Then three or four western bad men aspired to clean out the town, were riddled like pepper-boxes for their pains, and public interest turned to other idols.

Next came official orders.

Francois called Buck to him, threw his arms around him, wept over him.

And that was the last of Francois and Perrault.

Like other men, they passed out of Buck's life for good.
A Scotch half-breed took charge of him and his mates, and in company with a dozen other dog-teams he started back over the weary trail to Dawson.