On the Yukon it is customary to feed sledge-dogs once in every twenty-four hours, and that at night, after the day’s work is ended. In order that Musky and Luvtuk and the others might be so unusually hungry as to fully appreciate the first meal from the hands of their new master, Kurilla had withheld their meal of the previous evening, so that now they were fairly ravenous. Near at hand stood Chitsah, restraining with the utmost difficulty another team of dogs that were destined to be driven by Serge. As they had been regularly fed the evening before, they could not have been so hungry as Phil’s team, though from their howlings one would think they had not tasted food for a week.
Appreciating the seriousness of the situation, and shouting to Serge to come out and attend to the wants of his own team, Phil ran to the storehouse, from which he took two dried salmon. They were so large that he proposed to cut each into several pieces of such size as seemed to him fitted to a dog’s throat. As he approached his team he called to Serge to fetch him a knife; but almost as he uttered the words he was given to understand that it was not needed.
With a savage spring Amook reached his side, seized one of the big fish in his powerful jaws, and with a couple of convulsive gulpings swallowed it whole. Having accomplished this feat he wagged his tail cheerfully, and looked up into his young master’s face, as much as to say, “That sample was so good that I think I’ll take some fish, if you please.”
“Well, if you aren’t an ostrich!” Phil started to say; but even as he opened his mouth to speak he was overthrown and instantly buried beneath an avalanche of dogs. Incited by Amook’s brilliant success, Musky, Mint, Shag, and Luvtuk followed his example, while the dogs held by Chitsah broke loose at the same moment, and all projected themselves with the energy of living catapults towards the single fish that Phil still held.
Both Kurilla and Chitsah instantly flung themselves on top of the confused mass of howling animals, and for the space of a minute the scene enacted in full view of the aroused inmates of the station was equal to any first-class football scrimmage. Women screamed, while men shouted and ran towards the place of battle.
In another minute the fierce animals had been torn apart, flung this way and that, and were sneaking off in so many different directions with lowered tails. The two Indians were breathlessly but calmly readjusting their disordered garments, the salmon had disappeared, and Phil, sitting on the hard-packed snow, was tenderly feeling of different parts of his body.
“Are you much hurt, old man?” cried Serge, anxiously, as he reached his friend’s side.
“Serge,” replied Phil, solemnly, “did you ever happen to see a good little book called the Franklin Primer?”
“I don’t think I ever did. Why?”
“Because it contains a picture that you would do well to study. The picture is that of a small boy, with a very anxious expression, hanging by his hands from the outer end of a branch that projects over a tropical river. Immediately beneath him swim a dozen open-mouthed crocodiles regarding him with evident expectancy. Beneath the picture is a legend to the effect that Johnny is about to feed his pets. Now let’s turn in again and finish out our nap.”