Білий ікол
The Trail of the Meat
InthemorningitwasHenrywhoawokefirstandroutedhiscompanionoutofbed. Daylightwasyetthreehoursaway,thoughitwasalreadysixo’clock; andinthedarknessHenrywentaboutpreparingbreakfast,whileBillrolledtheblanketsandmadethesledreadyforlashing.
"Say,Henry,"heaskedsuddenly,"howmanydogsdidyousaywehad?"
"Six."
"Wrong,"Billproclaimedtriumphantly.
"Sevenagain? "Henryqueried.
"No,five; one’sgone."
"Thehell! "Henrycriedinwrath,leavingthecookingtocomeandcountthedogs.
"You’reright,Bill,"heconcluded. "Fatty’sgone."
"An’hewentlikegreasedlightnin’oncehegotstarted. Couldn’t‘veseen‘mforsmoke."
"Nochanceatall,"Henryconcluded. "Theyjes’swallowed‘malive. Ibethewasyelpin’ashewentdowntheirthroats,damn’em! ""Healwayswasafooldog,"saidBill.
"Butnofooldogoughttobefoolenoughtogooffan’commitsuicidethatway. "Helookedovertheremainderoftheteamwithaspeculativeeyethatsummedupinstantlythesalienttraitsofeachanimal. "Ibetnoneoftheotherswoulddoit."
"Couldn’tdrive’emawayfromthefirewithaclub,"Billagreed. "Ialwaysdidthinktherewassomethin’wrongwithFattyanyway."
