baby. All else was a chaos of
uncertainty and of dark menace. Twice when the Indian came up close
behind them Miki whirled about with a savage snarl. Challoner watched
him, and understood.

Of the pictures in his brain one stood out above all others, definite
and unclouded, and that was the picture of Nanette. Yes, even above
Challoner himself. There lived in him the consciousness of her gentle
hands; her sweet, soft voice; the perfume of her hair and clothes and
body--the WOMAN of her; and a part of the woman--as the hand is a part
of the body--was the baby. It was this part of Miki that Challoner
could not understand, and which puzzled him when they made camp that
night. He sat for a long time beside the fire trying to bring back the
old comradeship of the days of Miki's puppyhood. But he only partly
succeeded. Miki was restive. Every nerve in his body seemed on edge.
Again and again he faced the west, and always when he sniffed the air
in that direction there came a low whine in his throat.

That night, with doubt in his heart, Challoner fastened him near the
tent with a tough rope of babiche.

For a long time after Challoner had gone to bed Miki sat on his
haunches close to the spruce to which he was fastened. It must have
been ten o'clock, and the night was so still that the snap of a dying
ember in the fire was like the crack of a whip to his ears. Miki's eyes
were wide open and alert. Near the slowly burning logs, wrapped in his
thick blankets, he could make out the motionless form of the Indian,
asleep. Back of him the sledge-dogs had wallowed their beds in the snow
and were silent. The moon was almost straight overhead, and a mile or
two away a wolf pointed his muzzle to the radiant glow of it and
howled. The sound, like a distant calling voice, added new fire to the
growing thrill in Miki's blood. He turned in the direction of the
wailing voice. He wanted to call back. He wanted to throw up his head
and cry out to the forests, and the moon, and the starlit sky. But only
his jaws clicked, and he looked at the tent in which Challoner was
sleeping. He dropped down upon his belly in the snow. But his head was
still alert and listening. The moon had already begun its westward
decline. The fire burned out until the logs were only a dull and
slumbering glow; the hand of Challoner's watch passed midnight, and
still Miki was wide-eyed and restless in the thrill of the thing that
was upon him. And then at last The C