During one of the coldest spells on the Yukon in 1905, as I was mushing
out over the ice from Dawson to the States, we reached the Indian River Roadhouse and decided to lay over for two or three days, thinking that perhaps the weather might moderate. Our party consisted of four and we were in no especial hurry.
The bunk-house, with two tiers of bunks on three sides, boasted a big
oil-drum heater that defied the most severe weather. The bunk-house stood about ten feet from the-main building and was, I believe, fully occupied. We had all partaken of a sumptious evening dinner and were sitting around the big stove, exchanging yarns and bits of news with those coming in the opposite direction.
From the outside cold came the sound of a cow hell - or so some of the
men claimed. We all listened carefully, and at times could clearly hear the bell. Then it would cease while we remained very still. Soon the sound approached the door and stopped. Several of us sprang to the door and threw it open. There in the dim light of the open
door stood a sled with a single occupant, sitting bolt upright, and moving not a muscle. Attached to the sled was a magnificent specimen of the St. Bernard type of dog, with a cow-bell tied to his neck, so that every time he moved his head, the bell would ring.
Receiving no answer to our hail, except the whine of the dog, we investigated and found the man frozen stiff. Quickly we dragged him into the bunk-house and began our labors of resuscitation, but without avail. Long hours did we endeavor to restore life to the unknown before we were convinced our eforts were futile.
Then we turned our attention to the dog, and found hime wrapped up in a
coon-skin fur coat, and around his throat a heavy woolen man's muffler.
We notified the R. N. W. Mounted Police by wire, and that afternoon a sergeant and a couple of his force drove up in a dog sled.
Their investigation developed the fact that the man was a well-known faro dealer in the Monte Carlo at Dawson, and was on his way Out, over the ice. Both man and dog were well known to the sporting fraternity as frequenters of the Dawson resorts, and
lived, apparently alone, in a cabin back of town.
From the time that the man was taken away and buried by the police, the dog hung around the roadhouse and refused to make friends with anyone. He also refused all offers of food and seemed to be heart-broken.
One day he was seen to go down the trail on a dead run and was never
seen again - alive. Some wood choppers found his body in the spring - frozen stiff.
