THE START
The camp of Nolan was early astir the following morning. The
entertainment committee, consisting of Crim, the trader; Clem Wilcox,
proprietor of the Aurora Borealis Saloon; and Henshaw, keeper of the
roadhouse; had decreed that the dog race was to start at eight o’clock,
in order that the other events should be out of the way before the
finish of the race late in the afternoon.
At six o’clock Old Man Gordon accompanied his daughter to the dog
kennels which, in the land of the strong cold, is a necessary adjunct
to every roadhouse. Lou handed her father the canvas bag containing
the balls of tallow and rice: “You had better feed them this morning,
dad,” she advised, “Begin with Skookum and toss one to each. Then,
we’ll harness them and take a turn or two on the river. It won’t do any
harm for them to understand that it’s all right for you to be driving.
They’ll work for you, I’m sure--if you will keep the whip off of them
and don’t confuse them with too much yelling at critical moments.”
Strangely enough, Old Man Gordon meekly acquiesced in everything the
girl suggested. He had read disapproval of his decision to drive the
race in the faces of the men of Nolan--a disapproval that, while it
merely served to strengthen the decision, nevertheless burdened him
with a sense of responsibility.
“I took them over the whole course, myself, yesterday,” Lou informed
him when they were upon the river. “And I made it in seven hours and
forty minutes.”
“Ye did!” exclaimed the man in astonishment. “Why, lass, it don’t seem
possible.”
“I did it, though. And I rested them for ten minutes at the turn. You
must rest them there, too, if you run them all the way up. The trail is
good and fast, and plenty of room to pass except in a few stretches.
But remember this: Don’t use the whip or crack it close to Skookum’s
ears! Oh, why won’t you let me drive?”
“I’ve told ye ’tis a man’s job, an’ that’s an’ end to it,” he replied,
and the girl accepted the ultimatum as she noticed that the lines
hardened at the corners of the old man’s mouth.
“You take them down and back for a mile or so, and get all you can out
of them. I want to be sure they understand that they’ve got to run for
you.”
“_Down_ an’ back!” exclaimed Gordon, “Why not _up_ an’ back? There’s a
gude wide trail all cleared for the finish.”
Lou smiled: “We don’t want to take a chance that they’ll stop, or even
hesitate at that same place when the race is on. They might think that
is what’s expected of them.”
Ten minutes later Gordon halted the team at his daughter’s side: “They
done fine!” he cried, “They’ll win! Never I seen such runnin’ as they
done.”
“They ran, all right,” admitted the girl, “But I think we can get a
little more out of them at the start and the finish. We’ll see. Try
again, now. Only, this time let me start them. And when you come in on
the return, I’ll stand here and see if I can’t get an extra spurt out
of them at the finish.”
Once more the team was headed down river, and the girl gave the command
to start. The get away was smoother and faster than before, and on the
return, as soon as the dogs were within earshot, she advanced a little
distance, and giving a shrill whistle, turned and ran.
At the familiar sound the dogs redoubled their efforts, and a few
moments later the great ten team was at her side.
“Better yet?” cried the old man, “’Tis the way we’ll work it in the
race.”
“Why don’t you leave the whip behind?” asked the girl, “I think you
will do much better without it because, really, you don’t need it to
get speed out of them, and a little whipping, at the wrong time, may
lose the race.”
“Losh, lass! Who ever heard of drivin’ dogs wi’out a whip? I’ll take
the whip, but I’ll mind what ye’ve said, an’ I’ll be sparin’ of it.
But, there’s times when the sting of the lash is gude meat for any dog.”
The dogs settled their bellies onto the snow, and father and daughter
seated themselves upon the sled. Overhead the stars glittered, their
brilliance not yet paled by any hint of dawn. Voices came from the
direction of the camp, and presently the forms of men could be seen
making their way through the Arctic gloom. More forms appeared. Nolan
was assembling for the start.
Enright drew near with Lou’s six dogs harnessed to a clumsy sled. He
greeted the two with a grin, and seating himself on his sled, made a
great show of limbering up his dogs.
The Gordons soon found themselves the centre of a close standing group
of men, who eyed the dogs appraisingly, and conversed among themselves
in undertones. From beyond the encircling crowd a gruff voice called
loudly.
“Hello, Enright! Takin’ the kinks out of them freight hounds? What’s
the excitement over yender?” A moment later Dalzene forced his way
through the crowd, and stared open-mouthed astonishment at the great
ten team that lay strung out on the snow at his feet. One by one he
scrutinized the dogs, his eyes resting for what seemed a full minute
upon Skookum. In the crowd someone snickered: “What’s the matter,
Dalzene? Froze yer tongue?”
The taunting words goaded the man to sudden fury: “What the hell’s
comin’ off here?” he roared, facing the men of Nolan with blazing eyes,
“Whose dogs is them? Where’d they come from? They don’t git in on this
race! My money’s up agin Koyukuk dogs! You don’t run in no ringers on
me! Who the hell do you think I am? I wasn’t made in a minute!”
Clem Wilcox stepped close and faced the infuriated man: “Maybe you
wasn’t,” he said, in a voice that cut cold, “But you’ll be gittin’ made
_over_ in about a minute if you don’t quit yer cussin’ where ladies is.
Up here on the Koyukuk we respects women. An’ what’s more you don’t
happen to be runnin’ things up here, neither. Them dogs is entered
fer this here race, all proper an’ regular an’ they’re goin’ to run.
They’re Koyukuk dogs, belongin’ to the Gordons down on Myrtle----”
“Myrtle! You can’t work that on me! Coldfoot’s dead, an’ Myrtle’s dead
an’ forgot about!”
“Mebbe you’ve fergot about it,” grinned Wilcox, “But, you wont never
fergit it no more, Dalzene.”
“I tell you I won’t run agin them dogs. I ain’t supposed to run no
seven dog team agin’ a ten dog team! All bets is off! I won’t run!”
“Jest as you say, Dalzene. It won’t make no particular difference to
the boys whether you run or not. But the bets rides. I happen to be
stakeholder, an’ it was made plain that if anyone hauled out, his bets
loses.”
“Besides which,” added Enright, who had joined the group, “We didn’t
hear no partic’lar kickin’ on your part when you figgered on runnin’
seven dogs agin my six.”
The enraged man whirled on the speaker: “You know’d damn well them dogs
of yourn couldn’t run!” he roared, “I’ve be’n hornswaggled! It’s a
frame-up!”
“Ain’t it hell!” taunted Enright. “But, cheer up, Dalzene, it sure
grieves us to see you onhappy. An’ say, if it’ll ease yer mind any, I
don’t mind lettin’ you in on a secret--seein’ all yer money’s up, an’
we can’t git no more bets off’n you. That there team rambled over the
trail to Johnny Atline’s an’ back yesterday, in seven hours an’ forty
minutes, an’ carried double half ways. That’s jist an hour an’ a half
better than that there pack of muscle-bound flea pastures of yourn done
it.”
Dalzene turned to Wilcox, “Jerk out three of them dogs, an’ I’ll run!”
he demanded. “I ain’t goin’ to run no seven dogs agin’ a ten dog team.”
Wilcox laughed: “Suit yerself. If you don’t toe the mark at eight
o’clock, which is in ten minutes from now, I’ll begin payin’ off bets,
an’ we’ll go on with the show.” With a muttered oath, Dalzene turned
and elbowed his way through the grinning crowd.
“Might’s well draw fer place, an’ get that settled,” remarked Crim.
“They’s only three entries, so here goes.” Tearing a paper into three
small squares, he numbered them with a stubby pencil, placed them in
his cap, and after shaking it a bit, offered Gordon the first draw.
“Number Two!” announced the old man, holding the scrap of paper to
catch the light of the paling stars.
Enright drew Number One, and chose center place, leaving Gordon free to
chose the space to his left which was the better position.
“Git set!” cried Wilcox, “an’ take yer instructions.”
The teams moved into position, Dalzene’s sullen rage manifesting itself
in blows of his whip upon his cringing dogs.
Wilcox stepped before them: “The race is to Johnny Atline’s an’
return,” he announced. “Bill Britton’s up there to see that all teams
goes the hull route. The driver an’ sled, an’ every dog that starts
has got to cross the line at the finish, an’ the outfit that crosses
first wins. The committee, consistin’ of I, an’ Crim, an’ Henshaw
is the judges, an’ Johnny Atline is the starter.” Wilcox paused and
allowed his eyes to rest on the sullen face of Dalzene. “All passin’ on
the trail must be done on the haw side. Any interferin’ whatever with
another team will be a foul, the driver or team doin’ the interferin’
is throw’d out. Onnecessary crowdin’ hittin’, or hittin’ at, another
team with the whip, throwin’ anything, or any other ways interferin’
with the runnin’ of a team is a foul. The trail’s plenty wide fer
passin’ except in one or two stretches, an’ if any team piles up on one
of them places, he’s got to haul out, an’ let the other teams pass.”
“Who’s goin’ to prove this here interferin’?” growled Dalzene. “S’pose
this here Gordon says I interfered, an’ claims a foul, it’ll be his
word agin mine.”
“In such case,” replied Wilcox, looking his questioner squarely in the
eye. “It will be up to the judges which one to believe. We know you
both, an’ in decidin’ we’ll naturally take the one’s word that’s got
the best reputation. Git set, now. Atline, he’ll count three, an’ then
fire his revolver, an’ at the crack of the gun you’re off!”
Lou Gordon took her place beside the sled upon which her father was
seated. “Be careful of the whip, dad,” she whispered, nervously. “I’ll
start them, and I’ll be here at the finish.”
Dalzene caught the last words. “Hold on, there!” he roared, “What
business has that woman got startin’ them dogs? Git her out of there!
If she’s goin’ to drive that team, she’s got to go the hull distance.”
“Shut up, Dalzene!” called Wilcox. “Her givin’ the word to the dogs on
the start ain’t drivin’ ’em. You got a right to have a dozen yellin’ at
yourn on the start if you want to.”
Dalzene subsided, and Atline took his position: “Ready! One. Two.
Three.” Bang! At the report of the gun Lou Gordon’s voice rang clear.
“Mush! Skookum, Mush-u! Mush!” Instantly the ten big dogs started, and
before the words had fairly left the girl’s lips, they shot away over
the ice, gaining speed at every jump, so that as the teams blurred and
were swallowed up in the gloom of the Arctic day, the big ten team was
well in the lead.
“First distance race I ever seen that took a ridin’ start,” opined
Crim, “The trail’s awful fast. They ort to make good time.”
“They will make good time,” declared Lou Gordon, “If dad will only sit
tight and forget his whip.”
“That’s some dog--that leader, Miss Lou,” ventured Atline. “I don’t
suppose you’d sell him?”
“What, sell Skookum! No sir! There isn’t dust enough on the Koyukuk to
buy Skookum. No dog in that team is for sale. But, that reminds me,
Pete Enright said you wanted to buy a couple of dogs. The six that he
is driving are for sale.”
“No, mom, they ain’t,” grinned Atline. “Enright he said how you was
holdin’ ’em at a hundred apiece. It’s a pretty stiff price fer dogs
when they ain’t no stampede on, but we know your dogs is worth more’n
the common run, so I bought two, an’ Joe McCorkill, took two, an’ the
mail carrier took two. The dust’s waitin’ fer you in Crim’s safe. Here
comes Enright, now.”
“Come on, Enright!” yelled a man in the crowd, which having witnessed
the start, was already dispersing and straggling back into the camp.
Others took up the cry, and standing upon his sled whirling his whip
high above his head, Enright dashed cross the finish line amid a chorus
of good-natured banter:
“Hooray fer Enright!”
“Five minutes an’ two seconds! That’s the world’s record fer fifty
miles!”
“Enright wins a can of corn!”
“Wait till I thrash my bananas, an’ I’ll hang a wreath of ’em around
yer neck!”
“Watermelons would look better!”
“Much obliged, gents!” laughed Enright, “But, what’s more to the p’int,
while these here decorations is bein’ got ready, let’s go up to the
Aurora Borealis an’ I’ll buy a drink!”
“That sounds reasonable!” agreed Rim Rock, “an’ then we kin go ahead
with the wrastlin’ match an’ the fist fight.”
“Boxin’ exhibition, you rough neck!” corrected Wilcox.
“Why sure,” seconded Enright, “The idee of callin’ it a fist fight!
Rim Rock, you bloodthirsty devil, you ain’t fit to be heard talk in
p’lite society! This here is goin’ to be a strictly scientific sparrin’
match--bare fisted, with gougin’, bitin’, an kickin’ not barred, an’
pulled off all in one round of an hour and ten minutes, onless a
knockout is secured in the meantime. Come on you malamutes! The dance
hall for us till time fer the finish of this race!”
Hailing the three men who had bought the six dogs, Enright turned them
over. “Here you all, divide up yer dogs. We sure had Dalzene fooled
good an’ proper with ’em. They’re good dogs, too, but they wasn’t no
use runnin’ ’em over the trail agin them other teams, so when they got
out of sight, I hauled out.”
On the walk back to camp, Enright fell in beside Lou Gordon: “Well,
Miss Lou, the last I seen of ’em yer pa was leadin’ by about a good
pistol shot, an’ goin’ strong. I believe he’s a-goin’ to win this race.”
“If he can keep well ahead so he won’t think he has to use his whip he
will probably make it almost as fast as I could. The dogs are a little
bit used to having him drive them. But, if Dalzene should overtake him
and try to pass, I’m afraid something will happen. Dad will get excited
and the first thing he will do will be to use the whip, and then the
whole team will go to pieces.”
“Yes, but if that dirty hound of a Dalzene fouls him, we win anyhow.”
“I almost wish I hadn’t told dad to rest them at the turn. That may
give Dalzene a chance to pass, and I’m afraid dad never could regain
the lead without mixing up.”
“He’ll be so fer ahead at the turn that he kin rest ’em fer an hour
an’ still keep the lead,” opined Enright. “Anyways, I’m satisfied my
money’s on the right team. An’ now about these here wrastlin’ an’
boxin’ stunts. Do you want to see ’em? If you do, I’ll see that you git
a good seat.”
“No, thank you. I’ll visit with Mrs. Crim until the ski and snowshoe
races, and the tug of war come off.”
“All right, Miss Lou, an’ don’t worry about that race. I really believe
we’re a-goin’ to win. An’ if we do, she’s worth about nineteen hundred
dollars to you.”
“Nineteen hundred dollars!” cried the girl, stopping and peering into
the man’s face in wide-eyed surprise. “Nineteen hundred dollars! What
do you mean?”
“Why, don’t you remember I told you that in case we win the boys
thought that it wouldn’t be more than fair to add ten percent of their
winnin’s to the prize? Well, Dalzene’s got fifteen thousan’ bet on this
race. An’ ten percent of that is fifteen hundred, an’ the race stakes
is four hundred, an’ that makes nineteen hundred.”
“Nineteen hundred dollars,” breathed the girl, as they walked on
through the gloom, “That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, Miss Lou, it’s quite a heft of dust fer a girl to clean up. But
it ain’t nothin’ to what you could make if your dogs win this race--an’
I ain’t so sure I wouldn’t try it if I was you, even if you don’t win.”
“Try what? What do you mean?”
“I mean the Alaska Sweepstakes. Take them dogs over to Nome in
the spring an’ run ’em agin’ some real dogs. An’ if they win today
they’ll be plenty of Koyukuk dust over there to back ’em. They don’t
know nothin’ about your dogs over there, so the odds ort to be right
promisin’.”
“Oh, do you think I could--really? I--win the Alaska Sweepstakes!”
They had reached the door of the Aurora Borealis through which the men
were already crowding. “Well, Miss Lou, I ain’t sayin’, of course, that
you could win. But, I will guarantee that them dogs of yourn will give
anything they’ve got over there a run fer their money.” And, as Enright
turned to enter the door, Lou Gordon proceeded on toward the trading
store, with her brain in a whirl.