Like ghostly white shadows, around and around they trotted.
In a low voice, someone said, “They know that if they stop they’ll freeze to death.”
“It’s unbelievable,” said Mr. Kyle. “Come on. We must do something quick.”
With a choking sob, I ran for my dogs. On hearing our approach, they sat down and started bawling treed.
I noticed their voices didn’t have that solid ring.
Their ice-covered tails made a rattling sound as they switched this way and that on the icy ground.
A large fire was built. Standing my dogs close to the warm heat, the gentle hands of the hunters went to work.
With handkerchiefs and scarves heated steaming hot, little by little the ice was thawed from their bodies.
“If they had ever lain down,” someone said, “they would’ve frozen to death.”
“They knew it,” another said. “That’s why they kept running in that circle.”
“What I can’t understand is why they stayed with the tree,” Mr. Benson said.
“I’ve seen hounds stay with a tree for a while, but not in a northern blizzard.”
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