He made no movement as David drew near,
except that curious shivers ran through his body, and his throat
twitched. Thoreau would have analyzed that impassive posture as one of
waiting and watchful treachery; David saw in it a strange yearning, a
deep fear, a hope. Baree, outlawed by man, battered and bleeding as he
lay there, felt for perhaps the first time in his life the thrilling
presence of a friend--a man friend. David approached boldly, and stood
over him. He had forgotten the Frenchman's warning. He was not afraid.
He leaned over and one of his mittened hands touched Baree's neck. A
tremor shot through the dog that was like an electric shock; a snarl
gathered in his throat, broke down, and ended in a low whine. He lay as
if dead under the weight of David's hand. Not until David had ceased
talking to him, and had disappeared once more in the direction of the
cabin, did Baree begin devouring the frozen whitefish.
Father Roland meditated in some perplexity when it came to the final
question of Baree.
"We can't put him in with the team," he protested. "All my dogs would be
dead before we reached God's Lake."
David had been thinking of that.
"He will follow me," he said confidently. "We'll simply turn him loose
when we're ready to start.
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