But it was not physical pain that gave the sullen droop to his head and robbed his body of that keen quick alertness of the lead-dog--the commander of his mates.

It was his spirit.

For the first time in his life, it was broken.
McCready had beaten him--long ago; his master had beaten him; and during all this day their voices were fierce and vengeful in his ears.
But it was his mistress who hurt him most.

She held aloof from him, always beyond they reach of his leash; and when they stopped to rest, and again in camp, she looked at him with strange and wondering eyes, and did not speak.

She, too, was ready to beat him.