"How much?" Britton broke in, a new incentive gripping him.
"Wan t'ousand tollars to de mans w'at catch dis canaille–"
"Come on," roared his friend, jumping into his travelling-gear. "Come on, Pierre; we'll pull down that thousand."
He was at the door in a second, calling to his huskies. Giraud ran after, boiling with impatience.
"Hold on!" called Laurance. "Though I'd like to be in on this job, I can't leave my cabin–not with Mister Feather-Fingers dabbling about, and the cook's over at Stewart for grub."
"Jove! I forgot that," said Britton, hooking up his team. "It's rather a shame, Jim. We'd like to have you come."
"Can't," Laurance grunted, dismally. "Still, you can have my dogs. Snap 'em on ahead. If it comes to speedin', you'll catch a runaway easier." He ordered the big animals out, and Rex prepared to harness them ahead of his own.
"It's a long string," he said, dubiously. "They'll take some managing."
"Wait," commanded Pierre. "Ah feex dat. Ah have de double yoke."
He pulled a double pack outfit from his sled and selected the harness, tracing the dogs up in pairs. Three minutes more and they were gliding over the trail, leaving Laurance watching from the mellow blur of his firelit doorway.