Connie Morgan in the Fur Country Part 2

seal-skin _mukluks_. Lays a dead man dere. I tak hol' an' try to pull um out but she too mooch froze. So I quit try an' lef' heem dere."

"Was it a white man?" cried Connie.

'Merican Joe shook his head: "I ain' know--I can't pull heem out. Dat good plac' to lef' heem anyhow. He frooze lak' de iron. I hont roun' an'

he ain' lef' no grub. Him starve an' freeze, an' hees dogs is all dead but wan, an' she mate oop wit' de beeg white wolf. I giv' ol' Sen-nick de dog an' I kep' de pup. See, Leloo ees de pup. Mos' two year ol'--an'

de bes' sled dog een all de worl'!"

As Connie watched 'Merican Joe refill his pipe he thought how near history had come to repeating itself. The boy studied Leloo as he lay quiet upon the edge of the blanket. He had heard of the great white wolves that inhabit the drear lone lands that lie beyond the arctic coast--larger even than the grey caribou wolves of the barren lands. He knew, now, that these stories were true.

"You called Leloo a dog," he said, "but he's only half dog, and sometime he may turn wolf."

'Merican Joe shrugged: and eyed the great wolf-dog sombrely: "No, him ain' never turn wolf--Leloo. Him half-wolf--half-dog, but de wolf an' de dog ain' separat', lak de front legs, an' de hin' legs. De wolf an' de dog is mix', lak de color een de hair. You savvy? Leloo ain' never all wolf--an' he ain' never all dog. All de tam' he wolf an' dog mix'."

Connie nodded eagerly. "I see!" he answered, and his thoughts flew to the great brute he had seen only a few hours before running at the head of the wolf pack. No hint of the dog in that long-drawn wolf-howl that had brought him tensely erect in his tent and started the hair roots to p.r.i.c.kling along his scalp, and no hint of the dog in the silent slashes with which he had resented the crowding of the pack. And yet a few moments later he had defended his helpless master from that same wolf pack--and in defending him with the devotion of the dog, he had ripped with the peculiar flank-slash that is the death thrust of the wolf.

Later, in the tent, he had fawned dog-like upon his master--but, wolf-like, the fawning had been soundless.

"You know Leloo well," he said.

'Merican Joe smiled: "I raised heem from de pup. I learn heem to pull.

He ees de gran' leader. I train heem to hont de caribou--de moose--de deer. I show you som' tam. He kin fight--kill any dog--any wolf. He ain'

never git tire. He work all day lak de dog--an' all night mebbe-so he ron wit' de wolf-pack."

"You say you've been over east of the Mackenzie; is there gold over there?"

"I ain' see no gold."

"I'm going over there."

"W'en you go?"

"Just as soon as I can get an outfit together."

"Me--I'm goin' 'long."

"Going along! Will you go?"

'Merican Joe nodded: "You _skook.u.m tillic.u.m_. 'Merican Joe, she dead--she starve--she froze--you com' 'long, mak' de fire--give de grub--I ain' dead no mor'. I go 'long."

"Do you think there's a good chance to prospect over there? What's the formation?"

"I ain' know mooch 'bout dat, w'at you call, fo'mation. Plent'

riv--plent' crick. Mebbe-so plent' gol'--I ain' know. But, on de barrens is Injuns. W'en I com' way from de Innuit, I fin' um. Dey got plent'

fur. Eef you got nuff stake for tradin' outfit you mak' de beeg money--you ain' care eef de gol' aint' dere."

"You meaning trading with the Indians--free trading?"

"Yes--de free traders skin 'em--dey cheat 'em--an' sell de hooch----"

"But--the Hudson's Bay Company! How about them?"

"De H.B.C. all right--but dey ain' go out after de Injun. Dey got de reg'lar post. De Injun got to mush mebbe-so mor' as hondre mile--two hondre. _Spose_ de free traders ketch um firs'. De Injun never git to de post. You got nuff for de stake?"

Connie laughed: "Yes, I've got enough for the stake, all right. But I'm not so keen for the trading outfit. We can take along some traps, though, and if there isn't any gold--we'll take out some fur. And, you'll sure go with me? When can you start?"

The Indian glanced out of the low door. "It daylight--le's go."

"But, how about the Kuskokwim?"

'Merican Joe shrugged. "Kuskokwim kin wait. She ain' no good. Me--I'm stay 'long wit' you. You pay me wages w'at you want. I good man--me. You wait--I show you. You good man, too. I seen plent' good man--plent' bad man--I know--me."

The Indian reached out his hand, and Connie shook it--and thus was the bargain struck.

"Will you sell Leloo?" asked the boy.

The Indian shook his head: "No!"

"Five hundred dollars?"

"No! Fi' hondre dolla--fi't'ousan' dolla--no!" The Indian crawled out the door followed by Connie and Leloo. Going to the sled, 'Merican Joe picked up a loop of _bab.i.+.c.he_ line and threw it about Leloo's neck. He handed the end of the line to Connie. "Leloo heem you dog," he said.

"What!" cried the boy.

"Heem b'long you--I giv' heem----"

"No! No! Let me buy him."

The Indian drew himself erect: "I ain' sell Leloo. You giv' me my life--I giv' you Leloo. Me--'Merican Joe good man. You good man. Wan good man wit' anodder. It ees frien's."

So Connie Morgan took the line from the hand of 'Merican Joe and as his eyes rested upon the superb lines of the great silver brute, his heart thrilled with the knowledge that he was the possessor of the greatest wolf-dog in all the North.

CHAPTER III

NERVE

On the morning after Connie Morgan had hit the trail for the avowed purpose of capturing the huge wolf-dog that had been reported on Spur Mountain, his big partner, Waseche Bill, lighted his pipe and gazed thoughtfully through the window of the little log office which was situated on the bank of Ten Bow Creek, overlooking the workings. His eyes strayed from the intricate system of pipes and flumes to the cloud of white vapour that rose from the shaft house where the never-tiring steam-point drills forced their way slowly down, down, down into the eternal frost.

"Jest three years ago since me and the kid staked this valley," he mused. "An' now we're rich--an' I'm an 'office miner' with a game laig, an' more gold than I could spend if I lived to be as old as Methooslum."

His glance strayed to the modern building across the creek with its iron roof, and white painted siding. In this building, erected a month before, were the general offices of the partners, the construction and hydraulic engineers, the chemist, the purchasing agent, the paymaster, the bookkeeper, and a score of clerks and stenographers.

There, also, Waseche Bill had had his own office, as general manager of the mine, but after an uncomfortable four weeks of hardwood floors, ground gla.s.s doors, and polished desk tops, he moved his office into the one-roomed log cabin across the creek, and upon this, the first day of his installation in his new quarters, he grinned happily out of the window as he watched Cain, the construction engineer, wallow through the new-fallen snow and climb the slippery bank, on his first trip of consultation. And Waseche's grin widened as he heard the engineer endeavouring to remove the snow and sticky mud from his boots before entering.

"Stomp 'em off inside, Cain," he called. "The floor's solider, an'

you'll have better luck."