"Damn the dogs; I've been feeding them all day."
"Mush!"
Dude looked back and did not move.
"Mush!" He moved ahead at a slow walk.
"Mush, damn you!" John felt surprised to hear himself swear; but the dogs were in the condition styled "ornery." Dude turned in by the side of the building, the others followed; the sleigh bumped against the corner. Frank had Dude by the collar in a moment, and was belabouring him over the flank with a stout stick. The hills reverberated with howls. He hauled the animals back into line, and with a kick for good measure, said in a cold slow tone,
"Mush."
Dude trotted off. Frank ran by the side of the team till they were on the lake. "They'll go all right if you once get them away from camp, but lick 'em good and plenty if they turn mean," was his counsel on quitting.
John Berwick was alone with the team on the great expanse of Lake Le Berge. Before him, to the south, lay the thirty-mile stretch of ice, flanked by rolling hills, flooded with opalescent tints and peace. For an instant the exceeding beauty of the scene gladdened his mind.
He was anxious about Hugh. There were forty-five miles to traverse before he would come to White Horse. The dogs were travelling at five miles an hour: nine hours before he could reach White Horse; and then, if the river were open, what then? The thought of the delay necessitated by a journey overland staggered him. It were easier to travel thirty miles on the ice than fifteen through the bush. He jumped off the sleigh and ran; but the dogs moved no faster; and the labour in running would soon exhaust him, for while there was no snow on the ice, the surface of the lake was a coarse ice-sand, which constituted a poor foothold. The sun was setting; already a chill was in the air. A crust would form within the hour; perhaps the dogs would move faster then.
These thoughts ran through his mind, till his fear developed into a lingering dread. He realized that to go through that intolerable process of analyzing the details of his anxiety could only result in futility. The surface of the lake became harder; he picked up pieces of ice, threw them at Dude, and shouted. Every missile, with its accompanying shout, brought a merely temporary increase of speed. All attempts to get the dogs to gallop proved futile.