 The challenge of the Yukon. The Wonder Dog King, swiftest and strongest of Eskimo-Leet dogs, blazes the trail through storm and snow for Sergeant Preston, as he meets the challenge of the Yukon. Sergeant Preston was typical of the small band of northwest-mounted police who preserved law and order in the new northwest country, where the greed for wealth and power led to frequent violence and bloodshed. But in spite of the odds against them, Sergeant Preston and his Wonder Dog King met that challenge, and justice ruled triumphant. Strong ice-flexed wind drove itself like so many pinpoints against the small group of men standing together in front of the trading post in Hammerhead City. The Great Dog King stood close to his master. His long bushy tail curled high above his lean, powerful body. His head turning briskly as he watched with bright eyes, the sled skimming lightly over the snow-crusted street. There was vigor and stamina in this dog, whose name was as well-known throughout the north country as that of the man who owned him. But the trappers and prospectus standing around the mountain weren't talking about King. Their attention was focused on a lead dog a few yards away, who was harnessed in mind with some of the finest animals to ever pull a sled in the Yukon. There was an imperious lift to the lead dog's head, as if he were conscious of his superiority and impatient of having to wait for his master. Why, the finest team of dogs I've ever seen. Look at the line of them. You can have the rest of them. The lead's worth more than the whole team put together for my money. If you want me to, I take four or five days to get them through, though. Try and order them. I don't want you to do no favors for me. All right, you huskies. Get set to travel. Smoky, you miserable brute. How much? Much before I lash your hikes open. Angus MacTavish's sled pulled away from the treading post, and Sam Rurden, the owner of the post, stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips, looking after the dower, Scotchman, who lashed his dogs with such a heavy hand. Sergeant Preston and the man with him moved slowly toward the doorway. Hello there, Sam. Hi, Sergeant. Come on in. This is temporary and sweetened up none, as you could see. He seemed to be in an unusually bad mood. I want to talk to him, too, but I thought the better of it. Better not to talk to him at all. Something I have to do. His cabin's at an important place on the main trail. Travelers who've stopped there tell me he's refused them food and shelter. I want to see if I couldn't persuade him to cooperate. It's a bad thing when a man runs out of supplies on the trail. You're telling me. But the trails could be littered with corpses that died of starvation for all that Scotchman cares. And I ought to know. I was caught short by his place once myself. I didn't know that, Sam. Well, I wouldn't have stopped his cabin anyway. But it was a bad storm. He sure didn't put out any welcome sign. I can tell you that. I remember him standing. He starts out in the trail. He ought to know how long he'll be on it. It ain't my business if you miscalculated. I don't have many supplies myself. And what I have, I don't aim to give away. I'll pay for them, Angus. That ain't the point. I don't bother no one for anything. I figure they can do likewise. Just what have you got against people? The more I see of people, the more I think of my dogs. They don't tell me no lies. I can depend on them. They don't ask any more than to be fed. And they work for what they eat. I got the best dogs in the Yukon. I got money in my pockets. And I don't need nothing from nobody. Best dogs in the Yukon, huh? You ever heard of Sergeant Preston's dog, King? Yes, yes. I have heard of that scurvy animal that follows the mountain round like some lap dog. I like my dogs with spirit, man. Without spirit, they ain't worth a thing. Yes, I take it you never seen King. If I was you, I'd keep my mouth shut till you make sure of what you say. He ain't no lap dog. See that you don't, Sergeant. They ain't hard to get along with. If McTavish wants to be let alone, then we let him alone. But he's as good as committed murder when he refuses to help somebody to get stuck on the trail. Well, he's right about his dogs. That's a fine lead he's got. What do you say about that, Sergeant? Well, he's got the size and the strength. And he looks like he's got the intelligence to be a good lead dog. But for some reason, I... You were what? I don't know. I just wouldn't trust him. Well, what do you mean? Well, maybe it's a hunch. Maybe I'm completely wrong. But I think that dog's got a mean streak in him. He's wild at heart. Well, he's in harness against his will, and that whips the only thing that keeps him there. Well, you saw how he started that sled out. He could pull three times his weight. Never notice it. Oh, it's not his strength, I question. Bob, it's his loyalty. I'll wager that in a showdown, the only loyalty he'd recognize would be to himself. Well, you might be right, Sergeant. If that's true, then him and his master are well matched. Yeah, I hope you're wrong about Angus. But I suppose I'll soon find out. Why? I think the best place to talk to him would be at his cabin. Probably I'll have a tall job of persuasion on my hands if I do manage to convince him of his responsibility to help those travelers. Well, I sure wish you luck, Sergeant. And believe me, you need it. Sergeant Preston lucked the trading post. And as he and the great dog King walked down the street, the Mountie was silent. A high wind whipped at him mercilessly, forcing him to bend his head, bucking it. Angus McTavish had already left town, heading for his cabin. And the policeman debated the wisdom of following him. Speculatively, he looked at the sky. Well, King, there's a storm coming up. It'd be a real blizzard, I'm afraid. Still, if you set a good pace for the dogs, we'll be able to hold in. If not at Angus' place, we'll stop at Allison's. Come on, fella. We get the dog started. A short time later, the Mountie sled was on the trail outside Hammerhead City. The great dog King led the pack. Every muscle of his body quickening with a vitality that accepted consciously and vigorously the challenge thrown down by the elements. His master, too, had been used to long days and nights on Yukon trails. But as he looked again at the sky, his mind was filled with doubt. I don't know. Perhaps it would have been wiser to have stayed in town. But for some reason, I can't help feeling it's better we left. Well, no matter. Un-King! Un-New Malamute! Far ahead of the Mountie, Angus McTavish drove his dogs hard as the wind increased its fury, lashing his hardened bodies so that he felt its bite even through his heavy Mackinac and parka. True, the Scotsman had a good team of dogs and a leader whom he believed had no equal in the Yukon. There was no reason why he shouldn't make it to his cabin before the Blizzard really set its teeth into the North Country. Smoky! Smoky! Get those dogs moving, you hear me? Marsh! The dog bit his head, obstinately slowing his pace, the rest of the team taking their cue from him. Smoky knew from an instinct that was as old as the weather itself that the Blizzard was nearly upon them. His intention was to curl up on the snow, cover his nose with his tail, and stay there until the storm had worn itself out. But Angus had no such thought. His whip cut the air ruthlessly, descending again and again, with blowering eyes the lead dog turned and looked at his master. It was one will pulling against another. Smoky! I'll kill you before you disobey me! Kill you, you hear? Get up! You stubborn scurvy brute! Get up and pull in dogs! The menace that passed slowly while MacTavish stood flogging his dogs were electric with a clash of two powerful personalities. Angus held a whip hand. Because of this, Smoky pulled himself to his feet, a surly menacing growl in his throat. Oh, mercy, you miserable hound! Oh, sifted through the air lightly at first, small dry flakes, eddying and whirling driven by the wind. Again and again, MacTavish brushed them from before his eyes in order to see the trail. And I was a fool to try to beat this storm. But I'll save time by crossing the creek and going that way. Or to be frozen over. Marsh, you malibu! Marsh! MacTavish stopped his dogs at the creek and then went forward on foot to test the ice. He was far too cautious to risk his team to ice which may not have been thick enough to hold them. As he walked to the edge of the creek, the man slipped. In a moment, he was down. And in that one moment, the dog Smoky with a savage growl and buried teeth lunged forward. Still in harness, he dragged the others after him. Now Madness seized the pack. MacTavish raised himself on one elbow to look into two gleaming eyes, alive and glowing with a vindictive hatred. He felt in one terrible instant the warm patting breath. Smoky! Smoky, you bloke! Stay back! Back here! MacTavish was conscious of a sudden sickening realization. He knew with a blinding sureness that the dog would kill him. And for the first time, since he left his boyhood home in Scotland, a desperate cry came involuntarily from his lips. Help! Help! The wind blowing toward King and Sergeant Preston's team brought Angus' call for help to the great dog's ears. King heard too the cries of the frenzy dog team and almost like a streak of lightning, the great malamute raced through the snow. His boars barely touching it. His head in the air, following the scent, the wind held to guide him. No, Smoky! No, no, no! No, Smoky! As King saw the dog team, he caught the unmistakable scent of human blood. He knew it was only a matter of seconds until the wild lead dog would finish what he had begun. MacTavish saw the dog through fear-glazed eyes. This powerfully built malamute had come from nowhere. Did it be that this dog would fight Smoky, fight for the prize that would be Angus MacTavish? Weekly, the man closed his eyes, not daring to think. Fiercely, Smoky turned on King. Somehow, the wily animal had slipped from the harness that had held him. The two dogs were on equal terms, and then there were at each other's throats, parrying, thrusting, gleaming, death-dealing fangs the weapons that found their mark, tearing fur from flesh, dodging and lunging they battled. Smoky fought cunningly, but it was a battle in which stamina as well as strength was involved. And by the time Preston arrived at the edge of the creek, he found Smoky panting and motionless in the snow. Slowly, MacTavish had crawled to his sled, or he pulled himself up to grasp his revolver. You all right? I'm all right. That's your dog. Yes, what about Smoky? There he is, lying in his own blood. Is he dead? No, though your dog didn't kill him. But I'm gonna do that now. He would have killed me. Angus, here, let me help you. We're not far from Allison's, Captain. Come on, you'll be taken care of there. A short time later, Angus MacTavish sat beside the warmth of Tom Allison's fireplace. And from his chair, he looked admiringly at the magnificent Malamute at Sergeant Preston's feet. He's a great dog, Sergeant. I rate the best it ever was. Yes, he is. At least that's always been my thought. Ah, and it's anybody's thought. Angus MacTavish isn't one to deny the truth when he sees it. That dog not only saved my life, he taught me a lesson, too. You can't live without extending the helping hand of the other fellow when he has the need of it. Now, what would I have done it? Ah, Sergeant, how much do you want for him? Name any price, man. I'll give you my word. He'll never taste the whip, neither, like them ugly curds of mine. Any price. I'll pay in cash, here, now. As if he understood the Scotchman's words, King raised his head to look at his master. And between Preston and the dog was a look of complete understanding. To measure the dog's devotion to his master would have been impossible. It was boundless, and as constant as the heart that beat within him. Sell, King? Angus, there isn't enough money in the world to buy him. Yes, fellow, I think everything's going to be all right. These copyrighted dramas originate in the studios of WXYZ Detroit, and all characters, names, places, and incidents used are fictitious. They're sent to you each week at the same time.