he
leader of the foremost sled uttered a sharp whine of satisfaction,
crouching lower in the snow and throwing himself against the collar.
The rest followed suit.

There was an ingathering of back hands, a tightening of traces; the
sleds leaped forward, and the men clung to the gee poles, violently
accelerating the uplift of their feet that they might escape going
under the runners. The weariness of the day fell from them, and they
whooped encouragement to the dogs. The animals responded with joyous
yelps. They were swinging through the gathering darkness at a rattling
gallop.

'Gee! Gee!' the men cried, each in turn, as their sleds abruptly left
the main trail, heeling over on single runners like luggers on the wind.

Then came a hundred yards' dash to the lighted parchment window, which
told its own story of the home cabin, the roaring Yukon stove, and the
steaming pots of tea. But the home cabin had been invaded. Threescore
huskies chorused defiance, and as many furry forms precipitated
themselves upon the dogs which drew the first sled. The door was flung
open, and a man, clad in the scarlet tunic of the Northwest Police,
waded knee-deep among the furious brutes, calmly and impartially
dispensing soothing justice with the butt end of a dog whip. After that
the men shook hands; and in this wise was Malemute Kid welcomed to his
own cabin by a stranger.

Stanley Prince, who should have welcomed him, and who was responsible
for the Yukon stove and hot tea aforementioned, was busy with his
guests. There were a dozen or so of them, as nondescript a crowd as
ever served the Queen in the enforcement of her laws or the delivery of
her mails. They were of many breeds, but their common life had formed
of them a certain type--a lean and wiry type, with trail-hardened
muscles, and sun-browned faces, and untroubled souls which gazed
frankly forth, clear-eyed and steady.

They drove the dogs of the Queen, wrought fear in the hearts of her
enemies, ate of her meager fare, and were happy. They had seen life,
and done deeds, and lived romances; but they did not know it.

And they were very much at home. Two of them were sprawled upon
Malemute Kid's bunk, singing chansons which their French forebears sang
in the days when first they entered the Northwest land and mated with
its Indian women. Bettles' bunk had suffered a similar invasion, and
three or four lusty voyageurs worked their toes among its blankets as
they listened to