leaped down upon the white snow, but when he saw no one there, he stood rigid, sniffing the air.  Over him were the stars he had howled at all his life, and about him were the forests, black and silent, shutting them in like a wall.  Vainly he sought for that one scent that was missing, and Thorpe heard the low note of grief in his shaggy throat.  He took the lantern and held it above his head, at the same time loosening his hold on the leash.  At that signal there came a voice from out of the night.  It came from behind them, and Kazan whirled so suddenly that the loosely held chain slipped from the man’s hand.  He saw the glow of other lanterns.  And then, once more, the voice—­

“Kaa-aa-zan!”

He was off like a bolt.  Thorpe laughed to himself as he followed.

“The old pirate!” he chuckled.

When he came to the lantern-lighted space back of the caboose, Thorpe found Kazan crouching down at a woman’s feet.  It was Thorpe’s wife.  She smiled triumphantly at him as he came up out of the gloom.

“You’ve won!” he laughed, not unhappily.  “I’d have wagered my last dollar he wouldn’t do that for any voice on earth.  You’ve won!  Kazan, you brute, I’ve lost you!”

His face suddenly sobered as Isobel stooped to pick up the end of the chain.

“He’s yours, Issy,” he added quickly, “but you must let me care for him until—­we know.  Give me the chain.  I won’t trust him even now.  He’s a wolf.  I’ve seen him take an Indian’s hand off at a single snap.  I’ve seen him tear out another dog’s jugular in one leap.  He’s an outlaw—­a bad dog—­in spite of the fact that he hung to me like a hero and brought me out alive.  I can’t trust him.  Give me the chain—­”

He did not finish.  With the snarl of a wild beast Kazan had leaped to his feet.  His lips drew up and bared his long fangs.  His spine stiffened, and with a sudden cry of warning, Thorpe dropped a hand to the revolver at his belt.

Kazan paid no attention to him.  Another form had approached out of the night, and stood now in the circle of illumination made by the lanterns.  It was McCready, who was to accompany Thorpe and his young wife back to the Red River camp, where Thorpe was in charge of the building of the new Trans-continental.  The man was straight, powerfully built and clean shaven.  His jaw was so square that it was brutal, and there was a glow in his eyes that was almost like the passion in Kazan’s as he looked at Isobel.

Her red and white stocking-cap had slipped free of her head and was hanging over her shoulder.  The dull blaze of the lanterns shone in the warm glow of her hair.  Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes, suddenly turned to him, were as blue as the bluest bakneesh flower and glowed like diamonds.  McCready shifted his gaze, and instantly her hand fell on Kazan’s head.  For the first time the dog did not seem to feel her touch.  He still snarled at McCready, the rumbling menace in his throat growing deeper.  Thorpe’s wife tugged at the chain.