In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then
asked, with a nod of his head toward Madge:

"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,'
and I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an'
raised 'm, an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it
to you."

Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out
sharply, and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a
caress. "Gee!" The dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now
mush-on!" And the dog ceased his swing abruptly and started
straight ahead, halting obediently at command.

"I can do it with whistles", Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my
lead dog."

"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked
tremulously.

The man nodded.

"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?"

He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at
me. Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I?"

"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the
starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know."