nt, to the
preparations of the departing travelers. In the cabin of young Harlan,
which had been the home of the deceased Add-'em-up Sam were shelves
laden with dusty books, old magazines and piles of ancient newspapers.
At Kayak Bill's suggestion the bookkeeper had packed the best of these
into a box and the old hootch-maker had borne the package to Jean,
remarking that "readin' matter might come in mighty handy on the
Island." The box was placed with Shane's outfit stacked in a corner of
the store.

Ellen and Jean were looking through the collection one afternoon,
judging the departed Sam by his taste in literature, which they found
to be surprisingly good. As Jean turned the pages of _Treasure
Island_, a paper fluttered to the floor. The girl picked it up,
reading aloud the caption over a crude, penciled map: "The Island of
Kon Klayu." She unfolded it and was smoothing out the creases that she
might better study the drawing when Loll came running in from the
platform in front of the store. His freckled face was puckered with
suppressed grief, his grey eyes abrim with the tears he was too proud
to shed.

"Mother--Jean--look at poor Kobuk," he faltered, with a gulp that
threatened to send the drops tumbling over his brown cheeks.

Kobuk, the big huskie, had wagged himself into the hearts of every
member of the Boreland family. Ellen knew that Shane had offered the
White Chief a good price for the animal, but the trader had refused to
part with his lead dog. Even when it was discovered that the huskie
had developed mange Kilbuck would not give him up, though he did
nothing to relieve him. Shane, busy with his outfitting, found time to
take care of Kobuk, rubbing him every day with a mixture of sulphur,
lard and carbolic acid until he was practically cured. Jean and Loll
had attended these treatments taking turns holding the bowl of sulphur
salve and encouraging the restive Kobuk to be a good dog and take his
medicine. Now it was with the utmost pity and concern that they beheld
him slinking to his corner in the store, for he had been out on a
porcupine hunt and his nose, his entire head was literally bristling
with needle-like quills.

Ellen had seen irate dog-owners spend hours with a pair of pinchers
removing quills from their animals, and she knew that even one of those
tiny needles, if overlooked, could work its way straight through
Kobuk's body. If it struck a vital organ, he would die.

The dog