and unattractive
creature, whom no man had ever seen at play. But prior to Jan's arrival
he had been the unquestioned chief and master among R.N.W.M.P. dogs.

"Surly old devil, Sourdough," men had been wont to say of him; "but, by
gee! there's no getting around him; you can't fool Sourdough. He'd go
for a grizzly, if the grizzly wouldn't give him the trail. Aye, he's a
hard case, all right, is Sourdough. You can't faze him."

And Sergeant Moore, without ever moving a muscle in his mahogany face
(all the skin of which was indurated from chin to scalp with the finest
of fine-drawn lines) had yet been moved to rare delight by such remarks.
He hugged them to him. He gloried in all such tributes to Sourdough's
dourness.

"Aye, you're tough, Old-Timer," he had been heard to growl to his dog;
"you're a hard case, all right. There isn't a soft hair on you, is
there, Sourdough? And they all know it. They may squeal, but they've got
to give trail when Sourdough comes along."

There were times when he would cuff the dog, or snatch his food from
him, for the sheer delight of hearing the beast snarl--as he always
would--at his own master.

"What a husky!" he would say in an ecstasy of admiration. "You'd go for
me if I gave you half a chance, wouldn't you, Sourdough? And I don't
blame you, you old tough."

And now it seemed the barracks had no time to note Sourdough's
implacable sourness; everybody was too busy praising that sleek,
well-groomed brute from England, of whom the sergeant thought very much
as some savage old-timers think of tenderfeet and remittance men, but
with a deal more of bitterness in his contempt.

"But Sourdough will spoil your fine coat for you, my gentleman, the
first time you come in our way," the sergeant would mutter to himself
when he chanced to see Dick giving Jan his morning brush-down after
Paddy was groomed.

He had been foiled half a dozen times in his attempts to get Sourdough
into Paddy's stall when Jan was there and Dick Vaughan engaged in any
way elsewhere. It seemed that some of Dick's comrades were always on
hand to bar the way; and, for appearance's sake, the sergeant could not
have it said that he had deliberately brought about a fight between his
dog and the valued hound of an officer, who was everybody's favorite.

"They're afraid, Sourdough, that's what it is; they're afraid you might
chew up the overgrown brute and spit him out in scraps about the yard.
Let 'em wait. We'll give