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 eager barking. The dogs all knew he was their leader. They loved him in their brute way because he was faster and stronger than any of them. They would follow his lead or all die in the traces. So it was a perfectly working machine with no friction or discord and that is what counts.

On the teams sped, through the long, dark night and the whining runners, the tinkling bells, and panting dogs made mad music to the ears of the two fighting, straining men. There was a small fortune at the end of the race for the winner. The Scotchman had already won seventy thousand dollars in these races, and Dick vowed in his soul, and swore by old Oregon and the state he loved that the ten thousand should be his this year. So on through the inky night they raced.

Finally the great gun at Fort Davidson boomed out its warning that the racers were coming. All the spectators who wished to see the finish must be in line. But Henderson's Huskies and Scotty Ellis's Baldies