By the time they made the Hootalinqua and good ice, Buck was
played out. The rest of the dogs were in like condition; but
Perrault, to make up lost time, pushed them late and early. The
first day they covered thirty-five miles to the Big Salmon; the
next day thirty-five more to the Little Salmon; the third day
forty miles, which brought them well up toward the Five Fingers.

Buck's feet were not so compact and hard as the feet of the
huskies. His had softened during the many generations since the
day his last wild ancestor was tamed by a cave-dweller or river
man. All day long he limped in agony, and camp once made, lay down
like a dead dog. Hungry as he was, he would not move to receive
his ration of fish, which Francois had to bring to him. Also, the
dog-driver rubbed Buck's feet for half an hour each night after
supper, and sacrificed the tops of his own moccasins to make four
moccasins for Buck. This was a great relief, and Buck caused even
the weazened face of Perrault to twist itself into a grin one
morning, when Francois forgot the moccasins and Buck lay on his
back, his four feet waving appealingly in the air, and refused to
budge without them. Later his feet grew hard to the trail, and
the worn-out foot-gear was thrown away.

At the Pelly one morning, as they were harnessing up, Dolly, who
had never been conspicuous for anything, went suddenly mad. She
announced her condition by a long, heartbreaking wolf howl that
sent every dog bristling with fear, then sprang straight for Buck.
He had never seen a dog go mad, nor did he have any reason to fear
madness; yet he knew that here was horror, and fled away from it
in a panic. Straight away he raced, with Dolly, panting and