At any rate， Spot wouldn’t work. We paid a hundred andten dollars for him from the bottom of our sack， and hewouldn’t work. He wouldn’t even tighten the traces. Stevespoke to him the first time we put him in harness， and hesort of shivered， that was all. Not an ounce on the traces.
He just stood still and wobbled， like so much jelly. Stevetouched him with the whip. He yelped， but not an ounce.
Steve touched him again， a bit harder， and he howled—theregular long wolf howl. Then Steve got mad and gave himhalf a dozen， and I came on the run from the tent.
I told Steve he was brutal with the animal， and we hadsome words—the first we’d ever had. He threw the whipdown in the snow and walked away mad. I picked it upand went to it. That Spot trembled and wobbled andcowered before ever I swung the lash， and with the firstbite of it he howled like a lost soul. Next he lay down inthe snow. I started the rest of the dogs， and they draggedhim along while I threw the whip into him. He rolled overon his back and bumped along， his four legs waving inthe air， himself howling as though he was going through asausage machine. Steve came back and laughed at me， andI apologized for what I’d said.
There was no getting any work out of that Spot； and tomake up for it， he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog Iever saw. On top of that， he was the cleverest thief. Therewas no circumventing him. Many a breakfast we wentwithout our bacon because Spot had been there first. Andit was because of him that we nearly starved to death upthe Stewart. He figured out the way to break into ourmeat-cache， and what he didn’t eat， the rest of the teamdid. But he was impartial. He stole from everybody. Hewas a restless dog， always very busy snooping around orgoing somewhere. And there was never a camp within fivemiles that he didn’t raid. The worst of it was that theyalways came back on us to pay his board bill， which wasjust， being the law of the land； but it was mighty hard onus， especially that first winter on the Chilcoot， when wewere busted， paying for whole hams and sides of baconthat we never ate. He could fight， too， that Spot. He coulddo everything but work. He never pulled a pound， but hewas the boss of the whole team. The way he made thosedogs stand around was an education. He bullied them， andthere was always one or more of them fresh-marked withhis fangs. But he was more than a bully. He wasn’t afraidof anything that walked on four legs； and I’ve seen himmarch， single-handed， into a strange team， without anyprovocation whatever， and put the kibosh on the wholeoutfit. Did I say he could eat？ I caught him eating thewhip once. That’s straight. He started in at the lash， andwhen I caught him he was down to the handle， and stillgoing.
But he was a good looker. At the end of the first weekwe sold him for seventy-five dollars to the MountedPolice. They had experienced dog-drivers， and we knewthat by the time he’d covered the six hundred I miles toDawson he’d be a good sled-dog. I say we knew， for wewere just getting acquainted with that Spot. A little laterwe were not brash enough to know anything where he wasconcerned. A week later we woke up in the morning to thedangdest dog-fight we’d ever heard. It was that Spot comeback and knocking the team into shape. We ate a prettydepressing breakfast， I can tell you； but cheered up twohours afterward when we sold him to an official courier，bound in to Dawson with government despatches. ThatSpot was only three days in coming back， and， as usual，celebrated his arrival with a rough-house.
We spent the winter and spring， after our own outfitwas across the pass， freighting other people’s outfits； andwe made a fat stake. Also， we made money out of Spot. Ifwe sold him once， we sold him twenty times. He alwayscame back， and no one asked for their money. We didn’twant the money. We’d have paid handsomely for any oneto take him off our hands for keeps. We had to get rid ofhim， and we couldn’t give him away， for that would havebeen suspicious. But he was such a fine looker that wenever had any difficulty in selling him. “Unbroke，” we’d say，and they’d pay any old price for him. We sold him as lowas twenty-five dollars， and once we got a hundred and fiftyfor him. That particular party returned him in person，refused to take his money back， and the way he abusedus was something awful. He said it was cheap at the priceto tell us what he thought of us； and we felt he was sojustified that we never talked back. But to this day I’venever quite regained all the old self-respect that was minebefore that man talked to me.
When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river， we putour outfit in a Lake Bennett boat and started for Dawson.
We had a good team of dogs， and of course we piled themon top the outfit. That Spot was along—there was nolosing him； and a dozen times， the first day， he knockedone or another of the dogs overboard in the course offighting with them. It was close quarters， and he didn’tlike being crowded.
“What that dog needs is space，” Steve said the secondday. “Let’s maroon him.”
We did， running the boat in at Caribou Crossing forhim to jump ashore. Two of the other dogs， good dogs，followed him； and we lost two whole days trying tofind them. We never saw those two dogs again； but thequietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide， like theman who refused his hundred and fifty， that it was cheapat the price. For the first time in months Steve and Ilaughed and whistled and sang. We were as happy as clams.
The dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted.
That Spot was gone.
