Wilderness Champion [antikvár]

Lost Pup ^HE afternoon train had pulled out of the little Alberta station and vanished noisily behind Bald Mountain when a rider, leading two black pack horses, jogged down the backwoods tiail from the North Ridge and swung out of his saddle beside the freight shed. The horses required no tying; with complete docility they hung weary heads, slouched hindquarters and quietly waited for further orders. The stationmaster had heard the hoofs clicking against loose stones in the mountain stillness, and now stepped out of the shed with a broad grin spreading through his reddish whiskers. "The hound pups have come, Johnny, right on time—June first," he croaked genially. "Four of 'em. All alive and kicking!" "That's news!" shouted the rider joyfully. He was much younger, thinner and taller than the other man. There was something especially boyish in his voice and in the look of his shaven, red face. Under the shadow of his old felt hat one could see sharp eyes and plenty of light brown hair. But most noticeable of all was his walk. Life in the wilds had taken all awkwardness out of his stride. His heels made no sound on the boards of the platform and he seemed almost to glide with the grace of a panther. Tliere seemed to be a close bond between the two men. They shook hands warmly. "You're always lucky, you old hoss!" chortled the stationmaster. "No, Mac," grinned Johnny, "it's just a case of having a mighty good railroad man looking after my affairs. Where are you keeping those dog cubs?" As if in answer there came a howl from the shed which quickly grew to a general clamor of puppy voices. [17}