason headed his
team for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land. But the dogs balked
at the high bank. Again and again, though Ruth and Malemute Kid were
shoving on the sled, they slipped back. Then came the concerted effort.
The miserable creatures, weak from hunger, exerted their last strength.
Up--up--the sled poised on the top of the bank; but the leader swung
the string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling Mason's snowshoes.
The result was grievous.

Mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in the traces; and
the sled toppled back, dragging everything to the bottom again.

Slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the one
which had fallen.

'Don't,--Mason,' entreated Malemute Kid; 'the poor devil's on its last
legs. Wait and we'll put my team on.' Mason deliberately withheld the
whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash,
completely curling about the offending creature's body.

Carmen--for it was Carmen--cowered in the snow, cried piteously, then
rolled over on her side.

It was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail--a dying dog,
two comrades in anger.

Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man. But Malemute Kid restrained
himself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes, and, bending
over the dog, cut the traces. No word was spoken. The teams were
doublespanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were under way
again, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. As long as an
animal can travel, it is not shot, and this last chance is accorded
it--the crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose being
killed.

Alread