Captain Haas knew both of the dogs well. He had seen Jack turned from a career of rebellion and unrest to one of willing patient service; and Baldy, plodding, obscure, hard working Baldy, become the boast of the whole North.
"Here are the two," admiringly, "that please me most of all. McMillan's strength is superb—Baldy's endurance unparalleled. What War Dogs they would make! One I must have; it matters little which. The price—" he gave an eloquent gesture of complete indifference.
The Woman stroked Jack's sable muzzle gently. She thought of the old days when his name was once a symbol of all that was fierce and wolf-like and wicked in the annals of Nome; and then of his unbroken spirit and steadfast allegiance to her. "McMillan of the Broken Tusks," she said softly, "has no price."
Then, eagerly, "Baldy?"
"I cannot give Baldy up," was the firm reply. "He has led the team in three great victories; and he did not desert me when I lay freezing and helpless, alone in the snow." "Scotty's" hand rested lovingly on the ugly dark head pressed so tightly, so trustfully against him. "He's a wonderful leader and my faithful friend."
"I understand," the Captain said, and turned away. "The list is now complete."
And in the dusk of the Kennel, as once on the Golconda Trail, the boy's wet cheek was laid tenderly against the dog's rough coat; but the tears that fell now were tears of joy. "Oh, Baldy," he whispered happily, "some day you'll be with me Outside. We'll do things there some day."
Baldy of Nome