Well, we were halfway up the
pass when the Indian guide stopped the dogs an' listened. It was just
about noon an' the travelin' was good, so that, wantin' to make time, I
got good an' mad at the stop. Knowin' my Indian, I kep' quiet just the
same, always bein' willin' to bet on an Indian bein' right on the trail.
First off, I could notice nothin', then, when I threw back my parka hood
I could hear a boomin' in the air as though some one was beatin' a gong,
miles and miles away. It was so steady a sound that after you had once
heard it for a while you wouldn't notice it, an' you would have to
listen again real hard to see if it was still goin' on."
"Like distant thunder?" queried Hamilton.
"Not a bit. It was high, like a gong, an' it wasn't any too good to
hear. The dogs knew it, too, for though we had been stopped nearly five
minutes none of them had started to fight."
"Do dogs fight every time they stop?"
"Just about. They try to, anyway. In the traces, of course, they can't
do much but snap an' snarl, but that they're always doin'. This time,
however, all save one or two of them stood upright sniffin' uneasily.
"'Wind?' I asked the Indian.
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