it. Then again our painful
progress was resumed until, as it grew dark, we reached the bank of the
Kornutna, or Old Man Creek, and here we pitched tent again, and I went
forward upon the bed of the stream to break out a part of to-morrow's
path. That night two more inches of snow fell.

[Sidenote: DOG DRIVING]

For four miles the trail lies along the surface of this creek, and then
takes up a steep gully and over a divide. That four miles was all we
made the next day, back and forth, back and forth, wearily tramping it
to and fro, dogs and men alike exhausted with the toil. The hatefulness
of dog mushing usually appears under such circumstances; the whip is
constantly plied, the senseless objurgations rise shriller and fuller.
Once the sled is started, it must by any means be kept going, that as
great a distance as possible may be covered before it stops again. The
poor brutes, sinking almost to their bellies despite the snow-shoeing,
have no purchase for the exercise of their strength and continually
flounder and wallow. Our whip was lost and I was glad of it, for even as
considerate a boy as Arthur is apt to lose patience and temper when,
having started the sled with much labour by gee pole and rope about his
chest, it goes but a few feet and comes to a halt again, or slips from
the track and turns over in the deep snow. But it is at such times, too,
that one appreciates at his full value such a noble puller as our wheel
dog Nanook. He spares himself not at all; the one absorbing occupation
of every nerve and muscle of his body is pulling. His trace is always
taut, or, if he lose footing for a moment and the trace slacken, he is
up and at it again that the sled lose not its momentum if he can help
it. When the lead line is pulled back that the sled may be started by
the jerk of the dogs' sudden traction, Nanook lunges forward at the
command, "Mush!" and strains at the collar, mouth open and panting,
tongue dropping moisture, as keen and eager to keep that sled moving as
is the driver himself. All day he labours and struggles, snatching a
mouthful of snow now and then to cool his overheated body, and he drops
in his tracks when the final halt is made, utterly weary, yet always
with the brave heart in him to give his bark, his five-note
characteristic bark of gladness, that the day's work is done at last.
It is senseless brutality to whip such a dog, and most of our dogs were
of that mettle, though Nanook was the stron