But that
afternoon her big St. Bernard, valiantly defending her front stoop, was
downed by a foraging party of trail-starved Malemutes. He was buried
beneath the hirsute mass for about thirty seconds, when rescued by a
couple of axes and as many stout men. Had he remained down two minutes,
the chances were large that he would have been roughly apportioned and
carried away in the respective bellies of the attacking party; but as it
was, it was a mere case of neat and expeditious mangling. Sitka Charley
came to repair the damages, especially a right fore-paw which had
inadvertently been left a fraction of a second too long in some other
dog's mouth. As he put on his mittens to go, the talk turned upon
Flossie and in natural sequence passed on to the--"er horrid woman."
Sitka Charley remarked incidentally that she intended jumping out down
river that night with Floyd Vanderlip, and further ventured the
information that accidents were very likely at that time of year.
So Mrs. Eppingwell's thoughts of Freda were unkinder than ever. She
wrote a note, addressed it to the man in question, and intrusted it to a
messenger who lay in wait at the mouth of Bonanza Creek.
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