Baldy of Nome | Page 6

while I'm kinda worked up to it. Mebbe ef I thought about it
fer a few days I wouldn't be able t' do it, an' he mightn't have another
chanct like this in his whole life."
He drew a frayed bit of rope from a torn pocket, and tied it to the old
strap that served as Baldy's collar--handing the end to "Scotty."
In the deepening shadows of the chill November dusk the boy's face

was ashen. He stooped over as if to see that the knot in the rope was
secure at the dog's neck--but the Woman knew in that brief instant the
trembling blue lips had been pressed in an agony of renunciation
against Baldy's rough coat.
"Thank you both very much," he said in a tone that he tried to keep
steady. "Thank you fer the ride and fer--fer everything."
He did not trust himself to look at the dog again, but stepped quickly
into the Golconda Trail.
"You must come to see Baldy often," the Woman called to him.
"Yes, ma'am, I'll be glad to--after a while," he replied gratefully.
And then as "Scotty" gave the word to the impatient Racers, and the
team swung round to return to Nome, there came to them out of the
grayness a voice, faint and quavering like an echo--"Some day you'll be
glad you've got Baldy."
[Illustration]

II
Where Every Dog Has His Day
[Illustration]

[Illustration]
CHAPTER II
WHERE EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY
Baldy's entrance into the Allan and Darling Kennel had failed to attract
the interest that the arrival of a new inmate usually created. He was an

accident, not an acquisition, and the little comment upon his presence
was generally unfavorable.
Even Matt, who took care of the dogs, and was a sort of godfather to
them all, shook his head dubiously over Baldy. "He don't seem to
belong here, someway," had been his mild criticism; while the Woman
complained to "Scotty" that he was one of the most unresponsive dogs
she had ever known.
"He's not exactly unresponsive," maintained "Scotty" justly; "but he's
self-contained, and it's hard for him to adjust himself to these recent
changes. It's all strange to him, and he misses the boy. You can't watch
him with Ben and say that he's not affectionate; but he gives his
affection slowly, and to but few people. One must earn it."
The Woman regarded Baldy with amused contempt. "So one must
work hard for his affection, eh? Well, with all of the attractive dogs
here willing to lavish their devotion upon us, I think it would hardly be
worth while trying to coax Baldy's reluctant tolerance into something
warmer."
"Scotty" admitted that Baldy could hardly be considered genial. "He's
like some people whose natures are immobile--inexpressive. It's going
to take a little while to find out if it's because there is nothing to express,
or because he is undemonstrative, and has to show by his conduct
rather than by his manners what there is to him."
It was true that Baldy was unmistakably ill at ease in his new quarters,
and did not feel at home; for he was accustomed neither to the luxuries
nor to the restrictions that surrounded him. His early experiences had
been distinctly plebeian and uninteresting, but they had been quite free
of control.
Born at one of the mining claims in the hills, of worthy hard-working
parents, he had, with the various other members of the family, been
raised to haul freight from town to the mine. But his attachment for Ben
Edwards had intervened, and before he was really old enough to be
thoroughly broken to harness, he had taken up his residence at

Golconda.
Here his desultory training continued, but a lesson in sled pulling was
almost invariably turned into a romp, so that he had only acquired the
rudiments of an education when he came under "Scotty's" supervision.
His complete ignorance in matters of deportment, and possibly, too, his
retiring disposition, made him feel an intruder in the exclusive coterie
about him; and certainly there was a pronounced lack of cordiality on
the part of most of the dogs toward him. This was especially true of
Tom, Dick, and Harry, the famous Tolman brothers, who were the
Veterans of Alaska Dog Racing, and so had a standing in the Kennel
that none dared question. That is, none save Dubby, who recognized no
standard other than his own; and that standard took no cognizance of
Racers as Racers. They were all just dogs--good or bad--to Dubby.
The fact that Tom, Dick, and Harry had been in every one of those
unique dashes across the snow-swept wastes of Seward Peninsula, from
Bering Sea to the Arctic Ocean and return, and had never been "out of
the money," did