Your tobaeco, Phil!"

In a dazed fashion Philip handed his tobacco pouch to the Swede.

"You said--Princess Celie--the Duke of Rugni--"

Olaf nodded as he stuffed his pipe bowl.

"That's it. Armin is the Duke of Rugni, whatever Rugni is. He was
chased off to Siberia a good many years ago, when Celie was a kid, that
somebody else could get hold of the Dukedom. Understand? Millions in
it, I suppose. He says some of Rasputin's old friends were behind it,
and that for a long time he was kept in the dungeons of the fortress of
St. Peter and St. Paul, with the Neva River running over his head. The
friends he had, most of them in exile or chased out of the country,
thought he was dead, and some of these friends were caring for Celie.
Just after Rasputin was killed, and before the Revolution broke out,
they learned Armin was alive and dying by inches somewhere up on the
Siberian coast. Celie's mother was Danish--died almost before Celie
could remember; but some of her relatives and a bunch of Russian exiles
in London framed up a scheme to get Armin back, chartered a ship,
sailed with Celie on board, and--"

Olaf paused to light his pipe.

"And they found the Duke," he added. "They escaped with him before they
learned of the Revolution, or Armin could have gone home with the rest
of the Siberian exiles and claimed his rights. For a lot of reasons
they put him aboard an American whaler, and the whaler missed its plans
by getting stuck in the ice for the winter up in Coronation Gulf. After
that they started out with dogs and sledge and guides. There's a lot
more, but that's the meat of it, Phil. I'm going to leave it to you to
learn Celie's language and get the details first-hand from her. But
she's a right enough princess, old man. And her Dad's a duke. It's up
to you to Americanize 'em. Eh, what's that?"

Celie had come from the cabin and was standing at Philip's side,
looking up into his face, and the light which Olaf saw unhidden in her
eyes made him laugh softly:

"And you've got the job half done, Phil. The Duke may go back and raise
the devil with the people who put him in cold storage, but Lady Celie
is going to like America. Yessir, she's going to like it better'n any
other place on the face of the earth!"

It was late that afternoon, traveling slowly southward over the trail
of the Coppermine, when they heard far behind them the wailing cry of
Bram Johnson's wolves. The sound came only once, like the swelling