North

The journey to Nome had consumed but thirty-three of the allotted forty days, and during the week following her arrival, Lou Gordon rested from the long snow-trail. For a while each morning she worked with her dogs, getting them into condition, putting the finishing touches on them for the big race that was scheduled to start at nine o’clock on the morning of the thirteenth of April. The heavy trail-sled had been replaced by a strong, light affair, built for speed, yet braced throughout against possibility of damage upon the hard, wind-swept trail.

During this first week in Nome, the girl was left very much to herself, her father spending the entire day, and sometimes half the night, among the dumps and the boilers of the beach line diggings.

One morning, as she paused on the trail to make some slight adjustment of harness, a team of eighteen superb dogs halted beside her and a cheery voice greeted her from the depths of a close-drawn parka hood. “Need any help?”

“No, thank you,” answered the girl, her eyes drinking in every detail of the eighteen great animals, “What wonderful dogs!”

The man laughed; “They sure are. But that’s no scrub team you’re drivin’. Goin’ to enter ’em?”

“Yes,” the girl smiled, “And I’m going to win, too!”

“That’s the talk! Johnson’s my name—John Johnson.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you!” exclaimed Lou, “And I’ve heard of your team. Lots of people have picked you to win the Sweepstakes—you or Scotty Allen, or Fred Ayer.” Again she smiled: “But, that’s because they don’t know my dogs.”

“I guess they don’t, all right. I don’t know ’em, an’ I thought I knew every race team in this part of the country. Where you from?”

“From the Koyukuk. I am Lou Gordon.”

“The Koyukuk!” exclaimed Johnson. “I didn’t know they bred good dogs over there. Did you come across from the Yukon?”

“No, we came by the Kobuk.”

“You’re some sourdough!” exclaimed Johnson, “To come that way. But all the Koyukukers are, as far as that goes. It must be a God-forsaken country up there.”

“It’s the best country there is!” interrupted the girl, quickly.

“That’s right! Say, I don’t mind tellin’ you that if I don’t win the big race myself I’d rather lose it to you than any one else. I like the way you talk. Are you goin’ to drive ’em yourself?”

A slight frown puckered the girl’s forehead: “I want to drive them,” she confided, “But my dad thinks it is no job for a girl. He can’t see that I’ve actually grown up. And, really, I do handle them lots better than he does.”

“I’ll bet you do! But, say—he’s dead right—about it not bein’ a girl’s job! Believe me, Miss Gordon, I know! She’s some trail! Especially if there’s a blizzard on.”

“Do you know the trail?”

“I sure do.”

“Will you draw a map for me. I want to take them over the whole course before the race.”

“Sure, I’ll map it for you. Where you stoppin’?”

The girl gave him the name of her hotel, and he continued: “If you say so I’ll come over there this afternoon an’ then you can see me make the map, an’ it will give me a chance to tell you about the trail. There’s some mean places an’ it helps a whole lot to know about ’em.”

“Oh, will you? Are you sure you are willing to do that—when it might be the means of my winning the race?”

Johnson laughed: “If them dogs of mine can’t win because they can out-run, an’ out-trail yours, you’re welcome to win. I don’t want no advantage. An’ let me tell you that you’re doin’ a good thing by takin’ ’em over the trail. There’s more to that than some folks savvies. There’ll be a lot of ’em entered this year. An’ outside of three or four of us, they ain’t none of ’em be’n over the trail. Here comes Scotty Allen now!” he exclaimed, as they watched the approach of a big team of pure malamutes. “Him an’ a woman down in California is pardners in that team—an’ they’re good dogs, too.”

As the driver drew up and halted Johnson hailed him. “Come here, Scotty, an’ meet Miss Lou Gordon from over on the Koyukuk, an’ at the same time take a squint at some good dogs. Look at that lead dog! Some animal! I was just tellin’ Miss Gordon that if I don’t win I’d rather she would than you, or Ayer, or Sapala, or Eskimo John. The rest ain’t got no show, anyhow.”

Allen acknowledged the introduction. “I’m sure glad to meet you, Miss Gordon. So you’ve come over to give us a run for our money, eh? That’s the stuff! But don’t you believe for a minute that John here, an’ that pack of wolves he’s drivin’ is goin’ to cut any real figure in the big race. Here’s the team you’ve got to figure on, right here. If you beat out these malamutes, you’ve won the race!”

“Hear him rave!” laughed Johnson, “Why, Miss Gordon, them malamutes will be lucky if they don’t set down an’ freeze in before they hit Gold Run. I figure on packin’ extra grub for Scotty, so he can make it in a-foot.” And so it went, the two great dog-mushers exchanging good-natured banter, and the girl enjoying it hugely.

“Anyway, I hope the best team will win!” she exclaimed, when they had exhausted their stock of ready repartee.

“You said it!” seconded Allen.

“You bet!” exclaimed Johnson. “I hope we don’t have to run in the snow. It’s a hard grind in clear weather, but with a blizzard on, it’s fierce.”

“You don’t figure on drivin’ the race, yourself!” exclaimed Allen.

“If I don’t drive it, one of you will win,” laughed the girl. “My dad wants to drive, but he can’t win.”

“Just the same, I hope he don’t let you tackle it,” said Allen, seriously, “It ain’t no woman’s race—the Sweepstakes ain’t.”

“It will be a woman’s race this year!” smiled the girl. “You’ll see!” and with the good-natured laughter of the men ringing in her ears, she headed the dogs for town.

Two days later she took the trail for Candle with Johnson’s map stowed safely in her pocket. Old Man Gordon had grudgingly given his consent to the trip, although insisting that it was all foolishness, and again warning her that she most emphatically was not going to drive the race. Careful to take no issue with him on that point, she reiterated her contention that the dogs, especially Skookum, would be able to clip hours from the time if they knew the trail, and so won the old man’s grudging consent.

It was with growing apprehension that the girl swung the dogs onto the trail. For she realized that with all Nome talking dog race, her father could not forget the big event even though there had been ten times as many boilers to inspect. With the race still more than two weeks off, everyone was thinking dogs, and talking dogs—and nothing else. And as the time approached the girl racked her brains for some maneuver that would allow her to drive the great race.

In vain she racked her brain for a solution of her problem as her sled slipped smoothly over the hard trail. “I’ll just have to hire someone to kidnap him,” she muttered, “And then he’ll never forgive me. I don’t see why he can’t listen to reason!”

Just before she drew into Soloman, an event happened that drove all thought of her father out of her head and gave her fresh cause for worry. A dog team came into view and as it approached, the actions of Skookum caused the girl to stare at him in amazement. The great leader had stopped dead in his tracks, and stood, half crouched, with muscles tensed, and the hair of his back standing bristlingly erect. From his throat issued a low, menacing growl, and stepping quickly to his side the girl saw that his amber eyes were fixed upon the driver of the approaching team. Suddenly the team halted and the girl found herself staring into the face of Jake Dalzene!

Only for a moment the man stood facing her in the trail. But in that moment his face registered intense surprise, followed instantly by an abysmal fear, as his glance centered on the menacing figure of Skookum. Then, swiftly he swung his dogs clear of the trail, and urging them on gave wide margin on the frozen crust. As he passed his eyes met the girl’s in a gleam of sullen hate. The next moment he was gone, and Lou started her own dogs and continued on to Soloman.

“What in the world is he doing here?” she wondered, “Surely he is not going to enter his dogs in the Sweepstakes! Oh, why couldn’t he have stayed on the Yukon? Why did he come to Nome? He’ll never try to steal Skookum again. He’s deathly afraid of him, and he has a right to be. I never saw Skookum act that way before! Why, he would have eaten him up! But, he might try to kill Skookum! I wish Pete Enright were here. He would keep an eye on Dalzene for me. As long as Dalzene is in Nome I’ll worry every minute that my dogs are out of my sight. I know he’s up to some deviltry. I could see it in his eyes. Maybe it’s just hooch-running,” she reasoned, when the first shock of the meeting had worn off. “Because he evidently didn’t expect to see me here. His face showed surprise until he saw Skookum. Then fear. Oh, why didn’t you chew him up, Skookum?” she cried aloud, but for answer the big dog increased his pace, and ran on.

The girl spent the night at Topkok, fifty miles from Nome, and got away early the following morning with Telephone Creek, seventy-two miles further on, as her destination. It was on this stretch of wind-beaten trail that for the first time she really let the dogs go. Riding the sled for long stretches she urged them to their utmost, and her heart thrilled as the great brutes responded with all that was in them and the sled fairly flew over the snow. Twice that day she stopped and fed a handful of meal to each dog—an extra trail ration to balance the extra exertion, and to hearten them for the long pull. She passed Boston Roadhouse shortly after noon, and arrived at Telephone Creek at four o’clock, an hour and a half ahead of her schedule. In the morning she headed for Candle, eighty-four miles away, which is the turning point of the race. It was particularly of this stretch that Johnson had warned her. Here one must cross the wind-swept reach of Death Valley, and while in clear weather the only serious danger is a wind-smashed sled, it is a real menace should the unfortunate musher lose the trail in a thick snow-fog or a driving blizzard, for Death Valley Hill is cut by sheer bluffs and cut-banks over which an outfit might easily plunge to destruction.

On the summit of Death Valley Hill she halted and fed the dogs the while she took careful note of the lay of the land. So engrossed was she that a dog outfit from the north was almost upon her before she noticed it. A moment later it drew up beside hers. The driver’s bared hand fumbled for a moment with his snow goggles, and in that moment the girl noted that the goggles were of the Eskimo type, consisting merely of two bits of hollowed wood provided with slits. The goggles came off, and she found herself looking into a pair of grey-blue eyes set deeply in a face that was wind-tanned to the color of a native. Then she was aware that the eyes were smiling, and that a fan-shaped spread of tiny wrinkles radiated from their corners. The lips were smiling, too, as they greeted her in jargon:

“Klahowyam!”

“Klahowya six!” smiled the girl, gazing frankly into the blue-grey eyes. Somehow those eyes seemed to fascinate her. They looked young, and yet—no, not young. There was a hint of deep wisdom in their depths, but the face was not the face of an old man. White even teeth showed between the smiling lips, and every movement of the well poised body bespoke health, and strength, and vigor. He was speaking:

“Great dogs you’ve got there!” Before she could warn him, he had stepped swiftly to Skookum’s side, and his bared hand was laid upon the big leader’s head.

“Oh, look out! Please!” he glanced up at the cry, and again his lips smiled, as he noted the look of utter amazement that showed in the girl’s face as she stared at her great lead dog whose amber eyes were gazing mildly into the man’s face. “Be careful! Skookum don’t like strangers. No one has ever touched his head before—not even dad!”

“Well, then, I’m not a stranger—and I’m glad. Skookum and I understand each other, don’t we Skookum?” The hand pulled playfully at the great dog’s ear.

“But—I don’t understand!” cried the girl, “He couldn’t have known you! I raised him, myself, and he’s never been away from me, except——”

“Except when?” asked the man, so quickly that the girl wondered.

She was about to reply, when he forestalled her: “Except about two months or so ago,” he said, “And then, he wasn’t away from you for very long.”

“Why—how do you know? Do you know about Dalzene?”

The man laughed: “Never heard of him,” he answered.

“Then, how do you know?”

The stranger’s fingers were caressing the scars of the twitch that still showed on the great dog’s jaws. “I know because these scars are only about two or three months old. And I know that you never jerked him around with a twitch.”

“Dalzene stole him. He’s a horrible old hooch-runner, and I won a race from him, or rather dad did, over on the Koyukuk, and then he stole him when he found I wouldn’t sell him. But Skookum broke his chain and came home.”

“And probably ate the hooch-runner, before he did it,” mused the man, staring into the amber eyes. “I know a little bit about dogs and I wouldn’t care to have this particular specimen for an enemy.”

“No, he didn’t,” answered the girl quickly. “I—I almost wish he had!”

The man laughed: “I don’t blame you,” he answered. “If Skookum was my dog, and somebody stole him, I think I would wish the same thing—only I think I would be inclined to save the dog the trouble.”

“Of eating him?” exclaimed the girl, and they both laughed aloud.

“You live on the Koyukuk?”

“Yes, on Myrtle Creek.”

“Out of Coldfoot?”

“Yes, only there is no Coldfoot, now. They’ve all pulled out for Nolan—except dad and me.”

“So, Coldfoot’s dead, eh? I kind of thought the gravel was too spotted to last.”

“You have been there?”

“Quite a while ago. I pulled out before there was any Coldfoot, I was back there once since and bought an outfit of grub from Crim. I pulled north from there.”

“North!” exclaimed the girl, “To Nolan, or Wiseman?”

“North of everywhere,” smiled the man. “Way north. North of the Endicott Range. This is my first trip out in four years. And my second trip out in eight.”

“Four years!” exclaimed the girl, “And no camps up there?”

“No camps. I’ve sent Eskimos to Shungnak sometimes for supplies. This spring I thought I’d come out myself. I’m going to Nome to take in the sights, and the big race. What’s the old world been doing in the last four years?” he asked.

The girl smiled: “The Koyukuk has been flowing into the Yukon and Coldfoot has stampeded to Nolan,” she answered, “That is about all I know of the world. But, I have been to Nome.”

“And not staying for the big race!” exclaimed the man.

“Yes, I’m staying for the big race. I’m going to win it!”

“You! You’re going to drive the Sweepstakes!”

“Yes. I’m going to drive—and I’m going to win, too.”

The man’s eyes studied the dogs, one by one. After several minutes he looked up. “You might do it,” he said. “There isn’t a scrub in the outfit. They’ve got the chests, and the backs, and the legs, and they’re in condition.”

“I’ve got to win!” exclaimed the girl. “If I don’t win we’ll be broke. This trip will take all we’ve got. Hotels are expensive, and I’ve just got to win. It will break dad’s heart if he can’t get his boiler.”

“Boiler—on the Koyukuk? What does he want of a boiler up there?”

“Oh, he thinks that if he can thaw out the muck with steam, his everlasting fortune will be made. It’s the only thing he can talk about, or think about. ‘B’iler Gordon,’ they call him on the Koyukuk.”

“Gordon,” repeated the man, in an even voice, “There was a Gordon down Dawson way, before the big stampede.”

“That was dad. His claim petered out, and we went up on the Koyukuk.”

The man glanced at his watch. “We may as well eat,” he said. “It’s nearly time anyway, and it would be foolish for us both to pull on for an hour and then eat alone, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course it would!” agreed the girl, and as they ate she found herself telling this kindly stranger all about herself, her hopes and ambitions, and her fears. And she listened while he told of the unexplored country along the Colville and its tributaries, and of how he believed himself upon the verge of a big strike.

“But is it worth it?” she asked, “Is the gold worth it all? Is it worth enough when you get it to pay for all the years of cold, and darkness, and hard, hard work? Don’t you realize that up here we are missing it all?”

“Missing it all?” asked the man, softly, “Missing all what?”

“Why, missing everything—missing life!”

It seemed a long time before he answered: “Maybe we are,” he said, “Maybe we are missing—life. I’ll think about that—and if I find the answer, I’ll tell you. You are coming back to Nome, of course?”

“Oh, yes. I’m just taking the dogs over the trail, so it won’t be all new to them when the race starts. I’ll reach Candle tonight, and rest all day tomorrow. The return trip I will make in two days. I’m going to really drive coming back.”

The man nodded: “That’s right. Make them do it. Force them and crowd them as if you were driving the race. They told me at Shungnak that the race starts the thirteenth, that will give them plenty of time to rest up in Nome, and it will show them what’s expected of them.”

“You know dogs,” said the girl.

“Yes,” he answered, “I know dogs. But, that is only half of it. Dogs know me. And that is the real secret of handling dogs. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I could take those dogs of yours and handle them as well as you can yourself. Dogs know all about a man the moment they scent him. It’s a sense we don’t know anything about, but it’s there. They know a lot more about us than we know about them. A dog knows a vicious man the instant he scents him, he knows the good-natured, easy going man, that he can take advantage of, and he knows the man he can trust and respect. He will work his toe nails off for the right man—because he trusts him. For the others, he will do just as little as he can get by with. He will do just enough to keep from under the club of the vicious man, and he will shamelessly loaf for the good-natured man who pampers him.”

The girl nodded: “I believe that. I believe every word of it. I have been handling dogs for several years, and I know it’s true. I should like to talk more about dogs,” she added, “but, really, I must go. I want to make Candle tonight.”

“You’ll make it all right,” he answered. “Can I look you up in Nome?”

“Oh, do!” cried the girl, “I’d love to have someone to talk to—someone who knows dogs, and who knows the real North—the country beyond the Yukon. Dad is so busy finding out about boilers that I hardly ever see him.”

“I’ll be waiting for you day after tomorrow evening,” he promised. “You will be too tired to talk dogs or anything else, but I’ll be looking for you. I want to see how your team stands the trip.”