t him. "I know something of
sledge-dogs, Josephine. These are not from mongrel breeds. There are no
hounds, no malemutes, none of the soft-footed breeds here. They are
WOLF!"

She rose and stood beside him, panting, triumphant, glorious.

"Yes--they've all got the strain of wolf," she said. "That is why I
love them, Philip. They are of the forests. AND I HAVE MADE THEM LOVE
ME!"

A yellow beast, with small, dangerous eyes, was leaping fiercely at the
end of his chain close to them. Philip pointed to him.

"And you would trust yourself THERE?" he exclaimed, catching her by the
arm.

"That is Hero," she said. "Once his name was Soldier. Three years ago a
man from Thoreau's Place offered me an insult in the woods, and Soldier
almost killed him. He would have killed him if I had not dragged him
off. From that day I called him Hero. He is a quarter-strain wolf."

She went to the husky, and the yellow giant leaped up against her, so
that her arms were about him, with his wolfish muzzle reaching for her
face. Under the cedars Philip's face was as white as the snow out in
the open. Josephine saw this, and came and put her arm through his
fondly.

"You are afraid for me, Philip?" she asked, with a little laugh of
pleasure at his anxiety. "You mustn't be, for you must love them--for
my sake. I have brought them all up from puppyhood. And they would
fight for me--just as you would fight for me, Philip. Once I was lost
in a storm. Father turned the dogs loose. And they found me--miles and
miles away. When you hear the wonderful stories I have to tell about
them you will love them. They will not harm you. They will harm nothing
that I have touched. I have taught them that. I am going to unleash
them now. Metoosin is coming along the trail with their frozen fish."

Before she had moved, Philip went straight up to the yellow creature
that she had told him was a quarter wolf.

"Hero," he spoke softly. "Hero--"

He held out his hands. The giant husky's eyes burned a deeper glow; for
an instant his upper lip drew back, baring his stiletto-like fangs, and
the hair along his neck and back stood up like a brush. Then, inch by
inch, his muzzle drew nearer to Philip's steady hands, and a low whine
rose in his throat. His crest drooped, his ears shot forward a little,
and Philip's hand rested on the wolfish head.

"That is proof," he laughed, turning to Josephine. "If he had snapped
off my hand I would say that you were wrong."