er saw a man take on so in my life. And when I said I'd let him have
it, had to yank him out of the snow again. Told him to consider it in
the light of a grubstake. Think he'd have it? No sir! Swore he'd give
me all he found, make me rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and all
such stuff. Now a man who puts his life and time against a grubstake
ordinarily finds it hard enough to turn over half of what he finds.
Something behind all this, Prince; just you make a note of it. We'll
hear of him if he stays in the country--' 'And if he doesn't?' 'Then my
good nature gets a shock, and I'm sixty some odd ounces out.' The cold
weather had come on with the long nights, and the sun had begun to play
his ancient game of peekaboo along the southern snow line ere aught was
heard of Malemute Kid's grubstake. And then, one bleak morning in early
January, a heavily laden dog train pulled into his cabin below Stuart
River. He of the Otter Skins was there, and with him walked a man such
as the gods have almost forgotten how to fashion. Men never talked of
luck and pluck and five-hundred-dollar dirt without bringing in the
name of Axel Gunderson; nor could tales of nerve or strength or daring
pass up and down the campfire without the summoning of his presence.
And when the conversation flagged, it blazed anew at mention of the
woman who shared his fortunes.

As has been noted, in the making of Axel Gunderson the gods had
remembered their old-time cunning and cast him after the manner of men
who were born when the world was young. Full seven feet he towered in
his picturesque costume which marked a king of Eldorado. His chest,
neck, and limbs were those of a giant. To bear his three hundred pounds
of bone and muscle, his snowshoes were greater by a generous yard than
those of other men. Rough-hewn, with rugged brow and massive jaw and
unflinching eyes of palest blue, his face told the tale of one who knew
but the law of might. Of the yellow of ripe corn silk, his
frost-incrusted hair swept like day across the night and fell far down
his coat of bearskin.

A vague tradition of the sea seemed to cling about him as he swung down
the narrow trail in advance of the dogs; and he brought the butt of his
dog whip against Malemute Kid's door as a Norse sea rover, on southern
foray, might thunder for admittance at the castle gate.

Prince bared his womanly arms and kneaded sour-dough bread, casting, as
he did so, many a glance at the three guests--