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Show 138 so calm down, Daddy." As she turned to set the glasses on a shelf behind her, Caribou reached over and grabbed one of her long puffed sleeves. The glasses dropped from her hands. A dreadful silence followed, not unlike another one I remembered in this room. The only sound was the sharp clink of shattering glass. "Harness your sled dogs, Belinda," Caribou muttered. "Fast," I added. "And without the bonnets." No one borrowed Belinda Mulroney's three malarautes, she informed us, icily, in the dog shed. Caribou said we were taking, not borrowing! I dived into a pile of fur robes in the sled, and Caribou ran along behind on the packed snow. When the dogs really started running, he jumped on the back runners, "Mush on!" we shouted. "Mush on!" Those dogs ran, all right, their tongues hanging out, their tails waving. They slowed down at times, but they did not stop until we reached Dawson City three hours later. Front Street looked deserted except for a few dog teams tied to hitching posts and a Mountie constable on patrol. Everyone was inside the saloons, keeping warm. We searched them all-the Pioneer, the Dominion, the Opera House, the Aurora Saloon. And half a dozen others. Their grand |
