omething
happened--and you didn't go. It wasn't the same when I got back, an'
SHE wasn't the same, Miki. Lord, she'd got married, AND HAD TWO KIDS!
Think of that, old scout--TWO! How the deuce could she have taken care
of you and the cub, eh? And nothing else was the same, Boy. Three years
in God's Country--up here where you burst your lungs just for the fun
of drinking in air--changed me a lot, I guess. Inside a week I wanted
to come back, Miki. Yessir, I was SICK to come back. So I came. And
we're going to stick now, Miki. You're going with me up to that new
Post the Company has given me. From now on we're pals. Understand, old
scout, we're PALS!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was late the night of the big feast at Post Fort O' God that
MacDonnell, the factor, sent for Challoner. Challoner was preparing for
bed when an Indian boy pounded on the door of his shack and a moment
later gave him the message. He looked at his watch. It was eleven
o'clock. What could the Factor want of him at that hour, he wondered?
Flat on his belly near the warm box stove Miki watched his new-found
master speculatively as he pulled on his boots. His eyes were wide open
now. Challoner had washed from him the blood of the terrific fight of
that afternoon.

"Something to do with that devil of a Durant," growled Challoner,
looking at the battle-scarred dog. "Well, if he hopes to get YOU again,
Miki, he's barking up the wrong tree. You're MINE!"

Miki thumped his hard tail on the floor and wriggled toward his master
in mute adoration. Together they went out into the night.

It was a night of white moonlight and a multitude of stars. The four
great fires over which the caribou had roasted for the savage barbecue
that day were still burning brightly. In the edge of the forest that
ringed in the Post were the smouldering embers of a score of smaller
fires. Back of these fires were faintly outlined the gray shadows of
teepees and tents. In these shelters the three hundred halfbreeds and
Indians who had come in from the forest trails to the New Year carnival
at the Post were sleeping. Only here and there was there a movement of
life. Even the dogs were quiet after the earlier hours of excitement
and gluttony.

Past the big fires, with their huge spits still standing, Challoner
passed toward the Factor's quarters. Miki sniffed at the freshly picked
bones. Beyond these bones there was no sign of the two thousand pounds
of flesh that had roast