  Stuart Mace was dressed in well-fitting khaki trousers and a plaid shirt open at the throat. His sturdy bronzed neck suited the finely molded features of his face and his smile was warm and friendly. “As you see,” he began, “we have a great family of dogs, bred for hard work in the mountains, ice and snow. From our original nine dogs we have eighty, among them some of the finest leaders and teams in the country.” He motioned the group to follow him. Individual kennels shaded by trees extended in all directions. The dogs, tied by long leashes, had a great deal of freedom. They looked at the visitors unmoved. None barked. Mr. Mace pointed out common characteristics: their large, long-haired bodies, the markings on their bodies, their intelligent faces, their long pointed ears and bushy tails. As Mr. Mace passed the dogs, he fondled them and those who were by chance overlooked snuggled up to him and their eyes begged for his caress. “Let’s have a look at some of the very young dogs,” Mr. Mace said, the crowd at his heels. He picked up a beautiful furry puppy and held him in his arms like a baby. “This Alaskan dog is only three months old. We know by this time that she will never do the work our dog teams must do.” “How do I know?” Mr. Mace smiled at the man who asked the question. “We have our way of knowing. When I decide that such is the case, we sell them as pets. They make good watch dogs and are gentle and affectionate.” “What does it cost to buy such a puppy?” Allen asked in a low voice. “About a hundred dollars, only what it cost us to raise and feed the dog for the three months.” Judy looked at Allen, who was whispering something to Lynne. In that momentary lull she could hear Lynne’s answering whisper, “But what would we do with him when you’re away on tour for eight weeks and I’m busy teaching?” “When do you throw them the meat?” a little boy asked as they went on among the older dogs. “We’re not in the zoo, my little friend. No lions or tigers here,” Mace replied with a grin. “These dogs are never fed any meat. Up in the Arctic regions, the dogs get walrus and chunks of seal. But here, it’s not necessary. See that box of food next to each kennel? When a dog is hungry, he goes over and eats what he wants of it. It’s a mixture of the best scientific foods these dogs require.” He pointed to the pans of water near each kennel. “They need lots of water during the summer months, but in the winter the snow is enough.” “Gee, these dogs are kind of lazy—the way they just sit around.” Mr. Mace overheard the little boy’s complaint. Mr. Mace smiled at the boy. “Don’t you think these dogs deserve a rest after working hard from November through April? This is their vacation, son,” he said kindly. “That’s how we keep them fit and happy.” They were now among the full-grown dogs selected for their team work. “Eight, ten, sometimes twelve dogs make a team,” Mr. Mace explained, “depending on the distance to be traveled and the load to be pulled. The dogs are harnessed in pairs, but the leader runs in single harness in front. Teams must be well matched, not only for beauty and appearance, but in strength and size. But the leader is the prize of the pack—like this one here.” Mr. Mace bent over to pet him. “He’s pure Malamute strain. That’s one of the best. See his powerful chest, his long bushy tail, like the others, only longer and bushier. Look at his feet, those powerful nails, the short hair cushioning the toes, the long hair between. He is sure-footed, intelligent, and has a fine sense of smell. Never forgets a road once he’s been over it, never forgets commands once they’ve been mastered. And he has character! Don’t laugh,” he smiled at Judy. “This dog has got character. He demands obedience from his team. Where he goes, the team must follow.” Mr. Mace turned his attention to a large handsome dog that seemed unresponsive to his petting. “She’s Eskimo, and she’s brooding. We took away her puppies some days ago and she’s still unhappy.” A little boy, more venturesome than the others, went over to her. “Don’t go near her,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s not vicious, none of them are, but she’s best left alone at present.” The crowd moved on. The boy who had just been admonished stood in front of the kennel watching the sulky animal. As Judy tried to pass, the boy stood talking to the dog. “What’s the use of being sore?” He stepped closer. “Come on, let’s shake hands.” The dog lifted her leg and gave the boy’s chest a shove. He went down as if hit by a load of bricks. The boy lay there, stunned. Judy screamed, “Mr. Mace! Mr. Mace!” It was her frightened call that brought Mr. Mace loping back. He picked up the frightened boy and said severely, “You’re not hurt, but I warned you to let that dog alone.” Mr. Mace walked on and the group, a little sobered, followed. “How much cold can these dogs stand?” Lynne asked. “In the far north they can take a temperature that goes to sixty or seventy degrees below zero. We, of course, haven’t such extremes of cold here, but it’s plenty cold in the mountains in the winter. When we take people on our sledding trips over snow-covered trails, we stop overnight at a cabin we’ve built. Our riders enjoy a good fire, a comfortable bed and a meal. “But,” he went on, “the dogs are just unharnessed, fed, and go to sleep in the snow. You’ve noticed these Huskies have thick coats of fur and nature further protects them with a wool matting close to their hide. So you see,” and he smiled at Lynne, “these dogs can stand all kinds of weather.” “Look at that dog there,” a woman exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such a handsome dog! His black markings on the forehead and nose are so striking against his white coat!” All turned to look. “See how he stands there as if he enjoyed our admiration.” “Of course, she does,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s our prima donna, one of our famous movie stars. She’s only completely happy when she’s in front of a movie camera.” “Can she do some tricks for us now, please?” “I’m afraid not. Our dogs have performed often right out here in these very mountains. You’ve probably seen them on your own TV’s at home, thinking they were made in the Arctic! But most often when Hollywood needs our dogs, we just board a plane and go there.” There was more, much more. Eighty dogs are a lot of dogs to see and Judy must have looked as she felt, very weary. The tour was over. As they neared the exit, Mr. Mace turned to the crowd still following him. “Like to hear my dog concert?” “Sure!” everyone said. “Kyloo,” Mr. Mace addressed a powerful Husky whose kennel was near, “how about some music for these nice people?” Kyloo didn’t seem interested. “Now come on, Kyloo,” Mr. Mace’s voice was coaxing. “Don’t be shy. I’ll start you off.” Mr. Mace thrust back his head and a loud, prolonged wail came from his throat. Kyloo didn’t need any more urging. He tilted back his head, opened his wide jaws and the same powerful, prolonged note issued from his throat. It re-echoed through the grove and grew in volume as the wail was taken up by the eighty dogs. It was a strange, primitive call, high and piercing. Yes, it was a kind of song, the dogs’ farewell to the visitors, farewell in music. While Allen stayed on to take some snapshots of the dogs, Lynne and Judy followed others into the Arctic Trading Shop, a lovely log cabin displaying rare and unusual things. When at last Allen joined them, they returned to the car to drive back to Aspen. It was only as they drove through Main Street past the Ski Lodge and Chairlift that Judy suddenly remembered. “Allen,” she said, putting her hand on the wheel, “aren’t we going up the Chairlift? You promised!” “Judy, I hate to say it, but the answer is ‘no.’” “Why?” she asked, unable to hide her disappointment. “Well,” Allen said slowly as if to lessen the blow, “chiefly because Lynne and I went up last Saturday.” “You went up?” Judy repeated, reluctant to believe such treachery, going up without her! Allen nodded. “You see, a lot of Festival people planned the trip, getting some special rate and Lynne and I couldn’t resist a bargain! But, Judy,” Allen smiled sheepishly, “I think we’re sort of glad you weren’t along to witness our disgrace. We got off at Midway!” “How could you get off when the chairs keep moving all the time? The machinery never stops. I’ve watched it a hundred times.” “Well, it takes a bit of agility, but everyone has to get off at Midway for a few minutes. The mechanism changes direction at that point. You walk a few feet and leap on again. That’s where the chair immediately swings out over a bottomless chasm! I decided I had enough! Dangling like a clothes hanger from that slender cable was too much for me. I had no stomach to ride over that yawning abyss and then ascend to thirteen thousand feet!” Judy looked at Lynne. “Is he joking? He gave up just like that?” “We gave up, just like that,” Lynne said laughing. “Allen shouted to me, ‘I’m getting off at Midway. Not going further. You keep going if you wish, but I don’t think it sensible.’ “Jouncing along, my nerves a bit jittery, I guess I was secretly glad and yelled back, ‘I will too.’ My young campers were below me, swinging along, waving their hands and laughing. I knew we would have to brave their jeers, if not their scorn. But we did.” Lynne and Allen exchanged glances as if there were some reason for their lack of hardihood. “So like a cautious young couple with good reasons for our caution,” again that special smile for Allen, “we walked down a steep mining road that took us back to Aspen. It was wonderful even if we didn’t get to the top.” Allen patted Judy’s shoulder. “I guess it isn’t so bad when the mountains and the chasm are blanketed in snow. Leave something for another time or another year. You’ll be coming to Aspen again. Everyone does.” “I hope so,” Judy said with forced resignation. Then she remembered Ashcroft and the dogs. “It’s been such a perfect day. How can I ever thank you!” The car pulled up in front of Judy’s house. “I’m sorry we can’t stop in—marketing, and dinner still to get,” Lynne said. “We’ll see Mother and Dad in a few days—we have something very special to tell them.” Judy wondered. Lynne went on, “You know, Allen and I feel flattered. You didn’t mention Karl’s name once all day!” “But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think of him. Everytime I looked at those gorgeous Eskimo dogs with their sad, dreamy eyes, I thought of Karl. Isn’t that strange?” “Truth is stranger than fiction,” Lynne laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve got a real case! Good-bye, dear!” “Good-bye!” “Something special to tell them?” Judy repeated to herself as she slowly mounted the porch steps. “Maybe that’s why Allen didn’t want Lynne to go further on the Chairlift. After all, they are married two years—” |
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