Baldy of Nome

Baldy knew that something was wrong. His most diverting efforts had failed to gain the usual reward of a caress, or at least a word of understanding; and so, dog-like to express his sympathy, he came close beside his friend and licked his hand. Always, before, this had called attention to the fact that Baldy was ready to share any trouble with the boy-but to-day the rough and grimy little hand, stiff and blue from the cold, did not respond, and instead only brushed away the tears that rolled slowly down the pinched cheeks.

Sometimes the slight body shook with sobs that the boy tried manfully to suppress; but when one is chilled, and tired and hungry, and in the shadow of a Great Tragedy, the emotions are not easy to control.

With unseeing eyes and dragging steps, the boy trudged along the snowy trail, dreading the arrival at Golconda Camp. For there was the House of Judgment, where all of the unfortunate events of that most unhappy day would be reviewed sternly, though with a certain harsh justice, that could result in nothing less than a sentence of final separation from Baldy. And so when the dog in his most subtle and delicate manner showed his deep love for the boy, it only made the thought of the inevitable parting harder to bear.

So completely was Ben lost in his own gloomy reflections that he did not hear the sound of bells behind him; and it was not until a cheery voice called out demanding the right of way that he stepped aside to let a rapidly approaching dog team pass. As it came closer he saw that it was the Allan and Darling team of Racers, and for the moment his eyes brightened with interest and admiration as he noticed with a true dog-lover's appreciation the perfect condition of the fleet-footed dogs, and the fine detail of sled and equipment.

Then his glance fell upon Baldy-thin, rough coated, and showing evidences of neglect; upon Baldy to whom he could not now even offer food and shelter, and a wave of bitterness swept over him.

"Come along, sonny, if you're going our way," and in the kindly little man at the handle-bars the boy recognized "Scotty" Allan, the most famous dog driver in Alaska. To the boy "Scotty" represented all that was most admirable in the whole North, and he stood speechless at the invitation to ride with him behind a team that had always seemed as wonderful as Cinderella's Fairy Coach. He hesitated, and then the Woman in the sled beckoned encouragingly. "Get in with me; and your dog may come too," she said as she rearranged the heavy fur robes to make room. The boy advanced with painful shyness, and awkwardly climbed into the place assigned him. The Woman laid her hand on Baldy's collar to draw him in also, but the boy exclaimed quickly, "No, ma'am, don't do that, please; he ain't really cross, but he won't ride in anythin' as long's he's got a leg to stand on; an' sometimes he growls if people he don't know touches him."

"Dogs and boys never growl at me, because I love them; and he does not look as if he really had a leg to stand on," she replied smilingly. But the boy nervously persisted. "Please let him go-his legs is all right. He looks kind o' run down jest now 'cause he"-the boy felt a tightening at his throat, and winked hard to keep the tears from starting again-"'cause he ain't got much appetite. But when he's eatin' good his legs is jest great. Why, there ain't no other dog in Golconda that's got as strong legs as Baldy when he's-when he's eatin' good," he repeated hastily. "An' Golconda's plumb full o' fine dogs."

"If that's so," said "Scotty," "I think I shall have to take a look at those Golconda wonders before the winter fairly sets in; and maybe you can give me a few pointers."

For a mile or so the boy sat spellbound, drinking in the casual comments of "Scotty" upon the dogs in the team, as if they were pearls of wisdom dropping from the lips of an Oracle. He was not so much interested in the Woman's replies, for they displayed a lack of technical information that contrasted unfavorably in the boy's mind with the keen and accurate insight that Allan showed in every word on that most vital subject.

Vaguely the boy remembered having once heard that she had become a partner in the racing team for mere amusement of the sport, instead of from a serious, high-minded interest, and that of course did not entitle her to the same respect you could feel for one to whom the care and culture of the dog assumed the dignity of a vocation. Then, too, she had spoken slightingly of Baldy's legs. As a human being he could not but respond to her friendly overtures, but as a dog fancier she held no place in his esteem.

As they approached the divide where the trail for Golconda branched from the main road, an idea suddenly came to the boy. He had watched the harmony between Allan and his dogs; had noted their willingness, their affection for "Scotty," and his consideration for them. And as the pace became slower, and he realized that they were nearly at the end of this fate-given interview, he tremblingly gasped out the question that had been seething through his mind with such persistence. "Mr. Allan, would you like to buy Baldy?"

"Buy Baldy!" exclaimed the man in surprise. "Why, I thought you and Baldy were chums-I had no idea he was for sale."

"He wasn't till jest now, not till I saw how yer dogs love you; but I got t' git rid of him. It's been comin' fer a long time, an' I guess to-day's finished it."

The man leaned over and looked into the tear-stained face. "Are you in some trouble about him? Perhaps it's not so bad as you think, and maybe we can help you without taking Baldy."

But the boy went on determinedly. "No, sir, I want you to take him; it'd be the best thing fer him, an' I kin stan' it someway. A feller has ter stan' a lot o' things he don't like in this world, but I hope," feelingly, "all of 'em ain't as hard as givin' up his best friend."

As if to avoid the sympathy he felt was forthcoming, he plunged hastily into the details that had led to the unexpected offer. "I'm Ben Edwards. Maybe you knew my father; he was killed in the cave-in on the June Fraction. Baldy was only a little pup then, but Dad was awful fond of him."

"I remember," said the Woman thoughtfully; "and you have been in difficulties since, and need the money you could get for Baldy. Is that it?"

"It ain't only the money, but none o' the men at the Camp care much fer Baldy, an' they ain't kind to him. Only Moose Jones. When he was here he wouldn't let the men tease Baldy ner me, an' he made the cook give me scraps an' bones ter feed him. An' once he licked Black Mart fer throwin' hot water on Baldy when he went ter the door o' Mart's cabin lookin' fer me. I think Moose Jones is the best man in the world, an' about the strongest," volunteered the boy loyally.

"And where's Moose Jones now?" asked "Scotty." "I used to see him prospecting out near the Dexter Divide last winter."

"He was at Dexter first, an' then he was at Golconda fer a while; but in spring he went ter St. Michael, an' from there up ter the new strike at Marshall."

"And you miss him very much?" questioned the Woman.

"Yes, ma'am, I miss him a lot, an' so does Baldy. He was awful good ter animals an' kids. He had a pet ermine that 'ud come in ter see him every night in his cabin, an' he wouldn't let Mart an' some o' the fellers set a trap fer the red mother fox that was prowlin' round the place t' git somethin' fer her babies. Said he'd make trap-bait fer bears o' the first feller that tried t' git 'er."

"Excellent idea."

"Oh, he didn't really mean it serious. Why, Moose is so kind he hates ter kill anythin'-even fer food. Sometimes when he's been livin' on bacon an' beans fer months, he lets a flock o' young ptarmigan fly by him 'cause he says they look so soft an' pretty an' fluttery he don't like ter shoot 'em; an' Moose is a dead shot. He's mighty handy with his fists too, an' next ter Mr. Allan I guess Moose knows more about dogs than any man in Alaska; an' he said he'd bet some day there'd be a reg'lar stampede ter buy Baldy."

"A prophet," exclaimed the Woman. "You see we are the forerunners. But who is Black Mart?"

"Oh, he's a miner that's workin' the claim next ter Golconda. He's a friend o' the cook there, an' comes over ter eat pretty often. Him and Moose had some trouble once over some minin' ground, an' Mart kinda takes it out on all Moose's friends, even if they's only boys an' dogs, don't he, Baldy?" And Baldy wagged that he certainly did. "Now the cook says they've got work dogs enough belongin' ter the claim ter feed, without supportin' my mangy cur in idleness. Mr. Allan," earnestly, "he ain't mangy, an' he's the most willin' dog I ever seen fer any one that loves him. But he ain't sociable with every one, an' he don't like bein' handled rough."

"Scotty" looked at Baldy with a practiced and critical eye. "Those are all points in his favor," he remarked. "You can't do much with a dog that gives his affection and obedience indiscriminately."

"Besides, he ain't no cur-he's one o' them Bowen-Dalzene pups, an' you know there ain't a poor dog in the lot. They give him to me 'cause he wasn't like any o' the others in the litter, an' would 'a' spoiled the looks o' the team when they was old enough ter be hitched up," continued Ben breathlessly. "He was sort o' wild, too, an' he wouldn't pay attention t' any of 'em when I was round, an' they said I might as well take him fer keeps as t' have him runnin' away t' git t' me all the time."

"And your mother does not like him, and thinks it would be best not to keep him now?"

"She really does like him; but she does the washin' fer the Camp, an' helps with the dishes, an' sews when she kin git a job at it. But there ain't none of 'em reg'lar, an' sometimes there ain't more'n enough fer us two t' live on. Then she gits pretty tired an' discouraged like, an' says Baldy's a useless expense, an' keeps me from doin' my chores, 'cause I like t' play with him, an'-"

"Yes, yes, I see," broke in the Woman hastily, anxious to spare him any further revelations of a painful nature. "I know exactly how it is; but maybe we could make some arrangement with your mother about the dog. We will take a sort of an option on him; you can keep him with you, and we will pay a certain sum for the privilege of being permitted to buy him outright before the stampede actually begins."

The boy looked at her suspiciously, but there was no smile on her lips, and she rose a notch in his estimation. She evidently did realize, in a slight degree, what an unusual bargain was being offered in his heart-breaking sacrifice.

"An' it ain't 'cause his appetite's gone that makes him thin. I wasn't tellin' the truth about that," he stammered desperately; "he's jest hungry." The child's mouth quivered and he hesitated, yet he was determined to tell the whole of the sordid little tragedy now that he had begun. "But spendin' too much time with him when I should be workin' ain't the worst. To-day I done somethin' that mebbe she'll think ain't exac'ly square; an' my mother believes if you ain't square in this world you ain't much worth while."

"You're not, son," agreed "Scotty" heartily. "Your mother's right."

"My father was allers called Honest Ben Edwards out here on the Third Beach Line, an' Mother says she'd ruther have that mem'ry o' him than all the fortunes that's been made in Alaska by lyin' an' steal-in' an' jumpin' other people's claims."

"Right again, Ben. Nothing can take that from her, and a name like that is the best thing a man can leave his son."

"This mornin' she gave me some money fer a new pair o' mittens fer her, an' shoes fer me; an' the cook asked me t' buy a kitchen knife an' a few pans fer him. I walked inter town t' git 'em, an' Baldy come with me, though she said I was foolish t' be bothered with him. But I told her it was awful lonesome on the trail, an' she said I could take him this time." He paused for breath, visibly embarrassed.

"And you forgot all about your errands," hazarded the Woman.

"No, ma'am, I didn't exac'ly forgit, but when I was passin' the Court House an' I seen a big crowd inside, I went in, too, ter listen a minute.

"That lawyer Fink, that got up the Kennel Club, an' has the bully dog team, an' Daly, the feller with the smile that makes you feel like there's sunshine in the room, was a-talkin' agin each other; an' their fightin' was so excitin' an' so smooth an' perlite too, that everybody was a-settin' on the edges o' their chairs a-waitin' fer what was a-comin' next."

"So you were interested in what the lawyers had to say?"

"Yes, sir. Ever since my mother told me the story about President Lincoln a while ago, I been wantin' t' be a lawyer when I grow up. He didn't have no more book-learnin' than me at first, but he wouldn't let nothin' stop him, an' jest see what he done."

"Lincoln is to be your model, then? Well, you're right to aim high, Ben. You can practice his simple virtues of being honest and kind and industrious every day, and anywhere. And the education must be managed someway," added the Woman thoughtfully.

"After Mother read me that speech o' Mr. Lincoln's at Gettysburg, when all the people was jest dumb from their feelin's bein' so solemn an' deep; an' some o' his other speeches that was fine, I begun t' go t' town whenever there was t' be any good speakin', even when I had t' walk both ways."

"Shows your determination, as a starter," replied "Scotty" encouragingly. "And were you always repaid for your tramp?"

"Most allers, Mr. Allan. Last Fourth o' July I heerd Judge Tucker tell in his pleasant voice 'at sounds like he likes talkin' t' you all that Virginia's done fer our country, an' I wished I was from Virginia too. But mebbe some day I'll make some boy wish he was from Alaska by bein' fine an' smart an' gentle like Judge Tucker."

"Virginia or Alaska, Ben-it's all the same, so long as you're proud of your state, and give your state a chance to be proud of you."

"Yes, ma'am; that's what Mother says. Then I heerd Tom Gaffney recitin' Robert Emmett's last speech, on St. Patrick's day, at Eagle Hall, an' I near cried at the end; an' I don't cry easy. It takes somethin' pretty bad t' make me cry," and he looked furtively toward Baldy.

"I'm sure it does, sonny; any one can see that you're game, all right; but that speech always makes me cry too."

The boy regarded "Scotty" appreciatively. Here was a typical Alaskan, a sturdy trailsman, touched by the tender, pitiful things of life, just like a little boy that hasn't had time to become hardened. Ben felt that they would be friends.

SCOTTY AND BALDY

"I like all kinds o' speakin', too; not jest the fiery sort that makes you want t' fight fer your country, an' mebbe die fer it like Robert Emmett; but the kind that jest makes you want t' be good ter folks an' dogs, an' do the best you kin when things is agin you, an' you don't see much ahead-"

The Woman nodded gravely. "Yes, I know. It's the most difficult sort of bravery-the sort without flags, and music, and cheers to keep you up to the firing line."

"That's the kind, ma'am. Mebbe you know Bishop Rowe. That's what he preaches-jest doin' your best all the time, like you was in some big race. When he's in Nome I allers go t' St. Mary's. He talks plain an' simple, an' cheers you up-I guess kinda the way Lincoln talked-jest like he knew all about people's troubles an' didn't blame 'em fer mistakes, but wanted t' help 'em t' do better. Sometimes his talks don't sound smooth, an' made up beforehand, but you never forgit 'em."

"Eloquence of the heart instead of the tongue," murmured the Woman.

"An' last August I went every night fer near a week, when Mr. Wickersham was talkin' men inter sendin' him t' Washington, no matter what they felt an' said agin his goin' when he wasn't before 'em."

"You have certainly had a variety of orators, and a wide range of subjects."

"You kin see I ain't missed a single chanct t' hear any of 'em since I made up my mind t' be a great man"-and then appalled by his lengthy burst of eloquence the child colored violently and concluded in confusion-"an' this mornin' I got so interested in them speeches o' Daly's an' Fink's, I must 'a' lost all track o' time, fer when I come out it was noon, an' Baldy was gone."

"You must indeed have been absorbed to forget Baldy. Where did you find him?"

"One o' the school kids told me the pound-man had got him, so I went over t' the pound on the Sand Spit as fast as I could run. I explained t' the man that Baldy wasn't a Nome dog; that we live five miles out at Golconda-but he said he was gittin' pretty sick o' that excuse. That no boy's dog ever really lived in Nome, so fur's he could find out; that all of 'em was residin' in the suburbs, an' only come in t' spend a day now an' then."

"It's a strange thing," mused the Woman, "that all pound-men are sarcastic and sceptical. It seems an inevitable part of their occupation. They never believed me when I was a little girl, either. Then what?"

"He said the only thing that concerned him was that Baldy was in town when he found him, and hadn't no license. Besides, he thought the dog was vicious 'cause he growled when the wire was around his neck. Pretty near any dog 'ud do that ef he had any spirit in him; an' Baldy's jest full o' spirit."

Both the Woman and "Scotty" looked involuntarily at Baldy who stood, dejected and uneasy; and then exchanged a glance in which amusement and pity struggled for expression.

"The pound-man said ef I didn't pay the $2.50 t' git him out, an' another $2.50 t' git him a license, he'd sell the dog along with a lot o' others he'd ketched durin' the week. I tuk Mother's money, an' what the cook give me, an' got Baldy out, an' bought him a license so's he'd be safe nex' time. Now," sadly, "there ain't goin' t' be any nex' time."

"There really did not seem to be any other way out of it for the moment," observed the Woman sympathetically.

"No, ma'am, but it wasn't very honest t' use the cook's money, ner Mother's; it'll take a long time t' pay 'em back, an' I guess Mother won't have much patience with Baldy after this. I wouldn't mind gittin' punished myself, but I don't want him blamed. He'd be a lot better off with you, Mr. Allan; an' mebbe ef you'd feed him up, an' give him a chanct, he'd be a racer some day. He'd never lay down on you, an'," almost defiantly, "he's got good legs."

"Scotty" felt the dog's legs, and noted the breadth of his chest. "What do you want for him, Ben?"

"Would ten dollars be too much?" asked the boy, eagerly.

"Ten dollars would be too little," quickly exclaimed the Woman. "You see we are getting ahead of all the others who do not know his fine points yet, and we should be willing to pay something extra for this opportunity. Do you think that twenty-five dollars would be fair, considering that we are in on the ground floor?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's lots more'n I expected. But it ain't so much the money I'm gittin' as the home he's gittin' an' the trainin' an' all."

"Well, that's a bargain, then; come to my husband's office-Darling and Dean, on Front Street, you know-the first time you are in town, and we will give you a check; and you can bring Baldy with you then."

"I guess," slowly, "you'd better take him now. It 'ud be easier fer me t' let him go while I'm kinda worked up to it. Mebbe ef I thought about it fer a few days I wouldn't be able t' do it, an' he mightn't have another chanct like this in his whole life."

He drew a frayed bit of rope from a torn pocket, and tied it to the old strap that served as Baldy's collar-handing the end to "Scotty."

In the deepening shadows of the chill November dusk the boy's face was ashen. He stooped over as if to see that the knot in the rope was secure at the dog's neck-but the Woman knew in that brief instant the trembling blue lips had been pressed in an agony of renunciation against Baldy's rough coat.

"Thank you both very much," he said in a tone that he tried to keep steady. "Thank you fer the ride and fer-fer everything."

He did not trust himself to look at the dog again, but stepped quickly into the Golconda Trail.

"You must come to see Baldy often," the Woman called to him.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll be glad to-after a while," he replied gratefully.

And then as "Scotty" gave the word to the impatient Racers, and the team swung round to return to Nome, there came to them out of the grayness a voice, faint and quavering like an echo-"Some day you'll be glad you've got Baldy."

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