“We’ll be pullin’ fer Nome, soon, you hellion! An’ we might’s well finish this thing one way er another, today. Yer goin’ to work fer me--an’ yer goin’ to work in the lead! An’ yer goin’ to begin now!” For some moments the man studied the superb lines of the great dog. He had been wiser had he studied the chain, and still wiser had he noted that upon several occasions during the week of torture, before the body of the huge brute had fallen into the snow, it had described a half turn which had caused the chain to kink close against the collar. But of this Dalzene knew nothing and an hour later he approached through the driving snow storm, muzzle in one hand, club in the other. Instantly the great dog crouched. The yellow eyes glared, the throaty growl rumbled savagely and beneath his body the mighty muscles of his legs tensed. With outstretched hand the man drew just within the limit of the chain, his fingers tightening upon the club. It was the first warm day, and he had thrown off his heavy mittens. Like a flash the great dog hurtled out of the snow straight for his face. He leaped backward, club arm raised to strike at the instant the chain checked the dog in mid-air. A shriek of mortal terror froze on Dalzene’s lips as the chain parted. Instinctively the hand that held the muzzle was thrown up to guard his face, and in that instant the hand was seized in a grip of iron, as he was hurled backward into the snow. A single agonizing flash of pain shot to the man’s shoulder as the gleaming fangs ripped through the flesh to the bone. The next moment he realized that the hand was free, and that the great dog had disappeared in the storm. Struggling to his feet, Dalzene rushed for his rifle, but by the time he reached the cabin, Skookum had vanished, and staring into the void of whirling snow, the man burst into an insane tirade of shrill curses. The dripping of warm blood from his finger tips gave him pause, and he gazed in horror at his mangled hand. Then stepping into the cabin, he proceeded to bandage it as best he could with strips torn from an extra shirt. That night he could not sleep for pain, and next morning, with much difficulty, he harnessed his dogs, and headed southward down Dall River. “Might’s well hit fer the Yukon,” he muttered savagely. “They won’t have nothin’ on me down there, now that I ain’t got the dog. An’ there’s an army doctor at Fort Gibbon.” CHAPTER XVII SKOOKUM!