of Alaska. Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five
thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but
that wasn't what made the fancy price. It was the team itself.
Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelve
hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't a-sellin' 'm
now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've ben lookin'
for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd ben
stole - not the value of him, but the - well, I liked 'm like hell,
that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes when I
seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be
true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every
night. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at
two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He
never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular,
the darn little cuss - that finger right there!"

And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger
for them to see.

"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow
clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection.

He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to
speak.

"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog."

Skiff Miller looked puzzled.

"Have you thought about him?" she asked.