laining. His mind's retina vibrated to a score of pictures, stern,
clear-cut, and the hand of the past drew back with heavy fingers on his
heart. It was the psychological moment. Malemute Kid was half-tempted
to play his reserve card and win the game; but the lesson was too mild
as yet, and he let it pass. The next instant they had gripped hands,
and the King's beaded moccasins were drawing protests from the outraged
snow as he crunched down the hill.

Madeline in collapse was another woman to the mischievous creature of
an hour before, whose laughter had been so infectious and whose
heightened color and flashing eyes had made her teachers for the while
forget. Weak and nerveless, she sat in the chair just as she had been
dropped there by Prince and Harrington.

Malemute Kid frowned. This would never do. When the time of meeting her
husband came to hand, she must carry things off with high-handed
imperiousness. It was very necessary she should do it after the manner
of white women, else the victory would be no victory at all. So he
talked to her, sternly, without mincing of words, and initiated her
into the weaknesses of his own sex, till she came to understand what
simpletons men were after all, and why the word of their women was law.

A few days before Thanksgiving Night, Malemute Kid made another call on
Mrs. Eppingwell. She promptly overhauled her feminine fripperies, paid
a protracted visit to the dry-goods department of the P. C. Company,
and returned with the Kid to make Madeline's acquaintance. After that
came a period such as the cabin had never seen before, and what with
cutting, and fitting, and basting, and stitching, and numerous other
wonderful and unknowable things, the male conspirators were more often
banished the premises than not. At such times the Opera House opened
its double storm-doors to them.

So often did they put their heads together, and so deeply did they
drink to curious toasts, that the loungers scented unknown creeks of
incalculable richness, and it is known that several checha-quas and at
least one Old-Timer kept their stampeding packs stored behind the bar,
ready to hit the trail at a moment's notice.

Mrs. Eppingwell was a woman of capacity; so, when she turned Madeline
over to her trainers on Thanksgiving Night she was so transformed that
they were almost afraid of her. Prince wrapped a Hudson Bay blanket
about her with a mock reverence more real than feigned, while Malemute
Kid