“Mush! You mush!” This shout acted on the dog team like an electric shock. They shot away with the speed of the wind.
They were wise, were these dogs. Not four days had passed when her shout was no longer needed. Once the last house had disappeared from sight, Gray Chief, her dog leader, began cocking his ears. The instant her costume change was complete, without a word from the young driver, he was away.
“We’ll win,” she hissed more than once through tight-shut teeth. “Win it we must.”
At times she found Jodie looking at her in a strange way. Did he suspect her purpose? Did he imagine she would enter the race against him if his chances were good? She was very fond of Jodie. Not for all the world would she offend him. But she would not tell him of her plans, at least not for the present.
“Grandfather,” she said once when the two were alone, “is there a time limit for entering the race?”
“Entries must be in at noon of the day before the race,” he replied.
“Good!” the word escaped unbidden from her lips. He gave her a strange look, but said never a word.
That same day he told her the story of his lost mine, told how he and his partner had worked their way back, back, back into the mountains, how, having found traces of gold, they had built a cabin and how they had worked day after day until the strike came, when they found nuggets as large as marbles, a very few nuggets but promise of many more.
“That very night,” his voice dropped, “Joe was taken sick. It was serious. I made a sled and hauled him out. That was a battle. I froze, starved, and fought my way and,” his voice dropped, “and lost. Partner died. Never found the mine again.”
“Perhaps someone else found it,” she suggested.