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 went in the Yukon, but he would not stand for any fooling in the traces. He often had to discard dogs from his team and find others of better stuff.

Gene drove his dog team just as he did himself. They must go the limit. His word was law. The slightest motion of his hand or whip called for immediate obedience. If it was not forthcoming, that black lash, which was more accurate than any bullet on the Yukon, went singing to the mark.

Gene rarely petted his dogs, as he said it spoiled them for the trail. Yet he made an exception of Silversheene, who was such a beauty that he could not keep his hands off from him. But Gene soon saw that this made the other dogs jealous, so he did his petting on the sly.

Each day on the trail was as much like the day before as routine could make it, although the conditions under which they travelled were always different. Some days the going was good, while others it was