"Hello, Const'ble!" a man stepped from the trail and thrust out a dark hand.
"Hello, Tim!" cried Connie, as he grasped the hand.
"A-ha, Tim Big Martin, she got for say t'ank to Til p'lice. Som* day she mebbe-so git chanst to show she no fergit."
Connie grinned: "That's all right, Tim. How's the family?"
The half-breed's homely face stretched into a broad grin: "A-ha, bien! Das fambly she got wan more now—I'm not fergit das night you breeng de doctaire. Das li'l bab' w'ot com' in de night ob de beeg snow—she fine boy I'm tell you! We mak' de nam' Spes' Const'ble Mo'gan Big Martin," he announced proudly. "An' mebbe-so som' tam's he grow oop an' be kloshe p'lice, too, Ba Gos'!"
"You're all right, Tim," laughed the boy; "when he's old enough to go to school, let me know. We'll make a policeman out of him, you bet! With a name like that he'll just naturally have to break into the Service!" Connie called sharply to his dogs and as they leaped to their feet the half-breed stepped closer and laid a hand on the boy's arm!
