EVER since the discovery of gold in Alaska in 1887, there has been a more or less thriving traffic in dogs for the Alaska sled teams, carried on along the Pacific Coast. This business was not legitimate, but nefarious to the last degree. It was done usually by such men as rob hen roosts and do other petty larceny. But in this case the crime seems even more contemptible because it often robbed the household of a dog who was one of the family.
Often the companion of little children was sacrificed to man's greed for gold. Thus it happened that dog-snatchers were always on the watch for dogs which would work into one of the northern dog teams. When, as in the case of Pedro Garcia, one could pay off an old score and get fifty dollars for doing it, the enterprise looked good, although it took the heart of a Judas to carry it out.
So it was into the hands of such men that poor Silversheene had fallen. As he lay bound upon the floor of the Ford car he was certainly a pitiful object, but the men who carry on such business have neither pity nor honor.
It was almost a miracle that Pedro and his confederate had managed to get the upper hands of this terrible fighter so completely, but they had taken him off his guard.
When the noose tightened on his throat, Silversheene would have pulled down Pedro and possibly killed him had not the other man caught him by the hind legs at the same time. Between them they had him utterly at their mercy. He was now absolutely helpless as he lay on his side with both hind and fore legs tied, and with the stick muzzle in his mouth. In addition to that the driver of the Ford had a noose about his neck and one end of the rope was passed under the footrest and the other end was slipped over the man's arm. So if the dog struggled in any way to free himself, his wind was at once shut off. It was a devilish arrangement, and all Silversheene could do was to rage inwardly. This he did with a vengeance.
He was a gentleman and had been betrayed by two blackguards. He had been tricked. He had not been given a chance to fight for his freedom. But he did not whimper. Instead he occasionally growled deep down in his throat. His eyes became bloodshot, his jaws dripped froth. His great, kind dog heart was nearly bursting with rage. His brain reeled, and he was very near to convulsions.
For hours he lay upon his side while the car rolled rapidly over the smooth roads. Occasionally the man looked over the back of the seat at him. He did not want him to die because he would then lose his part of the plunder, but he did not care how much he suffered. The sun touched the western horizon and passed from sight and still they sped on.
About ten o'clock the man stopped the car beside the road, and taking a pail from the automobile, he went to a brook nearby and got some water.
He then took the stick from the dog's mouth and gave him enough slack from the rope so that he could raise his head. Then he held some water under his muzzle.
Silversheene would rather have drunk blood from the man's throat, but he was famishing, and his tongue was badly swollen, so he slowly licked the water, occasionally stopping to growl. The man then ate a lunch and offered the dog a biscuit which he disdainfully refused.
In fifteen minutes they were again on the way. For two days and two nights the car hummed on its way while Silversheene lay upon his side on the floor. He was seasick from the motion and heartsick as well, but he still had plenty of fight left in him. For all the while he had been storing up wrath against the time when he should get at one of these devils who had bound and carried him away.
Finally on the third day the automobile entered a large city on the seacoast and the driver made his way to its most objectionable suburb. Here he drove about for a while searching for the man he had been directed to. Finally the machine drew up before a small house, and a red-faced, brutal-looking man came to the door.
"Hello, Bill," said Alsandra. "I have got a prize for you. It is that dog which Pedro Garcia was planning to send you as soon as he landed him. He is a dandy, but I guess he is hell fire all right. He will give you a go for your money as soon as I let him loose."
The man grinned. "I never see any darned dog that I was afraid of yet. You just drive around back inside the board fence and we will take a look at your roaring lion."
So the greaser drove the car inside an enclosure of, perhaps, fifty square feet which was protected from prying eyes by a high board fence.
"This is my school yard where I first takes the kinks out uv um," said Bill. "The fence keeps any prying folks from the society with the long name from interferin', You just unloose your dog devil and let's see what he will do. Wait, I will do it myself."
So without any fear the man reached inside and untied the cords on Silversheene's legs, both front and back, and he sprang up with an angry snarl.
"He ain't so stiff as I thought, seein' he has been lyin' there tied up for so long," observed Bill. "I guess he is so full of fight that it keeps him limber. Wait until I get my club, then we will let him loose. I guess he don't know a club."
When Silversheene felt the cords unloosed from his legs and again stood on all fours he knew that his hour had come. All the rage for all the indignity of the past two days welled up in him and he became transformed into a raging, snarling fury.
Now some one would pay the price of all his injuries.
"Ain't you afraid of him?" inquired Alsandra. "He looks to me a good deal like the devil himself."
The man with the club laughed then he stepped to the back door and flung it wide.
"All right," he said. "Now come on, my ugly pup. You can have all the rope you want."
Silversheene needed no further invitation, for he was out of the door like a flash and with a bound like lightning sprang full at the man's throat.
With an agility that surprised the dog the man sprang to one side and at the same time caught—him a sharp blow with the club on the side of the head. Silversheene was so raging that he did not even feel it, although it was a hard blow. Again he sprang, and this time the man had a closer call, but eluded him again and got in a stunning blow and this time it hurt. Once again the infuriated dog sprang and the man resorted to the same tactics. The fourth spring carried him almost into the man's face, but he stooped low and caught him a mighty blow under the jaw which made him see stars. For a few seconds poor Silversheene was groggy and so dazed he could scarce see his opponent, but when he finally did make him out, he was once more at him.
But no matter how fast or furious Silversheene sprang and snapped, the man with the club always eluded him and put in a stunning blow. The dog was game but the terrible blows were beginning to tell.
"For God's sakes, Bill," cried Alsandra from the fence. "Don't slip or fall. He will kill you if you do."
The strain of the fight was beginning to tell on this brutal champion of the club. His breath came in gasps and once he nearly lost his footing.
"Ef he gets too much for me I've gut a gun for him in my pocket, but I never had to use it on a dog yet. He'll give up directly, or my name ain't dog-smasher Bill."
Silversheene had been standing for a few seconds with his fore legs braced getting back his wind and his eyesight. Blood was flowing freely over his face and it blurred his sight.
Finally with a blood-curdling snarl he went at his tormentor again. This time the pace was faster and more furious than before. Finally when the man had been hard pressed for several seconds he succeeded in bringing the club down full on the top of the dog's head and as he crumpled up on the ground he followed it up with a brutal kick in the side fully to cower him.
The world went dark to Silversheene and he lay still and ceased breathing.
"Well," said the man on the fence, "I guess you have killed him. But you'll have to pay for him. I delivered him all right."
"Killed nothing," snorted Bill, contemptuously. "But I guess he has got enough of his Uncle Bill for this time."
After about five minutes Silversheene raised his head and looked bewilderedly around.
"Hello, perp. Come out of your nap. It wasn't a very long one. You will be all right."
To the surprise of the other man Bill got a basin of water and held it fearlessly under Silversheene's nose while the dog lapped the water eagerly. Then with a deep sigh he lay down utterly exhausted and offered no objections while the man washed the blood from his face and chest.
"Gosh, Bill, ain't you afraid he will bite you?"
"Him and me are all right now we have hed our fracas. Why, I ain't sure but what he would love me ef I kept him a week."
In this, however, he was mistaken. For while Silversheene had learned his lesson, that he could not fight a man with a club, yet he always ached in his heart to get at the man and tear his throat open, but he was too sagacious to show it.
That evening Silversheene was put in a yard with about a dozen other dogs, nearly all of whom mourned the loss of their masters and their homes. Some of them sulked, but others took it cheerfully.
At first Silversheene who had always been a gentleman and associated with aristocratic dogs held aloof, but he finally surrendered to his new conditions and adjusted himself to his new life.
Every day or two men would come to the yard where the dogs were kept and look them over. Then gold would clink between the strangers and the man called Bill and some of the dogs would go away. Silversheene wondered where they went, but he never knew. All he knew was that they never came back.
Finally in the fortunes of war his own turn came and he had become so tired of the yard that he was rather glad. His new master proved to be a Canuck called Gene Gordet and he took Silversheene with him when he went away.
He did not know, but this was a new chapter in his life. One that would take him thousands of miles away from Oregon which had been his home for the past year. Not only was he to go far away, but he was to take an active part in the most strenuous life that men have ever lived. Life that tires men's muscles and endurance to the breaking point. He was to be tested out with a twenty-foot rawhide whip, and a daily run that would leave a civilized dog dying beside the trail at the end of the first day.
Henceforth, Silversheene was to learn in the hard school of experience. He was to learn the law of fang and whip in a country where the under dog never was given quarter and the only fight to wage was the fight that won.
The following day Silversheene and Gene Gordet boarded a train for the north. They went into the baggage car where Gene played cards and talked with other coarse men like himself. Silversheene lay between the seats watching the face of his new master. He decided after a while that he was much better than the man with the club. Gene was tall, muscular, and his voice was rather pleasant, and he laughed a good deal, which Silversheene thought a good sign. Just at dusk they alighted from the train and made their way to a large partly empty warehouse beside the docks. Here Gene left the dog, after feeding him a good supper and tying him up. That same evening he came with another dog. He was a large Dane named Billy and Silversheene liked him at once. Billy was also tied in the warehouse and again Silversheene's new master went away. The following day he brought two more dogs. One was a Russian deerhound named Ginger, and the other a large collie called Whirlwind. The four dogs finally fraternized well enough with the exception that none of them liked Ginger. This was the nucleus of Gene's Alaskan dog team, but of course they did not know.
The third day Gene took all four dogs upon a steamer bound for Alaska and their great adventure had begun. The dogs were kept between decks and they did not see much of Gordet except when he came to feed or water them.
Silversheene had always been fed more than he could eat. So now he was very dignified about his food and did not try to steal from the rest as the others did. The first night Ginger snatched a large piece of meat that had been intended for Silversheene, but retribution was very swift.
For Gordet who had been watching them sent his whiplash singing at the offender and caught him on the middle of the ear and he dropped his stolen plunder and sulked behind Billy. The four dogs did not know that it was Gordet's boast that he could strike straighter at twenty feet with his whip than he could shoot with his revolver, and he was one of the best shots in the west. But they all learned that the way of this whip was swift and terrible and it called for swift obedience. But Gordet was a just man and he never punished without cause.
So the one event in the life of the four dogs as the ship ploughed her way through the Pacific was feeding time. Billy and Whirlwind often put in their time romping and tumbling, for they had to do something. Ginger was too cross to want to take part in any play. Silversheene was too heartsick to care to play. He was not cross, but indifferent. He would lie for hours with his head between his paws, and a far-away look in his brown eyes. At such times the other dogs did not disturb him. He was thinking of the girl in the Adirondacks who had been his first playmate and mistress. In his sleep he would often spring up with a glad bark, only to look about him bewilderedly and then lie down with a dejected air.
This was when he had been dreaming of Hilda. Or he would bark excitedly and wag his tail, only to awaken and find that Richard Henderson was not calling him. No one was calling him. The only sound was the endless beating of the engine which was driving the propeller that was taking him further and further from both Hilda and Dick.
So time went slowly by for three weeks. Then one foggy morning the ship came to anchor at the mouth of a great river, where there was an Alaskan city. The men and dogs and freight had to be taken ashore by lighters as the harbor was shallow.
Gene and his four dogs did not attract much attention as there were several other rough men with dogs.
When they were finally upon the city streets Silversheene saw many dogs, but they seemed rather different from most of the dogs that he had seen in his short life. Most of them were either gray or white and many looked quite like himself. So this made him feel more at home than he would otherwise.
Gene led his dogs through the city and out to a low building where a friend kept a rude hotel. Here he left the dogs for the summer while he went inland upon a prospecting expedition. This was just a freak trip that he went on at a minute's hotice. His real object in coming to Alaska was to run a trucking, dog team between two Yukon towns, five hundred miles apart. He expected to make good money at this work. It was hard work, but it paid well and he had come north for gold.
The thing that Silversheene had the most difficulty in adjusting himself to in that far-away Alaskan country, was the summer time of perpetual sunshine. But he finally got used to it and would sleep whenever he felt like it.
One morning when Gene had been gone about a month Silversheene witnessed something that he never forgot. It taught him one of the first lessons of this hard country, and that was never to lose one's feet in a dog fight, especially if a dozen savage brutes were standing by.
Silversheene and a dozen other prospective sled dogs were gathered in a solemn conclave behind the long low building where Gene's friends who boarded Silversheene lived.
It was a sort of hotel of a rude class, but most of the boarders now were dogs, as the men had gone away up the river. Among the dogs who frequented the city and hung about this street was a small white cur of no particular breed. This little dog was the target for the dislike of all the dogs in the vicinity, and he was rarely left alone.
On this particular morning the little homeless canine lost his temper and turned upon his assailant who was larger than himself and a lively dog fight ensued. At the sound of the angry snarls, dogs came running from all directions, and in a minute's time there were at least a score of onlookers.
Silversheene was half a mind to take the part of the smaller dog and help him, but he was gradually losing all of his chivalric spirit so he just stood by watching. For a short time the smaller dog held his own, being nerved by a sense of his injustice. But finally the greater weight and strength of the other dog prevailed and the small dog was borne to earth. At this sight, the crowd of watching dogs was transformed to savage brutes just one degree removed from starving wolves. Without a moment's notice of what was to happen the whole mass swept over the struggling fighters, all seeking to get at the under dog.
According to the ethics of the wolf pack this dog had gone down. He had lost his footing and he was any one's meat. They rushed upon him with blood-curdling snarls and snapped and fought to get at him.
At the sound of the melee men came running from all directions with clubs. No man would have the temerity to go into a dog fight like that unarmed. The men struck right and left and some of them even caught the dogs by their hind legs and dragged them back.
But they were too late, for when they had dispersed the dog riot the small cur for whom no one cared was dead. If they had been given time and it had been winter and they were hungry, the pack would have eaten him as well as killed him.
To Silversheene who was used to a civilized country and civilized ways this was rather terrible. But it taught him the needed lesson. Never lose your feet in a dog fight if there are dog spectators, unless you want to lose your life as well.
Late in September the first snow flurry came and Gordet came back from his prospecting expedition. The following day Silversheene's life as an Alaskan sledge dog began.