He forgot his
embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel
uncomfortable.
It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him
to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been
away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view.
Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him
passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a
great wonder came into his face.
"Well, I'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly.
He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound
of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened
in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his
hands, then licked them with his tongue.
Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated,
"Well, I'll be hanged!"
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "I was just s'prised some,
that was all."
"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up
to a stranger before."
"Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked.
Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward
you--unless it's because you're from the Klondike.
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