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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"The Son of the Wolf"

I've heard of the place before,
and so have you. We'll build a town--thousands of workmen--good
waterways--steamship lines--big carrying trade--light-draught
steamers for head reaches--survey a railroad, perhaps--sawmills--
electric-light plant--do our own banking--commercial
company--syndicate--Say! Just you hold your hush till I get
back!' The sleds came to a halt where the trail crossed the mouth
of Stuart River. An unbroken sea of frost, its wide expanse
stretched away into the unknown east.
The snowshoes were withdrawn from the lashings of the sleds. Axel
Gunderson shook hands and stepped to the fore, his great webbed
shoes sinking a fair half yard into the feathery surface and
packing the snow so the dogs should not wallow. His wife fell in
behind the last sled, betraying long practice in the art of
handling the awkward footgear, The stillness was broken with
cheery farewells; the dogs whined; and He of the Otter Skins
talked with his whip to a recalcitrant wheeler.
An hour later the train had taken on the likeness of a black
pencil crawling in a long, straight line across a mighty sheet of
foolscap.
II
One night, many weeks later, Malemute Kid and Prince fell to
solving chess problems from the torn page of an ancient magazine.


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