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Page 45
The sergeant was a terror to evil-doers, a hard man to cross, and too
grim and sour to be any one's companion. But no man doubted his honesty,
and those who had no call to fear him entertained a certain respect for
him, even though they could not like the man. In addition to his
grimness he had a stingingly bitter tongue. He was not a fluent speaker;
but most of his words had an edge to them, and he dealt not at all in
compliments, never going beyond a curt nod by way of response to another
man's "Good day!" When, with the punctiliousness of the perfectly
disciplined man, he saluted an officer, there was that in his expression
and in the almost fierce quality of his movement which made the salute
something of a menace.
His forbidding disposition had probably stood between Sergeant Moore and
further promotion. His contemporaries, the older men of the corps, knew
he had once been married. His juniors had never seen the sergeant in
converse with a woman. Withal it was believed that Sergeant Moore had
one weakness, one soft spot in his armor. It was said that when he
believed himself to be quite alone with his dog Sourdough he indulged
himself in some of the tendernesses of a widowed father who lavishes all
his heart upon a single child.
There was little enough about Sourdough to remind one of a human child,
lovable or otherwise. If the master was grim and forbidding in manner
and appearance, the dog exhibited a broadly magnified reflection of the
same attributes. His color was a sandy grayish yellow without markings.
His coat was coarse, rather ragged, and extraordinarily dense. His
pricked ears were chipped and jagged from a hundred fights, and in a
diagonal line across his muzzle was a broad white scar, gotten, men
said, in combat with a timber-wolf in the Athabasca country.
It was a part of Sourdough's pose or policy in life to profess
short-sightedness. He would walk past a group of dogs as though unaware
of their existence. Yet let one of those dogs but cock an eye of
impudence in his direction, or glance with lifting eyebrow at one of his
fellows, with a sneer or jeer in his heart for Sourdough, and in that
instant Sourdough would be upon him like an angry lynx, with a bitter
snarl and a snap that was pretty certain to leave its scar. This done,
Sourdough would pass on, with hackles erect and a hunch of his shoulders
which seemed to say:
"When next you are inclined to rudeness, remember that Sourdough knows
all things, forgets nothing, and bites deep."
The story went that in his youth Sourdough had led a team of sled-dogs,
and that he had saved Moore's life on one occasion when every one of his
team-mates had either died or deserted his post. He was of the mixed
northern breed whose members are called huskies, but he was bigger and
heavier than most huskies and weighed just upon a hundred pounds. A
wagon-wheel had once gone over his tail (when nine dogs out of ten would
have lost their lives by receiving the wheel on their hind quarters),
and this appendage now had a curious bend in the middle of it, making it
rather like a bulldog's "crank" tail, but long and bushy. He was far
from being a handsome dog; but he looked every inch a fighter, and there
was a certain invincibility about his appearance which, combined with
his swiftness in action and the devastating severity of all his attacks,
served to win for him the submissive respect of almost every dog he met.
Occasionally, and upon a first meeting, some careless, undiscerning dog
would overlook these qualities. The same dog never made the same mistake
a second time.
Dick Vaughan made it his business to be on hand when Sourdough first met
Jan. When ordered to do so, Jan had learned to keep his muzzle within a
yard of Dick's heels, and that was his position when Sergeant Moore came
striding across the yard with Sourdough. Jan's hackles rose the moment
he set eyes on the big husky. Sourdough, as his way was, glared in
another direction. But his hackles rose also, and his upper lip lifted
slightly as the skin of his nose wrinkled. Clearly there was to be no
sympathy between these two.
Suddenly, and without apparently having looked in Jan's direction,
Sourdough leaped sideways at him, with an angry snarl.
"Keep in--Jan; keep in--boy!" said Dick, firmly, as he jumped between
the two dogs.
"Who gave you permission to bring that dog here?" snapped the sergeant
at Dick.
"Taking care of him for Captain Arnutt, sir," was the reply.
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