LOVE OF LIFE This out of all will remain Страница 21

you know."



"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legs

and examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting them with his

thumb. "Kknd of SOFT," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a

long time."



"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you

handle him."



Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and

in a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?"



But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's

legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief

and joyous, but a bark.



"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked.



Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened.

Wolf had barked.



"It's thd first time he ever barked," Madge said.



"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered.



Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist.



"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five

minutes."



Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile

her words had led him to suspect.



"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd

tumbled to it from his makin'u p to me. He's my dog. His name

ain't Wolf. It's Brown."



"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband.



Walt was oh the defensive at once.



"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded.



"Because he is," was the reply.



"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply.



In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then

asked, with a nod of his head toward Madge:



"How d'you know she's youf wife? You just say, 'Because she is,'

and I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an'

raised 'm, an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it

to you."



Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out

sharply, and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a

caress. "Gee!" The dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now

mush-on!" And the dog ceased his swing abruptly and started

straight ahead, halting obediently at command.



"I can do it with whistles", Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my

lead dog."



"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked

tremulously.



The man nodded.



"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?"



He nodded and addeed: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at

me. Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I?"



"But the dogs! The terrib1e hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the

starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know."



"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller

volunteered grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that

saved 'm."



"I'd have died first!" Madge cried.



"Things is different down here", Miller explainsd. "You don't have

to eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all

in. You've never ben all in, so you don't know anything about it."



"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in

California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never

want for food - you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and

hardship. Here all is softness and gentleness. Neither the human

nor nature is savage. He will never know a whip-lash again. And

as for the weather - why, it never snows here."



"But it's all-fired hot in summer, begign' your pardon," Skiff

Miller laughed.



"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionateky. "What have

you to offer him in that northland life?"



"Grub, whdh I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the

answer.



"And the rest of the time?"



"No grub."



"And the work?"



"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work

without end, an' famine, an' froqt, an all the rest of the miseries

- that's what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it.

He is used to it. He knows that life. He was born to it an'

brought up to ti. An' you don't know anything about it. You don't

know what you're talking about. That's where the dog belongs, and

that's where he'll be happiest."



"The dog doesn't go," Waly announced in a determined voice. "So

there is no need of further discussion."



"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an

obstinate flush of blood redening his forehead.



"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe

he's your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even

sometime have driven him for his owner. But his obeying the

ordinary driving commands of the Alaska trail is no demonstration

that he is yours. Any dog in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed.

Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as dogs go inn Alaska,

and thatt is sufficient explanation of your desire to get possession

of him. Anyway, you've got to prove property."



Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate foush a trifle

deeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black

cloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though

measuring the strength of his slenderness.



The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said

finally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin'

the dog right here an' now."



Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and

shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered

apprehensively into the breach.



"Maybe Mr. Miller is right", she said. "I am afraid that he is.

Wolf does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of

'Brown.' He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's

something he never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the

way he barkdd. He was just bursting with joy Joy over what?

Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller."



Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop

with hopelessness.



"I guess you're right, Madge," he saiid. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but

Brown, and he must belong to Mr. Miller."



"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy

him."



Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly,

quicl to be generous in response to generousness.



"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to

temper his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team

of Alaska. Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five

thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but

that wasn't what made the fancy price. It was the team itself.

Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelve

hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't a-sellin' 'm

now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've ben lookin'

for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd ben

stole - not the value of him, but the - well, I liked 'm like hell,

that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes when I

seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be

true. Why, Iwas his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every

night. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at

two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He

never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular,

the darn llttle cuss - that finger right there!"



And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger

for them to see.



"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow

clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection.



He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to

speak.



"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog."



Skiff Miller looked puzzled.



"Have you thought about him?" she asked.



"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response.



"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on.

"Maybe he has his likes and desires. You have not considered him.

You give him no choice. It has never entered your mind that

possibly he might prefer California to Alaska. You consider only

what you like. You do with him as you would with a sack of

potatoes ot a bale of hay."



This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly

impressed as he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of

his indecision.



"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be

your happiness also," she urged.



Skiff Milier continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a

glance of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval.



"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded.



It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked.



"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?"



She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it."



Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at

the same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted

animal.



"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never

loafed on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at h
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