North

Early in the morning of the day before Christmas, Lou Gordon divided the bacon and flapjacks between two plates, and crossed to where her father lay snoring loudly beneath his blankets. The two had camped for the night in an abandoned cabin only five miles below Nolan.

“Wake up, dad!” she called, “Breakfast’s all ready, and it’s time to mush.”

The old man stirred sleepily and opened his eyes. “What’s the hurry, lass? We’ve got all day before us, an’ only five miles to go. What’s the sense in hittin’ the trail this time of night?”

The girl smiled: “I want to be in and out of Nolan before it gets light.”

“In and out! What d’ye mean, in an’ out?”

“Why, tomorrow’s the day of the dog race, and I want to take the dogs over the course today. I want to know the trail, and I want them to know it.”

Old Man Gordon threw back his blankets and drew on his moccasins, “What are ye so particular about the trail for? Didn’t Pete Enright say it was plain an’ hard-packed—a ridin’ trail all the way?”

“Yes, but it isn’t going to do any harm to know it. I have never driven a race before, and I want to know everything there is to know about the trail. I’m going to win! And besides, I want to give the dogs a final workout.”

The cabin was bare of furniture, and without rising from the floor Gordon drew one of the plates toward him. Lou took the other, and seated herself at his side.

“What’s this talk about drivin’ the race, an’ knowin’ the trail?” asked the old man, as he partook largely of a flapjack.

The girl glanced up in surprise. “Why, I said I want to know all about the trail so I can win the race tomorrow.”

“Ye win it! Losh, lass, ye don’t suppose I’d be lettin’ ye drive the race—wi’ twenty-five ounces at stake?”

“What do you mean?” cried Lou, in sudden alarm.

“I mean, I’ll drive the race myself, of course! A slip of a lass like ye drivin’ a fifty mile race! An’ expectin’ me to let ye do it! ’Tis never to be thought of. How could ye hold the dogs to the work? No, no, lass, the money’ll be ye’re own if ye’re dogs win it. But it’s a job fer a man, an’ not a wee lass.”

For a moment the girl remained speechless—stunned. She wondered if she had heard aright. Surely her father could not mean that he would try to handle the dogs—her dogs, that she had raised from puppyhood, and trained, and worked over. Why, she knew those dogs! They were hers. Nobody but herself had ever driven them. Nobody could drive them as she could drive them. They understood her as she understood them. And, what did her father know of dogs?

When at length she spoke her voice sounded strange and far off: “Do you mean that you are going to try to drive the dogs—my dogs?”

“Of course I’m goin’ to drive ’em. Not that I think ye ain’t a good hand wi’ dogs, mind ye. ’Cause ye are. Ye handle ’em as gude as a man on the trail. But, not against a stake of four hundred dollars. Ye must remember that for all the pluck of ye, ye’re but a lass. Ye lack experience——”

“Experience!” cried the girl, her face flushed with the mighty anger that surged up within her, “Experience! When did you ever have any experience racing dogs?”

“I never raced any dogs in my life, but all my life I’ve handled dogs——”

“And you don’t know any more about dogs than I know about your old boiler! Why, dad, can’t you see? Those are my dogs! I know every one of them, and they know me. I can get a hundred times more out of them than you can. Why, I raised them! And besides, you think I’m just a baby! You’ve been so full of that old boiler that you haven’t noticed that I’ve grown up! But, I’m not a baby! I’m nineteen! And I can out-drive you, and out-mush you, any day!”

“Tush! Tush, lass! Ye’re fergettin’ yourself. Ye’re lettin’ ye’re angry passions rise against ye’re own father. Honor thy father an’ thy mother, the Gude Book says, an’ ’tis scant honor to face down yer own father wi’ foolish prattle! I never thought ye’d be expectin’ to drive the race yerself, or I’d told ye long ago. I can see how ye’re maybe upset wi’ disappointment, an’ I’m not holdin’ ye’re hasty words against ye.”

The girl’s anger subsided as swiftly as it had arisen, and there were tears in her eyes as she answered in a voice that was not quite steady: “Forgive me, dad! Really I hardly knew what I was saying. We can’t be angry with each other. Why, you’re the only person I have in the world. And I do love you.”

“Of course ye do, lass. Say no more about it. I’ve forgot it already.”

“Oh, but, dad—can’t you see that the dogs will work better for me than for anyone? I’m the one who has handled them, I feed them and care for them. To me they are just like so many people. I know each one—his faults, and his virtues. Please, dad, please let me drive the race. I’m not just a little girl. Look at me, I’m as tall as you are!”

“Aye, but for all that, ye’re but a wee lass, an’ ’tis foolishness to be pratin’ of drivin’ a dog race—to be tryin’ to compete wi’ grown men on their own terms. This Dalzene, I’ve heard of him down on the Yukon—an’ no gude of him, an’ I’m knowin’ ’twill take a man to beat him.”

“But the men of Nolan! Think of the men who have backed my dogs with their gold! They, too, thought I was going to drive. Pete Enright thought of course I’d drive. Surely you wouldn’t do anything that would cause them to lose. All of them are your friends, and how would you feel if this horrible Dalzene went back to the Yukon with their dust?”

“Aye, an’ it’s to prevent just that I’m goin’ to drive this race. It ain’t in reason that their gude gold should be at the mercy of a striplin’ of a lass.”

“Let’s leave it to them!” cried the girl, “Surely, you will agree that they have much more at stake than we have. Let them decide who will drive the race. It’s their dust that’s at stake, and they should be allowed to name the driver.”

The old man shook his head stubbornly: “No, no, lass. ’Twould not be fair to put it up to them. There ain’t a man among them but would vote for ye to drive when they seen how you’d set yer heart on it. They’re real men—the men of the Koyukuk. An’ if they thought ’twould please ye, they’d vote the gold out of their own pockets wi’out battin’ an eye. Don’t fear, lass. I’m not forgettin’ the boys.”

Lou Gordon knew her father. She realized the absolute futility of further argument. Without another word she drew on her parka and, leaving the old man to pack up the camp outfit, stepped out into the keen air. At the shrill creak of the sagging door which she closed behind her, heads appeared above the dark furry mounds that dotted the surface of the snow, and below the pricked ears, ten pairs of eyes glowed in the reflected starlight like live coals. Here and there a dog got up, stretched with a prodigious yawn and settled back upon his haunches to eye the girl in eager expectancy. Of all the dogs only Skookum presumed to approach her. Stepping close he raised his pointed muzzle and the smouldering yellow eyes searched the face of his mistress. Dropping to one knee, Lou threw her arms about the great neck, and a dry convulsive sob shook her as she buried her face in the thick hair. Only for a moment she remained thus, and as she released the dog, his long red tongue shot out and caressed her cheek. And as he stalked slowly to his place at the head of the row of waiting dogs, Lou noted that the great white plume of his tail that generally flaunted high above his neck was carried at half mast. “He knows,” she whispered to the brilliantly glittering stars, “Skookum knows that there is something wrong, and by tomorrow, they’ll all know it. Oh, why can’t he listen to reason!”

From a canvas bag she drew a ball composed of tallow and boiled rice which Skookum deftly caught in mid-air. One after another the dogs caught and wolfed down their portions, and righting the sled, the girl proceeded to harness them, each dog, as his name was called, eagerly taking his accustomed place in the team, as she deftly adjusted the harness.

When a few minutes later Old Man Gordon opened the door, the great ten team stood ready for the trail. The camp outfit lashed to the sled, the girl held out her whip to her father: “You better drive them on in,” she said, “It will give you a chance to get acquainted with them a little, and it won’t be quite so much of a surprise to them, tomorrow.”

“Losh, lass, a dog team is a dog team. I’ve drove hundreds of ’em in my time.” Nevertheless he took the whip, and gave the command to mush. The dogs remained stationary, and cracking the whip loudly, the old man repeated the command: “Hi, mush! Mush-u!”

At the sound of the whip, Skookum looked around in surprise, hesitated uncertainly for a moment, and seeing that the girl stood at the old man’s side, decided it was all right, and started. The other dogs, not hearing the sound of the familiar voice, did not move with the leader, and the result was a jerky, awkward start. A hundred yards down the trail, Skookum deliberately stopped stalk still and looked backwards. Again it was all right. The girl was mushing along beside the sled, and the leader started on as Gordon shouted his command to mush. On and on they plodded, and as Lou’s eyes rested upon her dogs she noted the listless, mechanical manner of their going—noted also that the tails showed an unwonted droop.

“Can’t you see the difference, dad?” she asked at length, “They don’t know what to make of it. They haven’t got their hearts in their work.” Before the old man could reply, a sharp bend in the trail brought them face to face with a dog team. “Gee! Gee! Gee!” cried Gordon excitedly, cracking his whip close to Skookum’s ears. But instead of turning out for the oncoming team, the great leader lunged forward and snapped viciously at the lead dog of the other team. In an instant the two teams were at each other tooth and nail. Gordon and the other driver, sprang into the mêlée, striking right and left with the whips, and vainly trying to make themselves heard above the pandemonium of growls and snarls. An instant later a shrill whistle cut the air. The girl rushed to Skookum’s side, and grasping his collar repeated the whistle. Instantly the great dog drew away from his opponent and stood quivering, every hair a-bristle. The other driver managed to collar his own leader, and repeating the shrill whistle the girl snatched the whip from her father’s hand, and brought the lash down with stinging force upon the back of Kog, the fourth malamute from the sled. The blow had the desired effect. The four other huskies had stopped fighting when Skookum stopped, and the malamutes followed as Kog dropped upon his belly in the snow. Fortunately there had been little or no tangling of harness, as the dogs had been separated almost as soon as the fight began and a few moments later both outfits were once more strung out upon the trail.

“Oh, dad, can’t you see, now?” cried the girl. “They’re not used to you. They don’t understand.”

“They’re ill broke!” growled the old man, stubbornly.

“They’re not!” exclaimed the girl, “They are the best broken dogs on the Koyukuk! Ask anybody.”

“There’s no one on the river, that would hurt ye’re feelin’s by sayin’ aught against ye’re dogs, lass. But, ’tis no way for a leader to do, to fly at the throat of a passin’ lead dog.”

“If he had been handled right Skookum would never have done it. Why did you think you had to yell ‘Gee’ three times and crack your whip right at Skookum’s ears?”

“’Tis a trail of ample wideness to pass wi’ plenty room.”

“And they would have passed without even hesitating if you hadn’t confused Skookum by yelling at him as if he were deaf. Why, you can’t even start them without nearly jerking the outfit to pieces.”

“It’s because of they’re trainin’. They ain’t half broke, I’m tellin’ ye. I know what dogs should do.”

“And I’ll show you what these dogs can do, if they’re properly handled. Give me the whip!” The old man complied.

“Whoah!” At the sound of the girl’s voice the team froze in its tracks. “Mush!” Instantly, the team started as a single dog. The sled slipped smoothly into motion and the dogs broke into a brisk trot, their plumes a-wave. “Steady!” The trot slowed to a walk. In the distance sounded the tiny tinkle of bells.

“Here comes another team!” cried the old man, “Git to ye’re leader an hold him till they’ve passed! Next time, they’ll tangle an’ maybe we’ll have a hurt dog. They’d of tangled before if I hadn’t got there just as I did.”

“Get on the sled!” commanded the girl. “I’m driving, now, and I’ll show you something!”

Reluctantly the old man seated himself upon the sled. The tinkle of bells sounded nearer. Grasping the tail rope the girl spoke to her father: “You couldn’t pass that other team at a walk. Watch me!”

“Mush! Mush!” the command cut clear, and the dogs sprang into a run. “Mush-u! Hi! Hi!” Faster and faster they flew over the hard-packed trail. Directly ahead, seemingly almost upon them in the gloom, a dog team topped a rise. “Mush!” The dogs increased their speed. “Gee!” The single spoken word cut clear, and swerving without a perceptible jerk, Skookum, threw his team to the side of the trail, and the next instant, they flashed past the oncoming team.

“That’s drivin’!” called a voice from the darkness behind them, and Lou slowed her dogs to a walk with a word.

“Now, what do you say?” asked the girl.

“’Twas a foolhardy thing to do,” announced Gordon. “I’d say ye were lucky. But it proves ye’re not fit to drive a race.”

The remainder of the trip was made in silence.

Enright himself greeted the outfit as it drew up to the roadhouse door, and while her father exchanged greetings with a half-dozen former residents of Slate Creek and Myrtle, the girl managed to call Enright aside.

“What’s ailin’ you, Miss Lou? You look like you expected to lose that dog race instead of winnin’ it.”

“That’s just it. I’m afraid we will lose it. At least we won’t stand near as good a chance of winning as I thought we would.”

“What’s the matter? Dogs gone sick on you?”

“No, they’re in tiptop condition. It isn’t that, but just this morning dad informed me that he is going to drive the race! Said it was a man’s job. He just can’t realize that I have grown up. And he don’t know any more about handling those dogs than the man in the moon.”

Enright whistled: “Plumb set on it, is he? Did you try to reason with him?”

“Reason with him! I’ve tried every possible argument I could think of. Even showed him how I could handle them on the trail, after he’d mixed up with an outfit we met. But it’s no use. You know dad.”

“Yup, he’s the settest man when he gits an idee in his head I ever seen or heard tell of. Well, if that’s how it is, it’s got to be that way, I s’pose. Mebbe the dogs is so good that anyone could win with ’em. That’s our only chance. Unless——”

“Unless what?”

“I was thinkin’, mebbe, we might sort of kidnap him till after the race.”

“No, no! Don’t do that. He would never forgive you—or me either. No, we’ve got to let him go.”

“All right, Miss Lou. You’re the doctor.”

“At least, I’ll try to persuade him to take them over the course today, so they’ll know the trail.”

A few moments later she approached her father: “Dad, don’t you think it would be wise to take the dogs over the course today, so they will be familiar with the trail. You ought to know it yourself.”

“Losh, lass! I’ve be’n to Johnny Atline’s, an’ as for the dogs they can’t get off the trail, it’s a ridin’ trail all the way.”

“I know, but the dogs will travel any trail they know better than they will a strange trail.”

“No, no. Now don’t you go botherin’ your head about that race. You leave it all to me. Even wi’ the dogs broke bad as they are, I’ll win. Go on now an’ enjoy ye’reself. I’m goin’ over there wi’ the boys.” And turning away, he followed the men who had already started for the saloon.

“He won’t even take them over the course,” she reported to Pete Enright, when her father had passed out of hearing.

“Dalzene’s had his up an’ back three or four times.”

The girl who had been regarding the toes of her moccasins, suddenly looked up. “Where is Dalzene?”

“Oh, he ain’t up yet. He got pretty well loaded up on hooch last night, an’ he’ll lay abed till noon.”

“I’m going to take the dogs over the trail myself! Tell me, how will I know Johnny Atline’s cabin.”

“Can’t miss it. Keep on up the river fer twenty-five mile. There’s an island right opposite Johnny’s claim with two big rocks standin’ on the lower end of it. The boys was up the other day an’ cleared a wide place in the snow for a turnin’ place. You can’t go wrong, they ain’t no trail beyond, to speak of.”

“Come on down to the river and see me off,” smiled the girl, “and I want you to time me.”

“Eight o’clock right on the dot!” cried Enright.

The girl waved her hand, and started her dogs, “Look for me about four!” she cried over her shoulder, as the great brutes bounded away.

Enright grinned: “’Bout six will hit her closter,” he opined, and turned toward the saloon.