so as she can come back,—liable to get homesick, you know.
"And the youngster—it 's drawn us closer, Kid. I only hope it is a boy. Think of it!—flesh of my flesh, Kid. He must n't stop in this country. And if it 's a girl, why she can't. Sell my furs; they 'll fetch at least five thousand, and I 've got as much more with the company. And handle my interests with yours. I think that bench claim will show up. See that he gets a good schooling; and Kid, above all, don't let him come back. This country was not made for white men.
"I 'm a gone man, Kid. Three or four sleeps at the best. You 've got to go on. You must go on! Remember, it 's my wife, it 's my boy,—O God! I hope it 's a boy! You can't stay by me,—and I charge you, a dying man, to pull on."
"Give me three days," pleaded Malemute Kid. "You may change for the better; something may turn up."
"No."
"Just three days."
"You must pull on."
"Two days."
