By Jack London
The Klondiker’s face took on a contemptuous expression as he said finally, “I reckon there’s nothin’ in sight to prevent me takin’ the dog right here an’ now.”
Walt’s face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively into the breach.
“Maybe Mr. Miller is right,” she said. “I’m afraid that he is. Wolf does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of Brown. He made friends with him instantly, and you know that’s something he never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He was bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller.”
Walt’s striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with hopelessness.
“I guess you’re right, Madge,” he said. “Wolf isn’t Wolf, but Brown, and he must belong to Mr. Miller.”
“Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him?” she suggested. “We can buy him.”
Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to be generous in response to generousness.
“I had five dogs,” he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper his refusal. “He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. Nothin’ could touch ’em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high then anyway; but that wasn’t what made the fancy price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelve hundred for him. I didn’t sell ’m then an’ I ain’t a-sellin’ ’m now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I’ve ben lookin’ for ’m for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he’d ben stole—not the value of him, but the—well, I liked ’m. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I seen ’m just now. I thought I was dreamin’. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put ’m to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and I brought ’m up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn’t afford it in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me.”
Madge began to speak: