"So
there is no need of further discussion."
"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and an
obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead.
"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe
he's your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even
sometime have driven him for his owner. But his obeying the
ordinary driving commands of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration
that he is yours. Any dog in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed.
Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska,
and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to get possession
of him. Anyway, you've got to prove property."
Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle
deeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black
cloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though
measuring the strength of his slenderness.
The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said
finally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin'
the dog right here an' now.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187