CHAPTER XIX

JAZZ When the sledge came to a standstill, Ted Scott dropped his hand on the head of the great lead dog. Tanuk fawned upon him, whining his love, while his tongue lolled out in a canine grin of greeting. The scent of the dead bird, slung to Ted’s shoulders, assailed Tanuk’s quivering nostrils. He sniffed the air longingly, but was far too polite to ask openly for a bite of the fresh meat. “I’d like to give it to you, old pal,” Ted said regretfully, “but it has to be turned over to the biologists, zoölogists, and ot…