IX
With the Flight of Time
CHAPTER IX
WITH THE FLIGHT OF TIME
The town of Nome, extending along the shore of Bering Sea for nearly two miles, is not built back to any extent on the tundra, which stretches away, a bog in summer, to the low-lying hills in the distance. In winter this is, however, a wide sweep of spotless snow crossed by well-defined trails—and it was here that the dogs were given their exercise.
There were many pleasant diversions in this daily training; visits to the outlying camps, where they were lauded and petted by the miners, and surreptitiously banqueted by the camp cooks.
Then there were impromptu races into town if by chance they encountered other teams coming back after the day's work; when the leaders, eying one another critically, even scornfully, would, without so much as a bark by way of discussion, start headlong for Nome, which was visible in the shadowy gray twilight only by its curling smoke and twinkling lights.
On they would come, over the Bridge, and up the steep banks of Dry Creek, turning into Front Street, and dashing down that main thoroughfare at a pace that took little heed of city speed limits.