"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract with the government." When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel uncomfortable. It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a great wonder came into his face. "Well, I'll be damned!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue. Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, "Well, I'll be damned!" "Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment "I was just s'prised some, that was all." "We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up to a stranger before." "Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked. Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you--unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, 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. "Kind 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 the 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' up 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 on the defensive at once. "How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded.