Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-12-12
BY DIR. DON NUMBERS.

Special Dispatch to The Star and North
| American Newspaper Alliance.
MCCALL, Idaho, December 12.-At
| , O'Clock in the morning of November
! 1 1 was satisfied that a boy
faced death 100 miles away in the
mountains He lay i'll with intestinal
flu and pneumonia in shack at the
Workbench Mine. The name of the
boy is Emmett Rouston.
The snow was deep. Tie only way
to reach that boy was by dog sled and
it was Big Jerry himself. the leader
of Roy Stover's strong team of black
and tans. that got the little town of
Mccall awake to what was going on.
Slower is a racing dog driver who
tells no one but Jerry when a special
effort is expected of his dogs. But the
big black Labrado was telling the
world as he dashed back and forth
from mate to mate, letting them know
important business was to be done.
Meanwhile, Slower was dragging out
the harness for the dogs and getting
the rig ready.
All harness runs have a serious and
dignified place in the minds of trained
racing dogs. They are concerted lot
when they are working, anxious. am
bilious, often vicious. But they are
honest.
Slower Sure of Dogs.
Slower trusted in this honesty, and
was sure of their willing ability to
so long way as he harnessed them,
hooked up the collar and lead chains
and loaded them into Frenchy's big
truck. The truck was used to travel
eight miles to Payette Lake, where
more fine dogs. the pick of Warren
Browns 1926 American derby win
ners, arrived in another truck.
Here a composite team was formed
two wheel dogs, two abreast ahead
of them, then two more abreast, and
a single line Of four on out to Jerry,
the leader.
We moved out into the cold night
with hardly sound, and sped
through the snow toward Bergdorf
Speeding over fair stretches and
slowing to a walk. on sleeper climbs
and in deep loose snow Tin places the
drifts were 10 feet deep, we We're
over the first lap of IS miles in less
than three hours.
Keeping on, still breaking our own
trail, we reached the independence
mine. Every man and every dog was
happy that our highest summit had
been passed. Our goal lay only II
miles farther on.
Our team was tired from the rough,
hard going of the bad places. The
dogs feet were bleeding. But not
dog was willing to quit. We really
had put on too much speed over this
first lap of what proved the easiest
part of the journey. A piece of
blanket 1 had worn for protection
was torn off, and my heavy whip
cord breeches We're worn out entirely
on both hips. This was due to the
scraping of the light sled against icy
snowbanks. Those trousers looked
as though some one had been shoot
ing through them with a sawed-off
shotgun.
Borrowed. New Trousers.
But borrowed heavier pair from
A AND after Sash hot edsre AE%& 6 ps u
brandy. I kept on. But from the
springs I had only two of the original
team. Fifteen miles farther on, at
Warren, we picked up two additional
dogs and two expert snowshoe men,
Brad Carey and Bill Roden.
We were carried across the next 10
miles by mule team. This was made
possible by shallow snow. We were
helped by Dan Levan, the widest of
mule-skinners. and 20 more willing
horse and snow shoe men who met us
by relays. They fed us and pushed us
on and by Monday afternoon we were
heading toward Elk Summit II. 900
feet up and usually a stormy spot.
Brad Carey was now my guide. A
better one, or a more 'considerate and
faithful helper in an emergency. never
lived. Slower waited behind. caring
for his WORKOUT dogs at Bergdorf.
The driving was becoming strictly my
job as the most rigorous part Of the
journey approached.
My good physical condition came
into service as we plodded up through
the snow, sending the dogs and sled
ahead of us. We all followed Carey,
who with young Roden broke our
trail.
Boys Father Weakens.
It was showing and the snow fell
harder and harder as the ascent grew
sitter and the snow already fallen
deeper. Old John Rouston, the father
of the boy was on the way to see,
was with us. Years ago he could
snowshoe with any man. But as dark