“He’s pure Malamute strain. That’s one of the best. See his powerful chest, his long bushy tail, like the others, only longer and bushier. Look at his feet, those powerful nails, the short hair cushioning the toes, the long hair between. He is sure-footed, intelligent, and has a fine sense of smell. Never forgets a road once he’s been over it, never forgets commands once they’ve been mastered. And he has character! Don’t laugh,” he smiled at Judy. “This dog has got character. He demands obedience from his team. Where he goes, the team must follow.”
Mr. Mace turned his attention to a large handsome dog that seemed unresponsive to his petting. “She’s Eskimo, and she’s brooding. We took away her puppies some days ago and she’s still unhappy.”
A little boy, more venturesome than the others, went over to her. “Don’t go near her,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s not vicious, none of them are, but she’s best left alone at present.”
The crowd moved on. The boy who had just been admonished stood in front of the kennel watching the sulky animal. As Judy tried to pass, the boy stood talking to the dog.
“What’s the use of being sore?” He stepped closer. “Come on, let’s shake hands.”
The dog lifted her leg and gave the boy’s chest a shove. He went down as if hit by a load of bricks. The boy lay there, stunned. Judy screamed, “Mr. Mace! Mr. Mace!”
It was her frightened call that brought Mr. Mace loping back. He picked up the frightened boy and said severely, “You’re not hurt, but I warned you to let that dog alone.”
Mr. Mace walked on and the group, a little sobered, followed.
“How much cold can these dogs stand?” Lynne asked.
“In the far north they can take a temperature that goes to sixty or seventy degrees below zero. We, of course, haven’t such extremes of cold here, but it’s plenty cold in the mountains in the winter. When we take people on our sledding trips over snow-covered trails, we stop overnight at a cabin we’ve built. Our riders enjoy a good fire, a comfortable bed and a meal.