(still closely attended by Jan, upon whom one of the
impressions produced by his return to the complex conditions of
civilization was an anxious fear that his sovereign lord would somehow
be spirited away from him if he ever let Dick out of his sight) was
called upon to face a raking fire of compliments from his commanding
officer, delivered in the presence of a full muster of commissioned and
non-commissioned ranks.

"You have done your duty finely as a sergeant of the Royal North-west
Mounted Police, and, for us who know what it means, I don't know that
the ablest man in the country can hope to earn higher praise than that."

Those were the chief's concluding words, and the full-throated, if
somewhat hoarse, cheer which they elicited from the men assembled behind
Dick and Jan, as well as from the group beside the chief, had the
curious effect of filling Dick's eyes with moisture of a sort that
pricked most painfully, so that as he came to the salute before retiring
he saw the familiar buildings in front of him but dimly, as through a
fog.

XXXVIII

THE FALL OF SOURDOUGH

Just before darkness fell that evening Captain Arnutt called Dick from
his quarters and asked him to go for a stroll. Together, and closely
followed by Jan, they started. Before the barracks gate was reached they
were met by Sergeant Moore, with Sourdough at his heels.

Sourdough had aged a good deal during the past year, but despite the
twist in his near fore leg, which caused him to limp slightly, the old
dog still held his own as despotic ruler of all the dogs in that
locality. But for a good many years he had done no work of any kind,
neither had he had any very serious fighting or come in contact with
northland dogs. His swiftest movements would have seemed clumsy and slow
to the working husky, inured to the comparative wildness of trace life
in the north. But his morose arrogance and ferocity had suffered no
diminution, as was shown by the fact that he flew straight for Jan's
throat directly he set eyes on the big hound.

"Call your dog off, Sergeant, or he'll be killed," shouted Dick.

Sergeant Moore spake no word. In his queer heart intelligence of Dick's
fame rankled bitterly, yet not so bitterly as the fact of Jan's return
to barracks. His obsession made him certain in his own mind that the
redoubtable Sourdough could certainly kill any dog. And so he spake no
word while Sourdough flew at Jan.

And for Jan, as he caught s