lean brute flashed up, the white teeth just missing Mason's
throat.

'Ye will, will ye?' A shrewd clout behind the ear with the butt
of the dog whip stretched the animal in the snow, quivering
softly, a yellow slaver dripping from its fangs.

'As I was saying, just look at Shookum here--he's got the spirit.
Bet ye he eats Carmen before the week's out.' 'I'll bank another
proposition against that,' replied Malemute Kid, reversing the
frozen bread placed before the fire to thaw. 'We'll eat Shookum
before the trip is over. What d'ye say, Ruth?' The Indian woman
settled the coffee with a piece of ice, glanced from Malemute Kid
to her husband, then at the dogs, but vouchsafed no reply. It was
such a palpable truism that none was necessary. Two hundred miles
of unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant six days' grub for
themselves and none for the dogs, could admit no other alternative.
The two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began their
meager meal. The dogs lay in their harnesses for it was a midday
halt, and watched each mouthful enviously.

'No more lunches after today,' said Malemute Kid. 'And we've got
to keep a close eye on the dogs--they're getting vicious. They'd
just as soon pull a fellow down as not, if they get a chance.'
'And I was president of an Epworth once, and taught in the Sunday
school.' Having irrelevantly delivered himself of this, Mason
fell into a dreamy contemplation of his steaming moccasins, but
was aroused by Ruth filling his cup.

'Thank God, we've got slathers of tea! I've seen it growing, down