“All right, Tanna. You won’t quit,” he said.
Once more, under the emphasis, the red flushed up in the face of the boy.
“Who’s a-quittin’?” he said angrily.
“Get your dogs going,” replied Paul, picking up his line. But neither commands nor lashings could move the leader from the snowdrift where he lay. With a low exclamation of fury Paul stepped to the toboggan.
“We can’t fool with you,” he said, fumbling among the camp stuff.
“What is it?” cried the girl. “Which dog?”
“Lynx,” said the boy in a low voice.
With a little cry, “Paul, don’t!” she sprang forward, stumbled over the toboggan, scrambled to her feet, felt her way over the dog team till she came to the leader, then kneeling down beside him she put her arms round the grizzled husky.
“Oh, Lynx,” she murmured in his ear, “good Lynx, dear Lynx, try once more, Lynx.” The dog whined, licked the face bending over him, struggled to his feet. “He will go now, Paul,” she said eagerly. “He will try again. See!” She caught the dog by the collar. “Come on, Lynx. Come, Bliz. Come, good dogs. Hup! hup! mush! mush!” The three dogs strained on their collars, swaying on the traces, a shout, a plunge, and the toboggan stood free from the drift. Paul replaced the axe in the camp kit.
“He has saved himself this time,” he muttered. “Get to your place, Tanna.” The girl with a loud cheery cry called again to the dogs, her hand on the head of the leader. Once more with a whine they responded and the toboggan was on its way again over the crusted snow.