The small stables were overcrowded, there being seventy dogs in camp belonging to storm-bound travelers.  It was necessary to chain them closer together than “Scotty” felt was wise, though he was not prepared for the tragedy that greeted him when he went out one morning to see that all was well with the team.

Every dog rose to greet him, as he came in with the Woman and Ben, except Wolf, who lay dead, strangled with his own collar.

The muscular body, so supple and vigorous but a short time before, was stiffening fast; and there were signs of a struggle desperate but ineffectual.

“Oh, ‘Scotty,’ can’t you do something for poor Wolf?” and the tears came to the Woman’s eyes as she laid a pitying hand on the handsome head of the tawny malamute.

“It’s too late,” said Allan regretfully.  “He was a good dog, too; and would have made a strong addition to the team, properly handled.”

A careful examination showed that on the left hind foot were traces of blood and marks of teeth; and there were but two dogs who could have reached Wolf to stretch him till he choked—­Baldy and Tom.

The Woman looked accusingly toward Baldy.  “I suppose he did it.  He probably does not realize how wicked it was, he has had so little discipline as yet.”

Anxious to defend the dog, Ben answered impulsively, “I’m quite sure Baldy wouldn’t do a thing like that.  He’s been friends with Wolf; I saw them playing together only yesterday.  And it really ain’t a bit like Baldy t’ be cruel an’ sneakin’—­t’ lay fer a dog that didn’t have a chance agin him.”

“But surely Tom, after all of his years of training, would not have attacked one of his own stable-mates.  Such a thing has never occurred before in our Kennel.  I fear, Ben, it must have been Baldy.”

But “Scotty” was not so confident.  “I agree with Ben; it’s not like Baldy.  I have never found him quarrelsome, nor vindictive.  And I hate, too, to believe Tom guilty.  You know I never punish a dog on circumstantial evidence; so I am afraid this cold-blooded murder will have to be passed over, unless we can be certain of the criminal.  There is always the possibility that a stray dog may have been responsible.”

“Well, don’t saddle it onto the Yellow Peril,” exclaimed the Big Man, who came in to see what was the matter.  “He is popularly supposed to start every dog fight in Nome; but this time he can prove a clear alibi, for he slept at the foot of my bed all night.”  Thus exonerated, the Peril passed by the line of chained dogs, bumping into them in a perfectly unnecessary manner, and emitting supercilious growls that in themselves would have been sufficient grounds for instant death if Pete Bernard’s huskies could have acted upon their unanimous opinion.

“It’s a terrible thing,” sighed the Woman, “to have a murderer in our midst and not know who it is.  It makes me feel positively creepy.”  And again, almost unconsciously, her glance fell upon Baldy.