of their cages. Harker's dog was
a combination of Great Dane and mastiff, born in the North, and bred to
the traces. Betting favored him by the odds of two to one. Occasionally
it ran three to one. At these odds there was plenty of Kazan money.
Those who were risking their money on him were the older wilderness
men--men who had spent their lives among dogs, and who knew what the red
glint in Kazan's eyes meant. An old Kootenay miner spoke low in
another's ear:

"I'd bet on 'im even. I'd give odds if I had to. He'll fight all around
the Dane. The Dane won't have no method."

"But he's got the weight," said the other dubiously. "Look at his jaws,
an' his shoulders--"

"An' his big feet, an' his soft throat, an' the clumsy thickness of his
belly," interrupted the Kootenay man. "For Gawd's sake, man, take my
word for it, an' don't put your money on the Dane!"

Others thrust themselves between them. At first Kazan had snarled at all
these faces about him. But now he lay back against the boarded side of
the cage and eyed them sullenly from between his forepaws.

The fight was to be pulled off in Barker's place, a combination of
saloon and cafe. The benches and tables had been cleared out and in the
center of the one big room a cage ten feet square rested on a platform
three and a half feet from the floor. Seats for the three hundred
spectators were drawn closely around this. Suspended just above the open
top of the cage were two big oil lamps with glass reflectors.

It was eight o'clock when Harker, McTrigger and two other men bore Kazan
to the arena by means of the wooden bars that projected from the bottom
of his cage. The big Dane was already in the fighting cage. He stood
blinking his eyes in the brilliant light of the reflecting lamps. He
pricked up his ears when he saw Kazan. Kazan did not show his fangs.
Neither revealed the expected animosity. It was the first they had seen
of each other, and a murmur of disappointment swept the ranks of the
three hundred men. The Dane remained as motionless as a rock when Kazan
was prodded from his own cage into the fighting cage. He did not leap or
snarl. He regarded Kazan with a dubious questioning poise to his
splendid head, and then looked again to the expectant and excited faces
of the waiting men. For a few moments Kazan stood stiff-legged, facing
the Dane. Then his shoulders dropped, and he, too, coolly faced the
crowd that had expected a fight to the death. A laugh of d