THE SOLOMON DERBY
The morning of the Solomon Derby dawned clear and cold. It was twenty
degrees below zero, but was ideal racing weather, as there was no wind;
and the course was reported in excellent condition.
"This is the first time I ever prepared for a race," remarked Allan as
he examined the different dogs carefully, "that I have not been looking
forward to it with the keenest pleasure. I was mighty fond of Kid, and
had trained him with more care than any other dog I have handled except
old Dubby. And Kid was perfectly adapted to lead this particular team,
for the dogs were so willing to defer to him without any ill-feeling.
His loss is a severe handicap now, I can tell you. Somehow he was so
young and vigorous that the possibility of anything serious happening to
him did not occur to me; he had never been ailing a day in his life.
Generally I have at least one other dog fairly well prepared to lead if
necessary; but I was so determined to make a marvel of Kid that I did
not take that precaution, and at present there is not a single one that
I consider up to the mark for such a race as this."
"Why not try Tom?" suggested the Woman. "The Tolman dogs are all
intelligent, and these have never known anything but racing all their
lives, and must have absorbed a lot of knowledge about it, even if they
have not been leaders. Besides, you have had Tom in the lead a few
times, have you not?"
"Yes, once or twice lately to rest Kid, and," ruefully, "the result was
not one that fills me with any confidence in him for a really important
event like this. The Tolmans, you know, never fall below the necessary
standard in anything, neither do they ever rise above it. They are all
right in the rank and file where their thinking is done for them; but
as for leading--" the man shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"Well, if Tom wouldn't do, there's no use talkin' 'bout Dick and Harry;
fer Tom is the smartest o' that bunch. But he ain't popular with the
rest o' the team, like Kid was. Them Tolmans has a high-handed way to
'em that some won't stand fer," remarked Matt as he began to remove the
racing harness from the hooks and place it on the floor beside the
tow-line, which was stretched out in the middle of the Kennel.
Dan, Ben and George had been considering the predicament gravely as
George bestowed even more than his usual attention upon Spot's
appearance.
"Spot," he observed with repressed pride, "ain't had much 'sperience,
but he won a great race just the same. Don't forget that, Dad."
"He's a trifle young," replied "Scotty," "and besides," slyly, "we might
meet an Eskimo hunter somewhere on the way."
Dan claimed recognition for the Mego "houn'" pups, especially Judge, and
the Woman, with some hesitation, spoke of McMillan; but Allan gave
valid reasons why they were not eligible.
"Not much time left," announced the Big Man as he, with the Peril, paced
restlessly up and down in front of the Kennel.
"Scotty" pondered anxiously, for his decision must be made immediately.
He walked over to Rex, regarding him intently.
"Do you believe," said a low, faltering voice beside him, "that--that
Baldy could lead? Him and Kid took us safe over the Golden Gate Divide
in that terrible blizzard, an' mebbe he learnt somethin' about leadin'
from Kid that night. He's mighty willin' an' strong, an'--"
"True, Ben; that idea had just come to me, too. I am absolutely sure I
can depend upon him to do his level best. Whether he is fast enough is
the question." With a sigh he added, "Well, fast or slow, there's not
much choice. I'll have to fall back upon Baldy to-day. Matt," he called,
"you may put Baldy in the lead."
"Baldy in the lead!" exclaimed Matt in astonishment. "Why, except fer a
time or so that we've drove him that way t'kinda fill out, he's never
been in the lead since we got him. If we're as shy on leaders as all
that, I'd hook up Mego; she's still good, if she is old. But Baldy!"
"Surely, surely, 'Scotty,'" pleaded the Woman, "you'll not use an
untried dog to-day of all days. Baldy has never shown anything more than
just ordinary speed, and you know a leader has to set the pace for them
all. If he hasn't the pride in his work, the spirit, he's a failure; and
Baldy," desperately, "is just a plodder."
But "Scotty" was firm. "He's more than that; you couldn't see what he
did in the storm on the Hot Springs Trail. He's our best chance." Then,
"Baldy in the lead, Matt, and be quick; we're almost due now at the
post." And so it was Baldy who led the Allan and Darling entry in the
Solomon Derby.
It took the strongest self-control and the keenest desire not to shake
"Scotty's" faith in him, to keep Baldy from bolting when he moved
through those throngs whose nearness roused in him such unaccountable
fear.
Most of the dogs, now more or less accustomed to these gatherings,
stood quietly indifferent to the clamor and confusion.
Jack McMillan was distinctly annoyed by it all; he did not wish to have
strangers pushing against him, stroking his back, and even taking
liberties with his velvety ears. What was the use of a Black Past, if it
did not protect one from such unwelcome familiarities?
Tom, Dick and Harry, as usual, were charmed with the situation; for they
dearly loved any sort of a demonstration in which they could figure
conspicuously. Tom, ever anxious to be in the public eye, glanced about
and, seeing the United States Marshal, who was known to be an ardent
admirer of the Allan and Darling team, jumped upon him, demanding
recognition, which was cordially granted.
Baldy, to whom the whole episode was trying in the extreme, did not even
resent this little play for favor in official circles, so anxious was he
to be over the ordeal, and out in the open speeding away toward the dark
and frowning cliffs of Cape Nome, in the dim distance.
Two teams at intervals of ten minutes had started before them, and there
were three others to follow.
As it was only sixty-five miles to Solomon and back, Allan decided to
try to pass the teams in front, even if he acted as trail-breaker and
pace-maker; for there was no necessity in so short a race for
generalship in the matter of feeding and resting.
Shortly after they left Fort Davis, four miles down the coast, they
could see John Johnson ahead, and still beyond him a rapidly moving dot
which Allan knew to be Fred Ayer with his "Ayeroplanes," as the Woman
had dubbed them; facetiously, but with a certain trepidation. For that
splendid team had been successful in many of the shorter races, and bade
fair to develop into dangerous antagonists in the longer ones.
But the Allan and Darling dogs, urged on constantly by "Scotty," went
forward at an even gait that soon lessened the space between themselves
and the Siberians; when, having passed them, they gained perceptibly
upon the others.
The "Ayeroplanes" seemed almost to float along the surface of the snow,
so light and smooth was their pace, so harmonious their team action.
But as if impelled by a hidden force he had never felt before, Baldy
sturdily forged on and on, till they, too, were left behind. A new
fervor thrilled him as he determined to show that he was more than "just
dog." No understudy on the stage, given an unexpected opportunity, ever
desired more ardently to eclipse the star than did Baldy to fill poor
Kid's place.
How they flew over the ground; how exhilarating the air; how light the
sled. And then it suddenly dawned upon Baldy that the sled was too
light. When Allan was not running behind with a tight grasp on the
handle-bars, he was usually perched at the back on the projecting
runners; and for some time the dog had not noticed this additional
weight. Then, too, he was beginning to miss his master's voice--"Hi,
there, Tom, Dick, Harry, snowbirds in sight; rabbits, Spot; road house,
Barney." Of course all of the dogs knew perfectly well that it was only
a joke; that snowbirds, rabbits and road houses are things that do not
concern you at all when you are being driven in a race. But they enjoyed
the little pleasantry, nevertheless, and it gave them delightful
subjects to think about that might become possibilities when they were
not in harness.
If "Scotty" was not addressing them personally, he was often singing
bits of Scotch ballads, or whistling scraps of rag-time, which was
wonderfully cheering, and gave them a sense of companionship with him.
At last the instinct that all was not right was too strong for Baldy.
Stopping suddenly, he looked back and discovered that they were
driverless.
He realized that such halts were most unwise; but the team without Allan
was as a ship without a Captain and to Baldy there was but one thing to
do--to find "Scotty" at all hazards.
For an instant there was danger of a mutiny amongst the dogs. Tom, Dick
and Harry tacitly agreed that it was a marvelous chance to make that
snowbird joke a charming reality; there was a stirring of McMillan's
fiery blood, for he still admitted but one source of control; a plump
fluffy hare, scurrying by within range of Spot's young eyes inspired him
with a desire to give chase, as once again he quite forgot the grave
importance of filling a position in a racing team.
But Baldy, knowing that the time for action had come, that his supremacy
as a leader must be acknowledged, and at once, firmly held his ground.
Turning, he faced them fearlessly. There was a low ominous growl, a
smouldering light in his strange, somber eyes, a baring of his sharp
white fangs. Yet it was something else, a something in the very nature
of the dog, in his steadfast spirit, his indomitable will, that made the
others feel in some subtle, final way that they must obey him. So when
he swung round they followed him as unswervingly as they would have
followed Kid.
Far away in the whiteness, Baldy saw a black spot toward which he sped
with mad impatience. It grew more and more distinct, till, beside it, he
saw that it was his master, lying pale, motionless and blood-stained in
the trail. From a deep gash on his head a crimson stream oozed and
froze, matting his hair and the fur on his parka.
Baldy stopped short, quivering with an unknown dread. There was
something terrifying in the tense body, so still, so mute. He licked the
pallid face, the cold hands, and placed a gentle paw upon the man's
breast, scratching softly to see if he could not gain some response.
There was no answer to his loving appeal; and throwing back his head,
there broke from him the weird, wild wail of the Malamute, his
inheritance from some wolf ancestor. The other dogs joined the mournful
chorus, and then, as it died away, he tried again and again to rouse his
silent master.
Moment after moment passed, the time seemed endless; but finally the
warm tongue and the insistent paw did their work; for there was a slight
movement, a flicker of the eyelids, and then "Scotty" lifted himself
upon his elbow and spoke to them.
He was hopelessly confused. What was he doing in the snow, in the bitter
cold, soaked in blood, and with his team beside him? Where was Kid?
Then it all came back to him; he remembered he was in a race--the
Solomon Derby, and Kid was dead. That with Baldy in the lead they had
gone ahead of the other teams at a terrific speed, when he heard
something snap. Thinking it might be a runner, he had leaned over the
side of the sled to look; there was a crushing blow, and he recalled no
more until he felt Baldy's hot breath, and an agonizing pain in his
temple.
Gazing about, he saw the cause of the mishap--an iron trail stake half
concealed by a drift, now red with his blood. All around, as far as the
eye could reach, stretched the vast snowy plains that merged into the
purple shadows of the distant mountains, outlined in dazzling beauty
against the azure sky. There was no sign of the other teams. He could
not tell how long he had been unconscious--whether minutes or hours; he
only realized that he had never entered Solomon.
Weakly he stumbled to his feet and fell helplessly into the sled. At a
word Baldy darted ahead, and Allan, wiping the blood from his eyes, saw
they were traveling in the wrong direction, toward the wireless tower at
Port Safety. In some way he dimly realized that the dogs had turned on
the trail. Given the order, Baldy wheeled instantly, and dashed forward
with no slackening of his former speed, though "Scotty" was lying inert
and useless, an unusual and unexpected burden.
But, wounded and shaken, "Scotty's" spirit was still undaunted; and
uncertain of anything save that you are never beaten till the race is
over, Allan inspired Baldy to do his willing best.
The bitter disappointment of Kid's death was fast yielding to amazement
at Baldy's unsuspected fleetness. Trustworthy he had always been, and
obedient and faithful--but his pace now was a revelation. There was yet
a chance.
"On, Baldy; on boys." And away they flew till the roofs of Solomon
loomed on the horizon, directly ahead.
Solomon at last. At the end of the one short street was a group of
Kennel Club officials, and the entire population of the place, ready to
welcome the coming and speed the parting racers.
To his intense surprise Allan learned that his was the first team in,
his delay having evidently been but a brief one. He resisted all
entreaties that he should have medical attention. "There's no trouble at
all," he maintained stoutly, "so long as my cap is frozen to the wound.
Of course I am a little faint, and dizzy, but that will pass in the
fresh air. Just water the dogs and see that they're all right, will
you?" And resting only the five minutes that are obligatory for the
signing of papers, he was again on his way, as Fred Ayer came into view,
closely followed by Johnson.
Returning, it seemed as if Kid himself could not have excelled Baldy in
the management of the team--all of his latent powers developing to meet
the great demands made upon him. He was proving himself indeed a leader.
The news of the mishap had been telephoned to Nome; and the usual
enthusiasm over the first arrival was turned into an ovation for the
plucky and popular little Scotchman.
With the loss of the best dog in the Kennel, on the eve of the race, and
an obscure, untried dog in the lead; with a stunning blow that had left
him alone and senseless on the trail he was still victorious, to the
admiration of all Nome.
The excitement was intense as the cheering throngs closed in upon the
dogs and their driver, ready and eager to give their hearty greetings
and unstinted applause.
[Illustration: AN OVATION FOR THE PLUCKY LITTLE SCOTCHMAN]
Moose Jones and Ben hurried toward the winners, both overjoyed at the
success of Allan and their favorite, Baldy.
"Some dog, Baldy o' Golconda, ain't he, Mart?" was Jones's exultant
comment as they passed Barclay, who stood regarding the heroes with
ill-concealed contempt.
"Some accident!" retorted Mart. "There'll be a fine day,"
belligerently, "when 'Scotty' Allan'll find out that there dog's a fake,
a reg'lar quitter. Jest now he's bluffed you all inter thinkin' him a
wonder; but you wait an' he'll give himself away yet. He was ornery as a
pup, an' he's ornery as a dog. You can't make a silk purse outen a sow's
ear, an' I tell you straight you can't make a Sweepstakes Winner out o'
Baldy o' Golconda, no matter what he done in this here measly Solomon
hike."
"Well, we'll see, Mart."
"You've won a great race," exclaimed the Woman as she came forward with
the Big Man, and grasped "Scotty's" hand warmly; "a great race, and
against heavy odds."
But "Scotty," looking down on Baldy with gratitude and pride, replied
simply:
"No, the credit all belongs to good old Baldy here; it is his race, not
mine."
Then the Woman, kneeling in the snow beside the leader, with her arms
about him, said softly, "It was wonderful, Baldy, simply wonderful, the
way you saved the day."
And so the Solomon Derby was over, and Baldy had made good.
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XI
One Summer
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