he animals in their charge."

"I suppose it's true," sighed the Woman, "that we cannot go on
accumulating dogs indefinitely; that some of them must be sold from time
to time. And I, too, would rather see them go like this than to feel
they might suffer worse hardships and abuses on the Trail."

"Scotty" met them at the door of the Kennel. "Come in, and we'll all go
over the place together. It will not take long now to make up the rest
of the required number," and he skimmed quickly over the paper in his
hand.

Matt, hovering near, doing unnecessary things for the dogs, was plainly
much disturbed. George and Dan, full of a war atmosphere produced by the
French officer, and a kennel and corral guarded night and day, conversed
eagerly of the important affairs that were happening about them; while
Ben, listening apparently to their serious discussions of the European
situation, as likely to be affected by this purchase, was in reality
beset with a dread that drove all else from his mind.

"It's going to be a hard choice," the Woman mused as she glanced down
the long line of stalls on either side, and one end, of the roomy
stable.

"Scotty" paused before the Mego dogs that had fought so valiantly for
first honors in the Juvenile Race.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN HAAS OF THE FRENCH ARMY, AND HIS ALASKAN SLEDGES]

"Excellent," observed Captain Haas, as he looked them over carefully.
"Strong, intelligent, fleet," and "Scotty" wrote the names of Judge,
Jimmie and Pete.

"I knew I was a pretty good judge o' dogs," announced Dan with pleased
conviction; "but there's some class t' bein' a judge backed up by the
French Government," and he regarded his former team with mingled
feelings of regret and satisfaction.

On they went, adding name after name to the fast growing list.

"Not Tom, Dick and Harry," the Woman exclaimed as they came to the
Tolmans. "These Veterans have served us too long and too loyally." And
"Scotty" nodded silently.

"Irish and Rover?"

But before the question could be answered, the gentle Irish Setters
gazed into her eyes beseechingly, and nosed her sleeve, confident of a
caress.

"Impossible," she murmured hastily; "they are our dear comrades. And
Spot," with an emphatic shake of the head, "belongs to George."

Finally they paused at the last two stalls and looked from Jack
McMillan to Baldy. McMillan tugged violently at his chain, striving to
reach the Woman; while Baldy, as though he understood