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Youre right, Bill, he concluded. Fattys gone. An he went like greased lightnin once he got started. Couldnt ve seen m for smoke. No chance at all, Henry concluded. They jes swallowed m alive. I bet he was yelpin as he went down their throats, damn em! He always was a fool dog, said Bill. But no fool dog ought to be fool enough to go off an commit suicide that way. He looked over the remainder of the team with a speculative eye that summed up instantly the salient traits of each animal. I bet none of the others would do it. Couldnt drive em away from the fire with a club, Bill agreed. I always did think there was somethin wrong with Fatty, anyway. And this was the epitaph of a dead dog on the Northland trailless scant than the epitaph of many another dog, of many a man. |
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