“Imagine us, Jack, a-drivin’ down Broadway or Fifth Avenoo! What’d the people think anyway?” Bill dreamed in an audible voice.
“I opine we wouldn’t get very far,” replied Jack, laughing at this ridiculous idea of his pal’s.
“I’d like to know why not?” queried Bill.
“Because the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals wouldn’t stand for it for a moment. They would send the dogs to the Bide-a-Wee home and us to Randall’s Island.[4] And then the tables would be turned for we’d get the dried fish and water and they’d get the pemmican, pink tea and ice cream.”
| [4] | The reformatory in New York where bad boys are sent. |
“I’m on, Buddy; what’s all right in one part o’ the United States is a crime in some other part o’ it. I guess we’ll stay right here with our huskies, eh, Jack?”
“I’ll say we will for about six months—or until we find that gold.”
“These Indian guys ain’t such slouches, are they?” went on Bill, who having filled up on pemmican was in a talkative mood. “Imagine them havin’ sense enough to hitch up a lot o’ dogs and puttin’ them to work pullin’ loads. Some invention I calls it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jack. “While the Indians used dog teams before the white men came here, the Indians didn’t know anything about using a smart dog for a leader and driving them by word of mouth.”
“How’d they do it, then!”