dog that turned wild and joined a
wolf-pack. It's a wonderful book, but I don't believe it. A white
man's dog wants a white man for a friend, and if he loses one he'll
keep traveling until he finds another. That's the way a white man's
dog is, and that's why you come back to us, poor old dear." She
stooped and patted the shaggy head.

"I'll tell you what," she murmured, after a moment's reflection. "If
the fish keep running, if the wild ducks come north, or the walrus come
barking in from Bering Sea, then you can stay with us and get sleek and
fat. You can sleep by our door in the hallway every night, and if
anyone comes prowling around, you can ask them what they want. How's
zat?"

The dog howled his approval.

Marian smiled, and turning went into the cabin. The dog did not belong
to them. He was an old and decrepit leader, deserted by a faithless
master. He had adopted their cabin as his home. When food had become
scarce, they had been forced to give him to an Eskimo traveling up the
coast. Now, in five days he was back again. Marian was not sure that
Lucile would approve of the arrangement she had made with the dog, but
when her heart prompted her, she could only follow its promptings.

She had hardly entered the cabin than she heard a growl from the dog,
followed by the voice of a stranger.

"Down, Rover!" she shouted, as she sprang to the door.

The man who stood before her was badly dressed and unshaven. His eyes
bore a shifty gleam.

"Get out, you cur!" He kicked at the dog with his heavy boot.

Marian's eyes flashed, but she said nothing.

"This the post office?" The man attempted a smile.

"Yes, sir."

"'S there a letter here for me?"

"I don't know," she smiled. "Won't you come in?"

The man came inside.

"Now," she said, "I'll see. What is your name?"

"Ben--" he hesitated. "Oh--that don't matter. Won't be addressed to
my name. Addressed like that."

He drew from his pocket a closely-folded, dirt-begrimed envelope.

Marian's heart stopped beating. The envelope was blue--yes, the very
shade of blue of that other in the pigeon-hole. And it was addressed:
Phi Beta Ki, Nome, Alaska.

"Is there a letter here like that?" the man demanded, squinting at her
through blood-shot eyes.

It was a tense moment. What should she say? She loathed the man;
feared him, as well. Yet he had asked for the letter and had offered
better proof than the mysterious college boy had. Wh