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 damned!"
"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. He's a Klondike dog, you know."
"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legs and examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. "Kind of SOFT," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time."
"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle him."