Their arrival created quite a bit of excitement. “Only one other sled has come through here,” a worried official told them. “The Mounties have planes and search parties out looking for the others.”
“We saw one of the planes,” Sandy said. “He dipped his wings and we waved to him. So he knew we were all right.”
“Actually, though,” the official went on, “the storm looked worse last night than it was. Those winds were gale force. I don’t imagine anyone was really in serious trouble. They’re all experienced woodsmen, accustomed to roughing it on the trail.”
Jerry hooked his thumbs inside his belt and puffed out his chest. “Sure, it was a breeze.”
Tagish Charley was more interested in the sled that had passed through the check point that morning. The official said the other driver had about one hour’s start on them.
“We catch ’im,” Charley said. “Let’s go.”
“Hey!” Jerry complained. “What about breakfast? I’m so ravenous, I’m liable to take a bite out of one of the dogs.”
“No time to eat,” the Indian said. “We have to win race.”
“We’ll give you some sandwiches and hot coffee to take along,” the official promised. “You can eat on the run.”
Jerry stared wistfully at the platters of flapjacks, juicy Canadian bacon and hot biscuits on the stove. “If we come out of this alive, I’ll never look at a cold sandwich again,” he vowed.