“We’ll play fair,” Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her assurances.
“I know the ways of women,” he announced. “Their hearts is soft. When their hearts is touched they’re likely to stack the cards, look at the bottom of the deck, an’ lie—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am—I’m only discoursin’ about women in general.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Madge quavered.
“I don’t see as you’ve got any call to thank me,” he replied; “Brown ain’t decided yet. Now, you won’t mind if I go away slow. It’s no more’n fair, seein’ I’ll be out of sight inside a hundred yards.”
Madge agreed and added, “And I promise you faithfully that we won’t do anything to influence him.”
“Well, then, I might as well be gettin’ along,” Skiff Miller said, in the ordinary tones of one departing.
At this change in his voice Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore-paws on her hip and at the same time licking Skiff Miller’s hand. When the latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both men’s hands.
“It ain’t no picnic, I can tell you that,” were the Klondiker’s last words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail.
For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and retrace his steps. Then, with a quick, low whine, Wolf sprang after him, overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant tenderness and strove gently to make him pause.
Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the retreating man.