As if to avoid the sympathy he felt was forthcoming, he plunged hastily into the details that had led to the unexpected offer.  “I’m Ben Edwards.  Maybe you knew my father; he was killed in the cave-in on the June Fraction.  Baldy was only a little pup then, but Dad was awful fond of him.”

“I remember,” said the Woman thoughtfully; “and you have been in difficulties since, and need the money you could get for Baldy.  Is that it?”

“It ain’t only the money, but none o’ the men at the Camp care much fer Baldy, an’ they ain’t kind to him.  Only Moose Jones.  When he was here he wouldn’t let the men tease Baldy ner me, an’ he made the cook give me scraps an’ bones ter feed him.  An’ once he licked Black Mart fer throwin’ hot water on Baldy when he went ter the door o’ Mart’s cabin lookin’ fer me.  I think Moose Jones is the best man in the world, an’ about the strongest,” volunteered the boy loyally.

“And where’s Moose Jones now?” asked “Scotty.”  “I used to see him prospecting out near the Dexter Divide last winter.”

“He was at Dexter first, an’ then he was at Golconda fer a while; but in spring he went ter St. Michael, an’ from there up ter the new strike at Marshall.”

“And you miss him very much?” questioned the Woman.

“Yes, ma’am, I miss him a lot, an’ so does Baldy.  He was awful good ter animals an’ kids.  He had a pet ermine that ’ud come in ter see him every night in his cabin, an’ he wouldn’t let Mart an’ some o’ the fellers set a trap fer the red mother fox that was prowlin’ round the place t’ git somethin’ fer her babies.  Said he’d make trap-bait fer bears o’ the first feller that tried t’ git ’er.”

“Excellent idea.”

“Oh, he didn’t really mean it serious.  Why, Moose is so kind he hates ter kill anythin’—­even fer food.  Sometimes when he’s been livin’ on bacon an’ beans fer months, he lets a flock o’ young ptarmigan fly by him ‘cause he says they look so soft an’ pretty an’ fluttery he don’t like ter shoot ’em; an’ Moose is a dead shot.  He’s mighty handy with his fists too, an’ next ter Mr. Allan I guess Moose knows more about dogs than any man in Alaska; an’ he said he’d bet some day there’d be a reg’lar stampede ter buy Baldy.”

“A prophet,” exclaimed the Woman.  “You see we are the forerunners.  But who is Black Mart?”

“Oh, he’s a miner that’s workin’ the claim next ter Golconda.  He’s a friend o’ the cook there, an’ comes over ter eat pretty often.  Him and Moose had some trouble once over some minin’ ground, an’ Mart kinda takes it out on all Moose’s friends, even if they’s only boys an’ dogs, don’t he, Baldy?” And Baldy wagged that he certainly did.  “Now the cook says they’ve got work dogs enough belongin’ ter the claim ter feed, without supportin’ my mangy cur in idleness.  Mr. Allan,” earnestly, “he ain’t mangy, an’ he’s the most willin’ dog I ever seen fer any one that loves him.  But he ain’t sociable with every one, an’ he don’t like bein’ handled rough.”