No longer was Baldy ignored by the men, nor did it now take the threats of Moose Jones to prevent the petty annoyances to which he had been subjected formerly; for in winning the Solomon Derby he had proved his worth and they were glad to give him well-earned praise. Occasionally there would be a dissenter from the general admiration of the dog. Black Mart, who sometimes came over from the Midas, never failed to belittle the record he had made. "It's no test, that short mush t' Solomon, an' it don't prove nothin'. Why, I've seen teams that could do wonders in that there run that couldn't git as fur as Council in the Big Race without goin' t' pieces. It takes somethin' more'n a slinkin' half-breed like him t' lead a winnin' team in the Sweepstakes." And Moose would retort sarcastically, "Mart, ef you was as good a judge o' dogs as dogs is o' you--stop growlin' at him, Baldy--you'd have a winnin' team in yourself, instead o' just jawin' about it." One man's enmity mattered but little, however, in the general friendliness Baldy experienced; and there were so many glorious things to offset those infrequent encounters with the one person he instinctively regarded with aversion. Encouraging news had come from Dime Creek, and Golconda was proving rich beyond the highest expectations of Jones; and many happy hours did he and Ben spend in plans for the boy's future; a future that now seemed near and bright. "Even without Golconda, Ben," Moose would exclaim confidently, "I've got enough salted away from them other deals to put you through all the book learnin' you'll need t' make a reg'lar spell-bindin' lawyer o' you like Fink, er a way up Judge, mebbe in Washington. An' with Golconda,--well, Sonny, that there Arabian Nights chap that she was tellin' you about wouldn't have nothin' on us fer adventure, an' doin' good turns to folks unbeknownst, an' all that kind o' stuff," and Moose Jones would pat the boy's shoulder affectionately. Every week or so Baldy, with Irish and Rover and some of the Wild Goose dogs from the Grand Central Ditch House near, would be hitched to a flat car belonging to the place, and would have a trip into town with Moose to take the gold dust from the "clean-ups" to the bank. The car coasted down all the hills, for there was a strong brake to keep it safe. And the dogs were either invited to ride with Jones, or were permitted to get to the bottom as best pleased them with Ben, which meant a scamper through fields of blue forget-me-nots and purple lupine, over damp and mossy dells, and along the slopes where tiny birds were hidden in cozy nests about which the frightened parents fluttered divertingly. [Illustration: THE CAR COASTED DOWN ALL THE HILLS]