"Well then, let's make it somethin' worth while this time. Let's say your claim agin mine—the Midas agin the Golconda—that the Allan an' Darlin' dogs win the race."
A thrill of wild excitement ran through the crowd—two of the richest claims in the whole of Alaska staked on the success or failure of one dog team, and the leader of that "down and out" at Timber.
"Oh, Moose, if our team don't come in you'll lose a terrible lot, an' you've worked so hard t' git it."
"Even losin' Golconda won't break me now, Sonny; not by a long shot. An' even ef it did, I got what I allers did have left; two hands t' work with, the hull country t' work in, an' a kid that likes me," with an affectionate glance at the boy, "t' work fer. With all that, an' a good dog er two, I wouldn't call a Queen my aunt. An' ef we should win, Ben,—well, it's porterhouse fer Baldy the rest of his life at Mart Barclay's expense."
At Timber the time was passing with discouraging rapidity. Nothing they could do seemed to have any beneficial effect on Baldy's legs—the legs that had been such a matter of pride to the boy in the old Golconda days.
In the races it is the custom to carry, at intervals, any dogs who need to recuperate, but Baldy had always manifested a certain scorn of these "passengers"; and "Scotty" knew that it would only be by force that he could be kept off his feet.
"Bill, you hold the dog; and Paul, if you'll keep the mouth of the sleeping bag open, I'll try to get Baldy into it."
Poor Baldy resisted, but he was in the hands of his friends, so that his resistance was of necessity less violent than he could have wished; and in spite of his opposition he was tied in the bag, and gently lifted upon the sled.
After thoughtful consideration, "Scotty" placed Irish and Rover at the head of the team. "They're good dogs; mighty good dogs, but they're not used to the grind like Baldy."
He took his place at the handle-bars. "I'll try my hardest, boys, but every chance is against me now."