“But just think of it,” Alex cried, angered by his friend’s lack of interest. “A dog from God’s country up in these desolate wastes.” A recollection of a dog of whom he had read, in “The Call of the Wild,” swept into his memory. “Buck,” he called softly, “Buck.” The animal with one magnificent leap covered the space between them, while the rest of the pack crowded around him, wagging their tails and looking at him with curious eyes.
The Shaman seeing his interest in the dogs, approached him to be greeted by a volley of questions by Alex.
“Yes,” he admitted. “They were his dogs.” “Would he sell? Perhaps, but the price must be large for they were the best dogs on the Yukon. Yes. they were the best dogs in all Alaska. They could go faster and further than any other dogs in the country. Yes, he knew where they came from but the big one, the leader, was no doubt a gift of the good spirits sent to him, the Shaman, for his great goodness and virtue. He, the big dog, had come into their camp one stormy night in the blackness of winter and had made it his home. He, the Shaman, had with his own hands, harnessed him with the other sled dogs, but, at first, there had been trouble. The new dog was a born leader. One by one he had fought and whipped the other huskies for he had ways of fighting new to the North and he always won. Lastly, he had whipped the leader and become by the law of the North, the leader himself. Later he had mated with a huge husky and there had been five puppies. The strange dog had trained them himself in the ways and laws of the trail. No, they were not bad dogs. Never did they snarl or fight amongst themselves like the huskies. But one thing one must never do. He must never lift a stick to the big dog. One man had done so and like a flash the big dog’s teeth had met in his throat.
Buck’s eyes, now mistily wistful, met Alex’s. “Good Lord, Buck, you can almost talk,” Alex said reverently. “I understand what you are trying to say. You got sick of running with the wolves, their ways were not your ways. So you sought out your own kind again. They are not like the white gods you used to serve, though you have served them faithfully. But you want to leave them. Your sensitive nostrils that can catch the faintest odor in the air are sick of the scent of blubber, seal oil, and stinking furs and you want to be gone from it all serving men with white bodies, clean from much washing, big men who will smile at you kindly and like you because you are brave, strong and fearless.” Buck wagged his tail as if to show that he was understood.
“Lord,” said Alex, again reverently. “You can do all but talk. Say,” he demanded of the Shaman, “how much do you want for that team, leader and all?”
“Nine hundred dollars, said the Shaman firmly.
“We can’t buy them,” Alex said sadly. “We haven’t got that much money. Besides, it would be an awful expense to feed them the balance of the summer. I sure would like to own that Buck dog though.”
“We get him when we come back,” Ike whispered. “I trade for him and get him cheap. I talk to that robber, now, so he will not sell him ’till we get back.”
“We go up the river ‘You Never Know What’ in our steamer that travels by fire,” he explained, with many gestures of his hands. “Before the big cold we come back to trade with our new friends. Our hearts are big and we pay big for everything we buy. The eyes of the Indians have never beheld such wondrous things as we have on board our fire boat. Cloth like fresh gold from the ground, warm like the blue of the sky in summer, and others so rich of color that they dazzle the eye. Of tobacco we will have hundreds of plugs. Of the ice that never melts and shows a man his face like still clear water, we will have great quantities. And of many other things new and strange we will have a plentiful supply. We have a little box filled with spirits that talk or sing or laugh as it’s owner commands.”
“All white men are liars,” said the Shaman calmly. “How do I know you have such a wonderful box?”