Білий ікол
The Long Trail
Thetwodoorsslammedatthesamemoment,andWeedonScottwaitedforMatttocomearoundtothefront. Frominsidethedoorcamealowwhiningandsobbing. Thentherewerelong,deep-drawnsniffs.
"Youmusttakegoodcareofhim,Matt,"Scottsaid,astheystarteddownthehill. "Writeandletmeknowhowhegetsalong."
"Sure,"thedog-musheranswered. "Butlistentothat,willyou!"
Bothmenstopped. WhiteFangwashowlingasdogshowlwhentheirmastersliedead. Hewasvoicinganutterwoe,hiscryburstingupwardingreatheart-breakingrushes,dyingdownintoquaveringmisery,andburstingupwardagainwitharushuponrushofgrief.
TheAurorawasthefirststeamboatoftheyearfortheOutside,andherdeckswerejammedwithprosperousadventurersandbrokengoldseekers,allequallyasmadtogettotheOutsideastheyhadbeenoriginallytogettotheInside. Nearthegang-plank,ScottwasshakinghandswithMatt,whowaspreparingtogoashore. ButMatt’shandwentlimpintheother’sgraspashisgazeshotpastandremainedfixedonsomethingbehindhim. Scottturnedtosee. SittingonthedeckseveralfeetawayandwatchingwistfullywasWhiteFang.
Thedog-mushersworesoftly,inawe-strickenaccents.Scottcouldonlylookinwonder.
"Didyoulockthefrontdoor?"Mattdemanded. Theothernodded,andasked, "Howabouttheback?"
"YoujustbetIdid,"wastheferventreply.
WhiteFangflattenedhisearsingratiatingly,butremainedwherehewas,makingnoattempttoapproach.
