utfit you mak' de beeg
money--you ain' care eef de gol' aint' dere."

"You meaning trading with the Indians--free trading?"

"Yes--de free traders skin 'em--dey cheat 'em--an' sell de hooch----"

"But--the Hudson's Bay Company! How about them?"

"De H.B.C. all right--but dey ain' go out after de Injun. Dey got de
reg'lar post. De Injun got to mush mebbe-so mor' as hondre mile--two
hondre. _Spose_ de free traders ketch um firs'. De Injun never git to de
post. You got nuff for de stake?"

Connie laughed: "Yes, I've got enough for the stake, all right. But I'm
not so keen for the trading outfit. We can take along some traps,
though, and if there isn't any gold--we'll take out some fur. And,
you'll sure go with me? When can you start?"

The Indian glanced out of the low door. "It daylight--le's go."

"But, how about the Kuskokwim?"

'Merican Joe shrugged. "Kuskokwim kin wait. She ain' no good. Me--I'm
stay 'long wit' you. You pay me wages w'at you want. I good man--me. You
wait--I show you. You good man, too. I seen plent' good man--plent' bad
man--I know--me."

The Indian reached out his hand, and Connie shook it--and thus was the
bargain struck.

"Will you sell Leloo?" asked the boy.

The Indian shook his head: "No!"

"Five hundred dollars?"

"No! Fi' hondre dolla--fi't'ousan' dolla--no!" The Indian crawled out
the door followed by Connie and Leloo. Going to the sled, 'Merican Joe
picked up a loop of _babiche_ line and threw it about Leloo's neck. He
handed the end of the line to Connie. "Leloo heem you dog," he said.

"What!" cried the boy.

"Heem b'long you--I giv' heem----"

"No! No! Let me buy him."

The Indian drew himself erect: "I ain' sell Leloo. You giv' me my
life--I giv' you Leloo. Me--'Merican Joe good man. You good man. Wan
good man wit' anodder. It ees frien's."

So Connie Morgan took the line from the hand of 'Merican Joe and as his
eyes rested upon the superb lines of the great silver brute, his heart
thrilled with the knowledge that he was the possessor of the greatest
wolf-dog in all the North.

CHAPTER III

NERVE

On the morning after Connie Morgan had hit the trail for the avowed
purpose of capturing the huge wolf-dog that had been reported on Spur
Mountain, his big partner, Waseche Bill, lighted his pipe and gazed
thoughtfully through the window of the little log office which was
situated on the bank of Ten Bow Creek, overlooking the workings. His
eyes strayed from