Three weeks later， one morning， Steve and I werestanding on the river-bank at Dawson. A small boat wasjust arriving from Lake Bennett. I saw Steve give a start，and heard him say something that was not nice and thatwas not under his breath. Then I looked； and there， in thebow of the boat， with ears pricked up， sat Spot. Steve andI sneaked immediately， like beaten curs， like cowards， likeabsconders from justice. It was this last that the lieutenantof police thought when he saw us sneaking. He surmisedthat there were law-officers in the boat who were afterus. He didn’t wait to find out， but kept us in sight， and inthe M. & M. saloon got us in a corner. We had a merrytime explaining， for we refused to go back to the boat andmeet Spot； and finally he held us under guard of anotherpoliceman while he went to the boat. After we got clearof him， we started for the cabin， and when we arrived，there was that Spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us.
Now how did he know we lived there？ There were fortythousand people in Dawson that summer， and how did hesavve our cabin out of all the cabins？ How did he know wewere in Dawson， anyway？ I leave it to you. But don’t forgetwhat I have said about his intelligence and that immortalsomething I have seen glimmering in his eyes.
There was no getting rid of him any more. There weretoo many people in Dawson who had bought him up onChilcoot， and the story got around. Half a dozen timeswe put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon；but he merely went ashore at the first landing and trottedback up the bank. We couldn’t sell him， we couldn’t killhim （both Steve and I had tried）， and nobody else was ableto kill him. He bore a charmed life. I’ve seen him go downin a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top ofhim， and when they were separated， he’d appear on all hisfour legs， unharmed， while two of the dogs that had beenon top of him would be lying dead.
I saw him steal a chunk of moose-meat from MajorDinwiddie’s cache so heavy that he could just keep onejump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie’s squaw cook， who wasafter him with an axe. As he went up the hill， after thesquaw gave up， Major Dinwiddie himself came out andpumped his Winchester into the landscape. He emptiedhis magazine twice， and never touched that Spot. Then apoliceman came along and arrested him for dischargingfirearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid hisfine， and Steve and I paid him for the moose-meat at therate of a dollar a pound， bones and all. That was what hepaid for it. Meat was high that year.
I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And nowI’ll tell you something， also. I saw that Spot fall througha water-hole. The ice was three and a half feet thick， andthe current sucked him under like a straw. Three hundredyards below was the big water-hole used by the hospital.
Spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole， licked off thewater， bit out the ice that had formed between his toes，trotted up the bank， and whipped a big Newfoundlandbelonging to the Gold Commissioner.
In the fall of 1898， Steve and I poled up the Yukon onthe last water， bound for Stewart River. We took thedogs along， all except Spot. We figured we’d been feedinghim long enough. He’d cost us more time and troubleand money and grub than we’d got by selling him on theChilcoot—especially grub. So Steve and I tied him downin the cabin and pulled our freight. We camped that nightat the mouth of Indian River， and Steve and I were prettyfacetious over having shaken him. Steve was a funny cuss，and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing whena tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into thosedogs and gave them what-for was hair-raising. Now howdid he get loose？ It’s up to you. I haven’t any theory. Andhow did he get across the Klondike River？ That’s anotherlacer. And anyway， how did he know we had gone up theYukon？ You see， we went by water， and he couldn’t smellour tracks. Steve and I began to get superstitious aboutthat dog. He got on our nerves， too； and， between you andme， we were just a mite afraid of him.