by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XIV "THEY ARE OFF"
In Nome each twenty-four hours that passed saw the great race just oneday nearer. Each day the excitement over this event increased. The prizethis year was large. Men of means had contributed generously. Thoughthought of winning for the honor of the "Fresh-Dough Club" was everuppermost in Jodie's mind, and in Florence's when she indulged in strangeday-dreams, the prize was not entirely forgotten. Jodie had been let inon the secret of the lost mine. Once the race was won, or lost, it wasplanned that they should be away at once on their search for that mine.And the prize money would go far toward providing them with the verynecessary grub-stake.
Little wonder then that, while keeping one eye on her own gray team--justin case something happened--Florence always had the other turned uponJodie's fine dogs.
The crack of the starter's gun was only three days away when, as Jodiecame in from his daily practice run, Florence met him on the street."What's the matter with old Sparks?" she asked, nodding at the right handwheel dog. "He doesn't seem quite up to himself."
"Been lagging all day," Jodie's brow wrinkled. "Off his feed a little, Iguess. I'll cut him out tomorrow. He'll be O. K. after that."
"Jodie," the girl's tone was low, serious, "do you watch your dogs?"
"Sure thing I do." He stared at her.
"Jodie, there's talk of gambling going on among those foreigners, youknow. They might--"
"I know," Jodie replied wearily. "They'll not get to my dogs. The kennelis right against my bunk. Besides, from now on, Az-az-ruk, a half-breed,is going to watch them at night."
"I'm glad. Good-bye, Jodie." The girl was away.
That night Florence sat a long time by the fire. She was thinking hard.What Jodie had told her had not entirely reassured her. One of his dogsdid not appear to be right for the race. What if another and perhapsanother began to wear down under the strain.
"We'd lose," she whispered.
"But suppose I enter the race with the grays?" A thrill ran up her spine.How she'd love it. Always her sturdy body had cried out for action. Shehad swum a swift flowing mile-wide river on a dare. She had climbedmountains alone. She had done all manner of wild things on trapeze andropes, just for the thrill of it. And now this race! All else seemed topale into insignificance.
"And yet," she thought, "would it be fair to Jodie?"
One more day passed, then another. It was the forenoon of the day beforethe coming of the great event. Only a few hours were left for enteringthe race. Yesterday she had driven her gray streaks over fifty miles oftough trails. How magnificently they had performed! With such a team, whocould stay out? And yet--
Fifteen minutes later her mind was made up. Jodie passed her. He was offfor a short spin. Short as had been her experience at driving and judgingdogs, she knew at a glance that all was not well. Four of his dogs werenow imitating the actions of a very weary rag doll. Their heads hung low.Their tails drooped. Each forward sprint called for a great effort.
"That half-breed must have slept on his watch," her eyes narrowed.
When Jodie came trotting back two hours later, she met him in the street.
"Whoa! Whoa, there!" he shouted at his dogs. "What's on your mind?" Thesmile that he gave the girl was an uncertain one.
Florence's heart was in her throat. Would he hate her now? "Jodie," shereplied soberly, "I'm in the race with the grays. I--I just had to doit!"
"Good!" seizing her hand, he gripped it until it hurt. "I hoped you'denter. It's a tough grind all that way and back, so I didn't want to urgeyou. But you--you'll make it, and you'll win."
"No, Jodie," her voice was deep and low, "I'll only win if I see youcan't."
"That," he swallowed hard, "that's sporting of you, but you--you can't dothat. You go in to win. Forget me. Forget everything. Go after those graywolves and make them do their best, start to finish. And here--here'sluck to the best man!
"All right, Ginger," his voice dropped. "Mush along you!" He trotted awaybehind his team.
"And this," Florence murmured, "this is the North. No wonder they call it'God's country.'"
"You go to sleep, girl," Tom Kennedy said to her at nine that night."I'll stay up till morning. You never can tell what's going to happen inthe wee small hours.
"God made a mistake," his keen gray eyes took her in--squirrel skin cap,bright orange mackinaw, corduroy knickers and all, "you should have beena boy."
"A girl can do what any boy can, if she's strong and keeps herself fit,"she flashed back at him.
"No girl's ever run in the great race before," he reminded her.
"That's what makes it so fascinating. Who wants to be forever doing whatothers do?"
"You'll be an honor to your old granddad. I--I'm glad you came," hisvoice was husky.
"I hoped you would be," she replied simply.
All that night, with lights out and with the inner door ajar, Tom Kennedysat by the window that overlooked the distant, moonlit hills and the dogkennels close at hand. Once Florence stirred in her sleep, then suddenlysat up. What was it? Had she heard a shot? She did hear the door softlyclosed, she was sure of that.
"What was it, grandfather?" she asked sleepily.
"Thought I saw a skunk. Can't be sure. He's gone now, went mighty fast."
"Skunks," she thought dreamily, "do they have skunks in Alaska?" What didit matter? Once more she was asleep.
And then the great day dawned.
All the little city's population was out to see them start. A picturesquethrong it was. Indians, Eskimos, trappers, traders, gold hunters, shopkeepers, adventurers, they were all there.
The five contestants drew for places. The teams would start one hourapart. Many hours would pass before their return. When they beganstraggling back, the throng would be there again. Meanwhile, snug andwarm in their cabins, they would with shouts of joy or howls ofdisappointment listen to shortwave radio accounts of the race.
Jodie drew first place. Smitty Valentine, hero of many another race andfavorite of old-timers, drew second, Florence was third, and the twoother sourdough contenders drew up the rear.
With a wild round of applause, Jodie was away in a cloud of fine drivingsnow.
For an hour the crowd lingered. Then, at the crack of a pistol, with ashout and a flourish of the whip, Smitty was away. Then such a shout!"Smitty! Smitty! Go, Smitty! Go!"
Florence swallowed hard. The popularity of this man had been honestlywon. Tom Kennedy had said he was a real old-timer, and Tom knew. And yet,"Time marches on. Youth must be served. Unless youth is given a place inthe sun, there can be no progress." These words of a truly great man rangin her ears. They must win. It was Jodie or she. Which should it be?
The crowd did not linger to see her off. Oh, yes, the younger crowd, hergang, the tried and true, would stick. As for the others, who could blamethem? There was a bitter cold wind from the west. And who was she? Only agirl from somewhere or other. What place had a girl in such a race?Hundred miles! What, indeed! Probably lose her team in some wild storm,they may have been thinking. At thought of this, she set her teeth andclenched her fists. She would show them. Girl or no girl, they shouldsee.
A thin cheer arose from the faithful few when at last the pistol soundedout the hour and with a quiet "All right," to her leader, she headedstraight out over the long, long trail.