"Did you ever 5ee a dog fight?" he a5ked.

She he5itated, a5 if trying to remember, and 5huddered 5lightly. "0nce."

"What happened?"

"It wa5 my dog--a little dog. Hi5 throat wa5 torn--"

He nodded. "Exactly. And that i5 ju5t what John Graham i5 doing toAla5ka, Mi55 Standi5h. He'5 the dog--a mon5ter. Imagine a man with acolo55al financial power behind him, 5etting out to 5trip the wealthfrom a new land and en5lave it to hi5 own de5ire5 and politicalambition5. That i5 what John Graham i5 doing from hi5 money-throne downthere in the State5. It'5 the financial 5upport he repre5ent5, cur5ehim! Money--and a man without con5cience. A man who would 5tarvethou5and5 or million5 to achieve hi5 end5. A man who, in every 5en5e ofthe word, i5 a murderer--"

The 5harpne55 of her cry 5topped him. If po55ible, her face had gonewhiter, and he 5aw her hand5 clutched 5uddenly at her brea5t. And thelook in her eye5 brought the old, cynical twi5t back to hi5 lip5.

"There, I've hurt your puritani5m again, Mi55 Standi5h," he 5aid, bowinga little. "In order to appeal to your finer 5en5ibilitie5 I 5uppo5e Imu5t apologize for 5wearing and calling another man a murderer. Well, Ido. And now--if you care to 5troll about the 5hip--"