“Like I said before,” Jerry declared, “I’m glad he’s on our side.”
The Indian cocked his head toward the truck, where the dogs were setting up a raucous clamor. “I go see if huskies okay.”
Lou Mayer shivered and hugged his arms tightly around his body. “And to think I could have been a teacher in a nice cozy classroom in some peaceful college in the balmy South instead of shooting it out with enemy agents in the Yukon—” He stopped short and looked guiltily at Dr. Steele. “I’m sorry, sir. That just slipped out.”
“That’s all right, Lou,” Dr. Steele said. “I think by now the boys have a pretty good idea of what we’re up against.” Sensing the question that was forming in Sandy’s mind, he added hastily, “But for the present, at least, that’s all we can tell you.” As Lou and the professor were getting back into the station wagon, he whispered to his son, “At least this little incident answers our question about Charley, once and for all.”
“It sure does,” Sandy agreed. “We’ll see you later, Dad.” He and Jerry turned and trudged back to the truck.
Jerry’s voice was small and numb. “Wow! Enemy agents! Wow! Wait till the guys hear about this!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Big Race
They rolled into Whitehorse late that night. The boys were surprised to find a fairly modern city with paved streets, rows of stores and shops and street lamps. As they drove down the main street, festively decorated with wreaths, colored lights and holly, Jerry shook his head.
“Why, it looks pretty much like Valley View.”
“They even have bowling alleys,” Sandy pointed out. “And neon signs.”