"That we'll have a square deal within another five years, or know the
reason why. And another five years after that, we'll he shipping a
million reindeer carcasses down into the States each year. Within twenty
years we'll be shipping five million. Nice thought for the beef barons,
eh? But rather fortunate, I think, for the hundred million Americans who
are turning their grazing lands into farms and irrigation systems."

One of Alan Holt's hands was clenched at the rail. "Until I went down
this winter, I didn't realize just how bad it was," he said, a note hard
as iron in his voice. "Lomen is a diplomat, but I'm not. I want to fight
when I see such things--fight with a gun. Because we happened to find
gold up here, they think Alaska is an orange to be sucked as quickly as
possible, and that when the sucking process is over, the skin will be
worthless. That's modern, dollar-chasing Americanism for you!"

"And are you not an American, Mr. Holt?"

So soft and near was the voice that both men started. Then both turned
and stared. Close behind them, her quiet, beautiful face flooded with
the moon-glow, stood Mary Standish.

"You ask me a question, madam," said Alan Holt, bowing courteously. "No,
I am not an American. I am an Alaskan."

The girl's lips were parted. Her eyes were very bright and clear.
"Please pardon me for listening," she said. "I couldn't help it. I am an
American. I love America. I think I love it more than anything else in
the world--more than my religion, even. _America,_ Mr. Holt. And America
doesn't necessarily mean a great many of America's people. I love to
think that I first came ashore in the _Mayflower_. That is why my name