The little miner looked him over impudently. "Well--well! If it ain't the Big Mogul himself--and wantin' to know if I've got permission to travel off the reservation." Macdonald laughed tolerantly. He had that large poise which is not disturbed by the sand stings of life. "I reckon you travel where you want to, Gid,--same as I do." "Maybeso. I shouldn't wonder if you'd find out quite soon enough what I'm doing here. You never can tell," the old man retorted with a manner that concealed volumes. Those who were present remembered the words and in the light of what took place later thought them significant. "Anyhow, it is quite a social event for Kusiak," Macdonald suggested with a smile of irony. [Illustration: THE SITUATION AT LEAST WAS PIQUANT, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS AT HER EXPENSE] Without more words Holt turned back to his bargaining. The big Scotchman went on his way, remembered that he wanted to see the cashier of the bank which he controlled, and promptly forgot that old Gid existed. The old man concluded his purchase and drove up to the hotel behind one of the best dog teams in Alaska. He had paid one hundred dollars down and was to settle the balance next day. Gideon asked a question of the porter. "Second floor. That's his room up there," the man answered, pointing to a window. "Oh, you, seven--eighteen--ninety-nine," the little miner shouted up. Elliot appeared at the window. "Well, I'll be hanged! What are you doing here, Old-Timer?" "Onct I knew a man lived to be a grandpa minding his own business," grinned the little man. "Come down and I'll tell you all about it, boy." In half a minute Gordon was beside him. After the first greetings the young man nodded toward the dog team. "How did you persuade Tim Ryan to lend you his huskies?" "Why don't you take a paper and keep up with the news, son? These huskies don't belong to Tim." "Meaning that Mr. Gideon Holt is the owner?" "You've done guessed it," admitted the miner complacently. He had a right to be proud of the team. It was a famous one even in the North. It had run second for two years in the Alaska Sweepstakes to Macdonald's great Siberian wolf-hounds. The leader Butch was the hero of a dozen races and a hundred savage fights. "What in Halifax do you want with the team?" asked Elliot, surprised. "The whole outfit must have cost a small fortune." "Some dust," admitted Gideon proudly. He winked mysteriously at Gordon. "I got a use for this team, if any one was to ask you." "Haven't taken the Government mail contract, have you?" "Not so you could notice it. I'll tell you what I want with this team, as the old sayin' is." Holt lowered his voice and narrowed slyly his little beadlike eyes. "I'm going to put a crimp in Colby Macdonald. That's what I aim to do with it." "How?" The miner beckoned Elliot closer and whispered in his ear. CHAPTER XXIII IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT