The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1901-02-02
this crush and waited by his sled un.


of his rivals greater wisdom in the
matter of dog-driving, had followed
his lead and waited. The rout had
passed beyond ear-shot when they
| took the trail, and il was not till they
had travelled the ten miles or so down
to Bonanza that they came upon it.,
speeding along in single file but well
punched. There was little noise and
less chance of one passing another at
that stage. The sleds, from runner to
runner. measured sixteen inches, the
trail eighteen; but the trail, packed
down FULLY foot by the traffic, was
| like a gutter. On either side spread
the blanket of soft snow crystals. If
| a man turned into this in an endeavor
| to pass, his dogs would wallow per-
| force to their bellies and showdown to
snail's pace. So the men lay close
to their leaping sleds and waited.
No alteration in position occurred
down the fifteen miles of Bonanza and
| Klondike to Dawson, where the Yukon
| was encountered. Here the first relays
waited. But here, intent to kill their
| first teams if necessary, Harrington
| and Savoy had had their fresh teams
placed couple OF miles beyond those
of the others. In the confusion of
changing sleds they passed full half
the bunch. Perhaps thirty men were
| still leading them when they shot
| onto the broad breast of the Yukon.
Here was the tug. When the river
| froze in the fall, a mile of open water
| had been left between two mighty
| jams. This had but recently crusted,
| the current being swift, and now it
was as level, hard and slippery as a
dance floor. The instant they struck
this glare-ice Harrington came to his
knees, holding precariously on with
one hand, his whip singing fiercely
| among his dogs and fearsome abiura-
tions hurting about their ears. The
teams spread out on the smooth sur
| face, each straining to the uttermost.
| But few men in the north could lift
| their dogs as did Jack Harrington.
| AS they swung into the seventy-five
mile station and Lon McFane dashed
alongside, Wolf Fang in the lead
caught Harringtop's eye and he knew
that the race was his. No team i'm the
north could pass him on those last
| twenty-five miles. And when Savoy
saw Wolf Fang heading his rivals
team he knew that he was out of the
running and he cursed softly, to
himself, in the way woman is most
frequently cursed. But he still chung
to the others smoking trail, gambling
on chance to the last. And as they
churned along with the day breaking
| in the southeast, they marveled in
Joy and sorrow at that which Joy Mo-
lineau had done.
"
Forty Mile had early crawled out of
its sleeping furs and congregated near
the edge of the trail From this point
it could view the up-Yukon course to
it's first bend several miles away. Here
it could also see across the river 10
the finish at Fort Cudahy, where the
gold recorder nervously awaited. Joy
Molneau had taken her position
several rods back from the trail, and
under the circumstances, the rest of
Forty Mile forebore interposing itself.
So the space was clear between her
and the slender line of the course.
Fires had been built, and around
these, men wagered dust and dogs,
the long odds on Wolf Fang.
Up the Yukon a black speck APP
peared against the snow, closely fol-
lowed by second. AS these grew
larger more black specks manifested
| . Inf nj 50 a
to the rear. Gradually they resolved
themselves into dogs and sleds, and
men lying fiat upon them.
'"Ten to one on harrington" cried
u Birch creek king, dragging out his
sack.
"The Queen, her pay you not
mooch?" queried JOY.
The lieutenant shook his head
"You have some dust, ah, how
mooch?" she continued.
He exposed his sack. She gagged il
with rapid eye.
"Mebbe-say--two hundred, ehf
Good Now 1 give-what you call--the
tip. Covaire the bet"
JOY smiled inscrutably. The lieu.
tenant pondered. He glanced up the
trail. The two men had risen to Their
knees and were lashing their dogs
furiously. Harrington in the lead.
"Ten to one on harrington" bawled
the Birch creek king, fourishing his
sack in the lieutenant's face.
'Covaire the bet" Joy prompted.
He obeyed, Struggling his shoulders
in token that he yielded, not to the
dictate of his reason, but to the
charm of her beauty. Joy nodded tc
reassure him.
All noise ceased. Men paused in
the placing of bets.
Yawing and reeling and plunging
like luggers before the wind, the sled.
swept wildly upon them. Though he
still kept his leader up to the tail oil
IIarrington's sled, Louis Savoy's face
was without hope. Harrington's
mouth was set. He looked neither
to the right nor to the left. His dog,
were leaping in perfect rythm, firm
footed. close to the trail, and Vol
Fang, head low and unseeing. whining
softly, was leading his comrades mag
nificently.
Forty Mile stood breathless. Not Q