The Son of the Wolf

by Jack London

  The Wife of a King

  Once when the northland was very young, the social and civic virtueswere remarkably alike for their paucity and their simplicity. When theburden of domestic duties grew grievous, and the fireside mood expandedto a constant protest against its bleak loneliness, the adventurersfrom the Southland, in lieu of better, paid the stipulated prices andtook unto themselves native wives. It was a foretaste of Paradise tothe women, for it must be confessed that the white rovers gave farbetter care and treatment of them than did their Indian copartners. Ofcourse, the white men themselves were satisfied with such deals, aswere also the Indian men for that matter. Having sold their daughtersand sisters for cotton blankets and obsolete rifles and traded theirwarm furs for flimsy calico and bad whisky, the sons of the soilpromptly and cheerfully succumbed to quick consumption and other swiftdiseases correlated with the blessings of a superior civilization.

  It was in these days of Arcadian simplicity that Cal Galbraithjourneyed through the land and fell sick on the Lower River. It was arefreshing advent in the lives of the good Sisters of the Holy Cross,who gave him shelter and medicine; though they little dreamed of thehot elixir infused into his veins by the touch of their soft hands andtheir gentle ministrations. Cal Galbraith, became troubled with strangethoughts which clamored for attention till he laid eyes on the Missiongirl, Madeline. Yet he gave no sign, biding his time patiently. Hestrengthened with the coming spring, and when the sun rode the heavensin a golden circle, and the joy and throb of life was in all the land,he gathered his still weak body together and departed.

  Now, Madeline, the Mission girl, was an orphan. Her white father hadfailed to give a bald-faced grizzly the trail one day, and had diedquickly. Then her Indian mother, having no man to fill the wintercache, had tried the hazardous experiment of waiting till thesalmon-run on fifty pounds of flour and half as many of bacon. Afterthat, the baby, Chook-ra, went to live with the good Sisters, and to bethenceforth known by another name.

  But Madeline still had kinsfolk, the nearest being a dissolute unclewho outraged his vitals with inordinate quantities of the white man'swhisky. He strove daily to walk with the gods, and incidentally, hisfeet sought shorter trails to the grave. When sober he sufferedexquisite torture. He had no conscience. To this ancient vagabond CalGalbraith duly presented himself, and they consumed many words and muchtobacco in the conversation that followed. Promises were also made; andin the end the old heathen took a few pounds of dried salmon and hisbirch-bark canoe, and paddled away to the Mission of the Holy Cross.

  It is not given the world to know what promises he made and what lieshe told--the Sisters never gossip; but when he returned, upon hisswarthy chest there was a brass crucifix, and in his canoe his nieceMadeline. That night there was a grand wedding and a potlach; so thatfor two days to follow there was no fishing done by the village. But inthe morning Madeline shook the dust of the Lower River from hermoccasins, and with her husband, in a poling-boat, went to live on theUpper River in a place known as the Lower Country. And in the yearswhich followed she was a good wife, sharing her husband's hardships andcooking his food. And she kept him in straight trails, till he learnedto save his dust and to work mightily. In the end, he struck it richand built a cabin in Circle City; and his happiness was such that menwho came to visit him in his home-circle became restless at the sightof it and envied him greatly.

  But the Northland began to mature and social amenities to make theirappearance.

  Hitherto, the Southland had sent forth its sons; but it now belchedforth a new exodus--this time of its daughters. Sisters and wives theywere not; but they did not fail to put new ideas in the heads of themen, and to elevate the tone of things in ways peculiarly their own. Nomore did the squaws gather at the dances, go roaring down the center inthe good, old Virginia reels, or make merry with jolly 'Dan Tucker.'They fell back on their natural stoicism and uncomplainingly watchedthe rule of their white sisters from their cabins.

  Then another exodus came over the mountains from the prolific Southland.

  This time it was of women that became mighty in the land. Their wordwas law; their law was steel. They frowned upon the Indian wives, whilethe other women became mild and walked humbly. There were cowards whobecame ashamed of their ancient covenants with the daughters of thesoil, who looked with a new distaste upon their dark-skinned children;but there were also others--men--who remained true and proud of theiraboriginal vows. When it became the fashion to divorce the nativewives. Cal Galbraith retained his manhood, and in so doing felt theheavy hand of the women who had come last, knew least, but who ruledthe land.

  One day, the Upper Country, which lies far above Circle City, waspronounced rich. Dog-teams carried the news to Salt Water; goldenargosies freighted the lure across the North Pacific; wires and cablessang with the tidings; and the world heard for the first time of theKlondike River and the Yukon Country. Cal Galbraith had lived the yearsquietly. He had been a good husband to Madeline, and she had blessedhim. But somehow discontent fell upon him; he felt vague yearnings forhis own kind, for the life he had been shut out from--a general sort ofdesire, which men sometimes feel, to break out and taste the prime ofliving. Besides, there drifted down the river wild rumors of thewonderful El Dorado, glowing descriptions of the city of logs andtents, and ludicrous accounts of the che-cha-quas who had rushed in andwere stampeding the whole country.

  Circle City was dead. The world had moved on up river and become a newand most marvelous world.

  Cal Galbraith grew restless on the edge of things, and wished to seewith his own eyes.

  So, after the wash-up, he weighed in a couple of hundred pounds of duston the Company's big scales, and took a draft for the same on Dawson.Then he put Tom Dixon in charge of his mines, kissed Madeline good-by,promised to be back before the first mush-ice ran, and took passage onan up-river steamer.

  Madeline waited, waited through all the three months of daylight. Shefed the dogs, gave much of her time to Young Cal, watched the shortsummer fade away and the sun begin its long journey to the south. Andshe prayed much in the manner of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. Thefall came, and with it there was mush-ice on the Yukon, and Circle Citykings returning to the winter's work at their mines, but no CalGalbraith. Tom Dixon received a letter, however, for his men sledded upher winter's supply of dry pine. The Company received a letter for itsdogteams filled her cache with their best provisions, and she was toldthat her credit was limitless.

  Through all the ages man has been held the chief instigator of the woesof woman; but in this case the men held their tongues and swore harshlyat one of their number who was away, while the women failed utterly toemulate them. So, without needless delay, Madeline heard strange talesof Cal Galbraith's doings; also, of a certain Greek dancer who playedwith men as children did with bubbles. Now Madeline was an Indianwoman, and further, she had no woman friend to whom to go for wisecounsel. She prayed and planned by turns, and that night, being quickof resolve and action, she harnessed the dogs, and with Young Calsecurely lashed to the sled, stole away.

  Though the Yukon still ran free, the eddy-ice was growing, and each daysaw the river dwindling to a slushy thread. Save him who has done thelike, no man may know what she endured in traveling a hundred miles onthe rim-ice; nor may they understand the toil and hardship of breakingthe two hundred miles of packed ice which remained after the riverfroze for good. But Madeline was an Indian woman, so she did thesethings, and one night there came a knock at Malemute Kid's door.Thereat he fed a team of starving dogs, put a healthy youngster to bed,and turned his attention to an exhausted woman. He removed her iceboundmoccasins while he listened to her tale, and stuck the point of hisknife into her feet that he might see how far they were frozen.

  Despite his tremendous virility, Malemute Kid was possessed of asofter, womanly element, which could win the confidence of a snarlingwolf-dog or draw confessions from the most wintry heart. Nor did heseek them. Hearts opened to him as spontaneously as flowers to the sun.Ev
en the priest, Father Roubeau, had been known to confess to him,while the men and women of the Northland were ever knocking at hisdoor--a door from which the latch-string hung always out. To Madeline,he could do no wrong, make no mistake. She had known him from the timeshe first cast her lot among the people of her father's race; and toher half-barbaric mind it seemed that in him was centered the wisdom ofthe ages, that between his vision and the future there could be nointervening veil.

  There were false ideals in the land. The social strictures of Dawsonwere not synonymous with those of the previous era, and the swiftmaturity of the Northland involved much wrong. Malemute Kid was awareof this, and he had Cal Galbraith's measure accurately.

  He knew a hasty word was the father of much evil; besides, he wasminded to teach a great lesson and bring shame upon the man. So StanleyPrince, the young mining expert, was called into the conference thefollowing night as was also Lucky Jack Harrington and his violin. Thatsame night, Bettles, who owed a great debt to Malemute Kid, harnessedup Cal Galbraith's dogs, lashed Cal Galbraith, Junior, to the sled, andslipped away in the dark for Stuart River.

  II

  'So; one--two--three, one--two--three. Now reverse! No, no! Start upagain, Jack. See--this way.' Prince executed the movement as one shouldwho has led the cotillion.

  'Now; one--two--three, one--two--three. Reverse! Ah! that's better. Tryit again. I say, you know, you mustn't look at your feet.One--two--three, one--two--three. Shorter steps! You are not hanging tothe gee-pole just now. Try it over.

  'There! that's the way. One--two--three, one--two--three.' Round andround went Prince and Madeline in an interminable waltz. The table andstools had been shoved over against the wall to increase the room.Malemute Kid sat on the bunk, chin to knees, greatly interested. JackHarrington sat beside him, scraping away on his violin and followingthe dancers.

  It was a unique situation, the undertaking of these three men with thewoman.

  The most pathetic part, perhaps, was the businesslike way in which theywent about it.

  No athlete was ever trained more rigidly for a coming contest, norwolf-dog for the harness, than was she. But they had good material, forMadeline, unlike most women of her race, in her childhood had escapedthe carrying of heavy burdens and the toil of the trail. Besides, shewas a clean-limbed, willowy creature, possessed of much grace which hadnot hitherto been realized. It was this grace which the men strove tobring out and knock into shape.

  'Trouble with her she learned to dance all wrong,' Prince remarked tothe bunk after having deposited his breathless pupil on the table.'She's quick at picking up; yet I could do better had she never danceda step. But say, Kid, I can't understand this.' Prince imitated apeculiar movement of the shoulders and head--a weakness Madelinesuffered from in walking.

  'Lucky for her she was raised in the Mission,' Malemute Kid answered.'Packing, you know,--the head-strap. Other Indian women have it bad,but she didn't do any packing till after she married, and then only atfirst. Saw hard lines with that husband of hers. They went through theForty-Mile famine together.' 'But can we break it?' 'Don't know.

  'Perhaps long walks with her trainers will make the riffle. Anyway,they'll take it out some, won't they, Madeline?' The girl noddedassent. If Malemute Kid, who knew all things, said so, why it was so.That was all there was about it.

  She had come over to them, anxious to begin again. Harrington surveyedher in quest of her points much in the same manner men usually dohorses. It certainly was not disappointing, for he asked with suddeninterest, 'What did that beggarly uncle of yours get anyway?' 'Onerifle, one blanket, twenty bottles of hooch. Rifle broke.' She saidthis last scornfully, as though disgusted at how low her maiden-valuehad been rated.

  She spoke fair English, with many peculiarities of her husband'sspeech, but there was still perceptible the Indian accent, thetraditional groping after strange gutturals. Even this her instructorshad taken in hand, and with no small success, too.

  At the next intermission, Prince discovered a new predicament.

  'I say, Kid,' he said, 'we're wrong, all wrong. She can't learn inmoccasins.

  'Put her feet into slippers, and then onto that waxed floor--phew!'Madeline raised a foot and regarded her shapeless house-moccasinsdubiously. In previous winters, both at Circle City and Forty-Mile, shehad danced many a night away with similar footgear, and there had beennothing the matter.

  But now--well, if there was anything wrong it was for Malemute Kid toknow, not her.

  But Malemute Kid did know, and he had a good eye for measures; so heput on his cap and mittens and went down the hill to pay Mrs.Eppingwell a call. Her husband, Clove Eppingwell, was prominent in thecommunity as one of the great Government officials.

  The Kid had noted her slender little foot one night, at the Governor'sBall. And as he also knew her to be as sensible as she was pretty, itwas no task to ask of her a certain small favor.

  On his return, Madeline withdrew for a moment to the inner room. Whenshe reappeared Prince was startled.

  'By Jove!' he gasped. 'Who'd a' thought it! The little witch! Why mysister--' 'Is an English girl,' interrupted Malemute Kid, 'with anEnglish foot. This girl comes of a small-footed race. Moccasins justbroadened her feet healthily, while she did not misshape them byrunning with the dogs in her childhood.' But this explanation failedutterly to allay Prince's admiration. Harrington's commercial instinctwas touched, and as he looked upon the exquisitely turned foot andankle, there ran through his mind the sordid list--'One rifle, oneblanket, twenty bottles of hooch.' Madeline was the wife of a king, aking whose yellow treasure could buy outright a score of fashion'spuppets; yet in all her life her feet had known no gear save red-tannedmoosehide. At first she had looked in awe at the tiny white-satinslippers; but she had quickly understood the admiration which shone,manlike, in the eyes of the men. Her face flushed with pride. For themoment she was drunken with her woman's loveliness; then she murmured,with increased scorn, 'And one rifle, broke!' So the training went on.Every day Malemute Kid led the girl out on long walks devoted to thecorrection of her carriage and the shortening of her stride.

  There was little likelihood of her identity being discovered, for CalGalbraith and the rest of the Old-Timers were like lost children amongthe many strangers who had rushed into the land. Besides, the frost ofthe North has a bitter tongue, and the tender women of the South, toshield their cheeks from its biting caresses, were prone to the use ofcanvas masks. With faces obscured and bodies lost in squirrel-skinparkas, a mother and daughter, meeting on trail, would pass asstrangers.

  The coaching progressed rapidly. At first it had been slow, but later asudden acceleration had manifested itself. This began from the momentMadeline tried on the white-satin slippers, and in so doing foundherself. The pride of her renegade father, apart from any naturalself-esteem she might possess, at that instant received its birth.Hitherto, she had deemed herself a woman of an alien breed, of inferiorstock, purchased by her lord's favor. Her husband had seemed to her agod, who had lifted her, through no essential virtues on her part, tohis own godlike level. But she had never forgotten, even when Young Calwas born, that she was not of his people. As he had been a god, so hadhis womenkind been goddesses. She might have contrasted herself withthem, but she had never compared.

  It might have been that familiarity bred contempt; however, be that asit may, she had ultimately come to understand these roving white men,and to weigh them.

  True, her mind was dark to deliberate analysis, but she yet possessedher woman's clarity of vision in such matters. On the night of theslippers she had measured the bold, open admiration of her threeman-friends; and for the first time comparison had suggested itself. Itwas only a foot and an ankle, but--but comparison could not, in thenature of things, cease at that point. She judged herself by theirstandards till the divinity of her white sisters was shattered. Afterall, they were only women, and why should she not exalt herself totheir midst? In doing these things she learned where she lacked andwith the knowledg
e of her weakness came her strength. And so mightilydid she strive that her three trainers often marveled late into thenight over the eternal mystery of woman.

  In this way Thanksgiving Night drew near. At irregular intervalsBettles sent word down from Stuart River regarding the welfare of YoungCal. The time of their return was approaching. More than once a casualcaller, hearing dance-music and the rhythmic pulse of feet, entered,only to find Harrington scraping away and the other two beating time orarguing noisily over a mooted step. Madeline was never in evidence,having precipitately fled to the inner room.

  On one of these nights Cal Galbraith dropped in. Encouraging news hadjust come down from Stuart River, and Madeline had surpassedherself--not in walk alone, and carriage and grace, but in womanlyroguishness. They had indulged in sharp repartee and she had defendedherself brilliantly; and then, yielding to the intoxication of themoment, and of her own power, she had bullied, and mastered, andwheedled, and patronized them with most astonishing success. Andinstinctively, involuntarily, they had bowed, not to her beauty, herwisdom, her wit, but to that indefinable something in woman to whichman yields yet cannot name.

  The room was dizzy with sheer delight as she and Prince whirled throughthe last dance of the evening. Harrington was throwing in inconceivableflourishes, while Malemute Kid, utterly abandoned, had seized the broomand was executing mad gyrations on his own account.

  At this instant the door shook with a heavy rap-rap, and their quickglances noted the lifting of the latch. But they had survived similarsituations before. Harrington never broke a note. Madeline shot throughthe waiting door to the inner room. The broom went hurtling under thebunk, and by the time Cal Galbraith and Louis Savoy got their heads in,Malemute Kid and Prince were in each other's arms, wildly schottischingdown the room.

  As a rule, Indian women do not make a practice of fainting onprovocation, but Madeline came as near to it as she ever had in herlife. For an hour she crouched on the floor, listening to the heavyvoices of the men rumbling up and down in mimic thunder. Like familiarchords of childhood melodies, every intonation, every trick of herhusband's voice swept in upon her, fluttering her heart and weakeningher knees till she lay half-fainting against the door. It was well shecould neither see nor hear when he took his departure.

  'When do you expect to go back to Circle City?' Malemute Kid askedsimply.

  'Haven't thought much about it,' he replied. 'Don't think till afterthe ice breaks.' 'And Madeline?'

  He flushed at the question, and there was a quick droop to his eyes.Malemute Kid could have despised him for that, had he known men less.As it was, his gorge rose against the wives and daughters who had comeinto the land, and not satisfied with usurping the place of the nativewomen, had put unclean thoughts in the heads of the men and made themashamed.

  'I guess she's all right,' the Circle City King answered hastily, andin an apologetic manner. 'Tom Dixon's got charge of my interests, youknow, and he sees to it that she has everything she wants.' MalemuteKid laid hand upon his arm and hushed him suddenly. They had steppedwithout. Overhead, the aurora, a gorgeous wanton, flaunted miracles ofcolor; beneath lay the sleeping town. Far below, a solitary dog gavetongue.

  The King again began to speak, but the Kid pressed his hand forsilence. The sound multiplied. Dog after dog took up the strain tillthe full-throated chorus swayed the night.

  To him who hears for the first time this weird song, is told the firstand greatest secret of the Northland; to him who has heard it often, itis the solemn knell of lost endeavor. It is the plaint of torturedsouls, for in it is invested the heritage of the North, the sufferingof countless generations--the warning and the requiem to the world'sestrays.

  Cal Galbraith shivered slightly as it died away in half-caught sobs.The Kid read his thoughts openly, and wandered back with him throughall the weary days of famine and disease; and with him was also thepatient Madeline, sharing his pains and perils, never doubting, nevercomplaining. 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 hisheart. It was the psychological moment. Malemute Kid was half-temptedto play his reserve card and win the game; but the lesson was too mildas yet, and he let it pass. The next instant they had gripped hands,and the King's beaded moccasins were drawing protests from the outragedsnow as he crunched down the hill.

  Madeline in collapse was another woman to the mischievous creature ofan hour before, whose laughter had been so infectious and whoseheightened color and flashing eyes had made her teachers for the whileforget. Weak and nerveless, she sat in the chair just as she had beendropped there by Prince and Harrington.

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

  A few days before Thanksgiving Night, Malemute Kid made another call onMrs. Eppingwell. She promptly overhauled her feminine fripperies, paida protracted visit to the dry-goods department of the P. C. Company,and returned with the Kid to make Madeline's acquaintance. After thatcame a period such as the cabin had never seen before, and what withcutting, and fitting, and basting, and stitching, and numerous otherwonderful and unknowable things, the male conspirators were more oftenbanished the premises than not. At such times the Opera House openedits double storm-doors to them.

  So often did they put their heads together, and so deeply did theydrink to curious toasts, that the loungers scented unknown creeks ofincalculable richness, and it is known that several checha-quas and atleast 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 Madelineover to her trainers on Thanksgiving Night she was so transformed thatthey were almost afraid of her. Prince wrapped a Hudson Bay blanketabout her with a mock reverence more real than feigned, while MalemuteKid, whose arm she had taken, found it a severe trial to resume hiswonted mentorship. Harrington, with the list of purchases still runningthrough his head, dragged along in the rear, nor opened his mouth onceall the way down into the town. When they came to the back door of theOpera House they took the blanket from Madeline's shoulders and spreadit on the snow. Slipping out of Prince's moccasins, she stepped upon itin new satin slippers. The masquerade was at its height. She hesitated,but they jerked open the door and shoved her in. Then they ran aroundto come in by the front entrance.

  III

  'Where is Freda?' the Old-Timers questioned, while the che-cha-quaswere equally energetic in asking who Freda was. The ballroom buzzedwith her name.

  It was on everybody's lips. Grizzled 'sour-dough boys,' day-laborers atthe mines but proud of their degree, either patronized thespruce-looking tenderfeet and lied eloquently--the 'sour-dough boys'being specially created to toy with truth--or gave them savage looks ofindignation because of their ignorance. Perhaps forty kings of theUpper and Lower Countries were on the floor, each deeming himself hoton the trail and sturdily backing his judgment with the yellow dust ofthe realm. An assistant was sent to the man at the scales, upon whomhad fallen the burden of weighing up the sacks, while several of thegamblers, with the rules of chance at their finger-ends, made upalluring books on the field and favorites.

  Which was Freda? Time and again the 'Greek Dancer' was thought to havebeen discovered, but each discovery brought panic to the betting ringand a frantic registering of new wagers by those who wished to hedge.Malemute Kid took an interest in the hunt, his advent being haileduproariously by the revelers, who knew him to a man. The Kid had a goodeye for the trick of a step, and ear for the lilt of a voice, and hisprivate choice was a marvelous creature who scintillated as the 'AuroraBorealis.' But the Gr
eek dancer was too subtle for even hispenetration. The majority of the gold-hunters seemed to have centeredtheir verdict on the 'Russian Princess,' who was the most graceful inthe room, and hence could be no other than Freda Moloof.

  During a quadrille a roar of satisfaction went up. She was discovered.At previous balls, in the figure, 'all hands round,' Freda haddisplayed an inimitable step and variation peculiarly her own. As thefigure was called, the 'Russian Princess' gave the unique rhythm tolimb and body. A chorus of I-told-you-so's shook the squaredroof-beams, when lo! it was noticed that 'Aurora Borealis' and anothermasque, the 'Spirit of the Pole,' were performing the same trickequally well. And when two twin 'Sun-Dogs' and a 'Frost Queen' followedsuit, a second assistant was dispatched to the aid of the man at thescales.

  Bettles came off trail in the midst of the excitement, descending uponthem in a hurricane of frost. His rimed brows turned to cataracts as hewhirled about; his mustache, still frozen, seemed gemmed with diamondsand turned the light in varicolored rays; while the flying feet slippedon the chunks of ice which rattled from his moccasins and German socks.A Northland dance is quite an informal affair, the men of the creeksand trails having lost whatever fastidiousness they might have at onetime possessed; and only in the high official circles are conventionsat all observed. Here, caste carried no significance. Millionaires andpaupers, dog-drivers and mounted policemen joined hands with 'ladies inthe center,' and swept around the circle performing most remarkablecapers. Primitive in their pleasure, boisterous and rough, theydisplayed no rudeness, but rather a crude chivalry more genuine thanthe most polished courtesy.

  In his quest for the 'Greek Dancer,' Cal Galbraith managed to get intothe same set with the 'Russian Princess,' toward whom popular suspicionhad turned.

  But by the time he had guided her through one dance, he was willing notonly to stake his millions that she was not Freda, but that he had hadhis arm about her waist before. When or where he could not tell, butthe puzzling sense of familiarity so wrought upon him that he turnedhis attention to the discovery of her identity. Malemute Kid might haveaided him instead of occasionally taking the Princess for a few turnsand talking earnestly to her in low tones. But it was Jack Harringtonwho paid the 'Russian Princess' the most assiduous court. Once he drewCal Galbraith aside and hazarded wild guesses as to who she was, andexplained to him that he was going in to win. That rankled the CircleCity King, for man is not by nature monogamic, and he forgot bothMadeline and Freda in the new quest.

  It was soon noised about that the 'Russian Princess' was not FredaMoloof. Interest deepened. Here was a fresh enigma. They knew Fredathough they could not find her, but here was somebody they had foundand did not know. Even the women could not place her, and they knewevery good dancer in the camp. Many took her for one of the officialclique, indulging in a silly escapade. Not a few asserted she woulddisappear before the unmasking. Others were equally positive that shewas the woman-reporter of the Kansas City Star, come to write them upat ninety dollars per column. And the men at the scales worked busily.

  At one o'clock every couple took to the floor. The unmasking began amidlaughter and delight, like that of carefree children. There was no endof Oh's and Ah's as mask after mask was lifted. The scintillating'Aurora Borealis' became the brawny negress whose income from washingthe community's clothes ran at about five hundred a month. The twin'Sun-Dogs' discovered mustaches on their upper lips, and wererecognized as brother Fraction-Kings of El Dorado. In one of the mostprominent sets, and the slowest in uncovering, was Cal Galbraith withthe 'Spirit of the Pole.' Opposite him was Jack Harrington and the'Russian Princess.' The rest had discovered themselves, yet the 'GreekDancer' was still missing. All eyes were upon the group. Cal Galbraith,in response to their cries, lifted his partner's mask. Freda'swonderful face and brilliant eyes flashed out upon them. A roar wentup, to be squelched suddenly in the new and absorbing mystery of the'Russian Princess.' Her face was still hidden, and Jack Harrington wasstruggling with her. The dancers tittered on the tiptoes of expectancy.He crushed her dainty costume roughly, and then--and then the revelersexploded. The joke was on them. They had danced all night with atabooed native woman.

  But those that knew, and they were many, ceased abruptly, and a hushfell upon the room.

  Cal Galbraith crossed over with great strides, angrily, and spoke toMadeline in polyglot Chinook. But she retained her composure,apparently oblivious to the fact that she was the cynosure of all eyes,and answered him in English. She showed neither fright nor anger, andMalemute Kid chuckled at her well-bred equanimity. The King feltbaffled, defeated; his common Siwash wife had passed beyond him.

  'Come!' he said finally. 'Come on home.' 'I beg pardon,' she replied;'I have agreed to go to supper with Mr. Harrington. Besides, there's noend of dances promised.'

  Harrington extended his arm to lead her away. He evinced not theslightest disinclination toward showing his back, but Malemute Kid hadby this time edged in closer. The Circle City King was stunned. Twicehis hand dropped to his belt, and twice the Kid gathered himself tospring; but the retreating couple passed through the supper-room doorwhere canned oysters were spread at five dollars the plate.

  The crowd sighed audibly, broke up into couples, and followed them.Freda pouted and went in with Cal Galbraith; but she had a good heartand a sure tongue, and she spoiled his oysters for him. What she saidis of no importance, but his face went red and white at intervals, andhe swore repeatedly and savagely at himself.

  The supper-room was filled with a pandemonium of voices, which ceasedsuddenly as Cal Galbraith stepped over to his wife's table. Since theunmasking considerable weights of dust had been placed as to theoutcome. Everybody watched with breathless interest.

  Harrington's blue eyes were steady, but under the overhangingtablecloth a Smith & Wesson balanced on his knee. Madeline looked up,casually, with little interest.

  'May--may I have the next round dance with you?' the King stuttered.

  The wife of the King glanced at her card and inclined her head.