one eighth of the stock of the
company formed to work the mines. The entries had been made, the fee
accepted by the Land Office, and receipts issued. In course of time
Macdonald had applied for patents.

Before these were issued the magazines began to pour in their
broadsides, and since then the papers had been held up.

The conscience of Macdonald was quite clear. The pioneers in Alaska were
building out of the Arctic waste a new empire for the United States, and
he held that a fair Government could do no less than offer them liberal
treatment. To lock up from present use vast resources needed by Alaskans
would be a mistaken policy, a narrow and perverted application of the
doctrine of conservation. The Territory should be thrown open to the
world. If capital were invited in to do its share of the building,
immigration would flow rapidly northward. Within the lives of the
present generation the new empire would take shape and wealth would pour
inevitably into the United States from its frozen treasure house.

The view held by Macdonald was one common to the whole Pacific Coast.
Seattle, Portland, San Francisco were a unit in the belief that the
Government had no right to close the door of Alaska and then put a
padlock upon it.

Feminine voices drifted from the outer office. Macdonald opened the door
to let in Mrs. Selfridge and Mrs. Mallory.

The latter lady, Paris-shod and gloved, shook hands smilingly with the
Scotch-Canadian. "Of course we're intruders in business hours, though
you'll tell us we're not," she suggested.

He was not a man to surrender easily to the spell of woman, but when he
looked into her deep-lidded, smouldering eyes something sultry beat in
his blood.

"Business may fly out of the window when Mrs. Mallory comes in at the
door," he answered.

"How gallant of you, especially when I've come with an impertinent
question." Her gay eyes mocked him as she spoke.

"Then I'll probably tell you to mind your own business," he laughed.
"Let's have your question."

"I've just been reading the 'Transcontinental Magazine.' A writer there
says that you are a highway robber and a gambler. I know you're a robber
because all the magazines say so. But are you only a big gambler?"

He met her raillery without the least embarrassment.

"Sure I gamble. Every time I take a chance I'm gambling. So does
everybody else. When you walk past the Flatiron Building you bet it
won't fall down and crush you. We've