 The challenge of the Yukon. The Wonder Dog King, swiftest and strongest of Eskimo lead 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. The steamer city of Seattle nosed its way through the Lynn Canal, its engines straining. Two young men isolated themselves from the crowd that swam the decks, both of them looking toward the horizon beyond them. Wonder how soon we'll sight it? Well, be long now. What Ferguson says is true. There's a man that knows the Yukon, Paul. Boy, we were mighty lucky to bump into him. Huh? Why, what's wrong? Wrong? Nothing's wrong, exactly. Except that I don't trust that fellow. I don't know why not. The advice he gave us about what kind of an outfit to buy will sure come in handy. He says almost all chichacos, well, that's what they call greenhorns in this country, load themselves down with more stuff than they can use. Yeah? Another thing, he knows the trails. If he knows so much about the Yukon, why didn't he stay up there? Or if he left, how come he got back to the state's broke? Well, he says he got kinda homesick. Funny thing though, he was telling me this morning that once you've lived up north, it gets in your blood. That's why he's going back. Listen, John, so it's all right with me who you're friendly with. That's none of my business. But don't say anything to him about the map. Or have you? Me? Oh, now listen, I wouldn't say anything. Just so you don't. This Pete Ferguson might be all right. I just don't trust him and I don't like his looks. And what's more, speak of the devil. Hello there. How soon will we sight Alaska? Oh, you're pretty anxious, ain't you? Well, I don't blame you. You'll sight Skagway any minute now. Good. That suits me fine. Yeah. I guess you two are going to the Yukon for the same reason everybody else does. Well, I wish you luck. Thanks. I hope we won't need it, Mr. Ferguson. Paul Martin and John Rogers wasted little time trying to get organized for the journey that was ahead of them. Chachakos, they were. But unlike the many thousands of men and women who milled about striking out indiscriminately to search for gold or following rumors, Paul Martin and his friend knew where they were going. Their problem was how to get there. Behind them, Skagway loomed. A sprawling boom town become suddenly important as the gateway to the gold fields. To Pete Ferguson, it was also a gateway. A gateway to easy riches. In one of the many Gary Saloon scattered through town, he held a hurried conference with the short, stocky man who had met him at the dock. So far, I don't make no sense out of anything you said, Pete. I thought you and me were staying here in Alaska. After trouble we had with the Mounties, you sure don't expect to go back to the Yukon, do you? Now listen, buddy, this is too good to pass up. So we had trouble with the Mounties. We got out of their territory all right, didn't we? By the skin of our teeth we did. Well, a miss is as good as a mile. They won't be expecting us back up there. All we got to do is keep out of their way. These two young fellows don't know the country, say, here. Yeah, but what's that? Shut up and let me finish, will ya? I got pretty friendly with one of them on the boat. The other's kind of, uh, well, keeps more to himself. But what I got from this Rogers fellow makes me sure it'll be a cinch. They've got a map. Well, how do you know what means anything? You think I'd be fool enough to take a chance on it unless I knew? They've got something up their sleeve and I'm getting in on it. Thought you might be willing to take a chance, Whitey. Of course, if you're not interested in splitting whatever there is in it... I didn't say that. I just wanted to make sure you wasn't starting off on a wild goose chase. I thought you'd come around. Now, listen. They're greenhorns, say. They're bound to leave a trail plain enough for a blind man to follow. All we got to do is trail them. Keep them in sight. And then... who knows? The two Chachakos had only blistered feet and a dull weariness to reward them at the end of each day. The warm, dry, westerly Chinook wind had swept across the Yukon, bringing vegetation to the land that had been snowbound and ice-emprisoned during the winter months. But though their endurance increased with every day spent on the trail, both Paul Martin and John Rogers complained constantly of the mosquitoes that infested the country. These things are driving me crazy. Every one you kill is a thousand more of them. Nothing you can do about them as far as I can see. I'm telling you, Paul, I could put up with it cold. I can stand being hungry and walking my feet off. These mosquitoes must have been dreamed up with the devil himself to drive a man daft. When we make camp for the night, maybe to smoke from the campfire and drive him away. Drive him away? He asked me, it just shows them where we are. We ought to sight the three pine trees tomorrow. Just what I figure. I'm glad this map was so detailed, John. Come on, let's see if we can make better time. I'm going this. It was several days later. The two partners had located the spot designated on the map as the source of a rich gold vein. It was a stretch of flat, dimpled land, and they set to work immediately. Meanwhile, several miles away from where they camped, Pete Ferguson and Whitey McLaughlin stood thoughtfully beside a wide, clear stream. Well, I'll hand it to you, Pete. You had the right idea. I saw them lifting some gold this morning, and to where I was, it looked like the real thing. Yeah. You want me to head back and beat them to filing papers? I don't know. What do you mean you don't know? You're going to stand here and watch them lift carloads of the stuff before you do anything about it? Yeah, jumping that claim would be risky. Especially considering the fact we don't want any trouble with the police. So far, they don't know we're up here. But Martin and Rogers wouldn't stand around and just keep their mouths shut while we moved in on the payday. Well, yeah. But we didn't come up here just to look at the scene, Pete. Listen, Whitey, you might have brains, only I never seen you use them. There's other ways of getting those two to move out of here. Like what? I've kept pretty close tab on them. I've come close enough to their camps along the trail back there to be able to hear them talk, see. And what bothers them most is mosquitoes. Oh, what are you doing, talking in riddles? Mosquitoes. What's mosquitoes got to do with it? They got a lot to do with this. More than once, Rogers has wanted to turn back because of them. Yeah, well, there ain't no picnic at that. But then there shouldn't be any of them over there where they're camped now. No reason where there can't be. Huh? See that dam there in the stream? Oh, yeah. So we break up the dam and the water runs down toward their camp. It'd be a breeding place for mosquitoes. That's an idea. Maybe if they'd be bad enough, they'd clear out of here to look old spells. Sure. Come on, let's get to work. Sergeant Preston halted his dogs where the two partners had their camp. He found the two young men involved in a bitter argument. I told him he could stay here if he wanted to, Sergeant. But I'm fed up. We've come a long way and we've worked hard. And I'm not tossing it over just because he can't take a few mosquitoes. A few mosquitoes? The place is living with them. When we first got here, it wasn't so bad. But the other morning we woke up and the claim was flooded. We never know when we'd get up, whether it would be flooded out or if the ground would just be soggy from the day before. Well, it's flooded now. The dam must have broken upstream. But it should be... What do you say about one day the water overruns your campsite and the next it doesn't? The next or might not be any. The mountain frowned as he listened to the strange story the two young prospectors told. Then after getting John Rogers' promise that he'd remain in camp for a few more days, Sergeant Preston turned his dog Pull Trabois back toward the trail preparing to follow the stream. A short time later with the great dog King standing close to his master, the mouth he stood looking at the wide stream in front of him. His eyes followed the small animals swimming upstream in what appeared to be a migration. The placement wondered what would cause the beavers to desert what had been home to them. That's odd. Must be some reason. What is it, fella? Beaver. Looks like he stopped a bullet. Why would anyone kill one of these animals and not bother skinning them for the fur? Why, there are dozens of them here. Somebody's been picking them off with rifles and ear some shells. Come on, fella. This is where we start trying to find the answers to this puzzle. With the great dog King leading his team, Sergeant Preston drove slowly through the timber watching for signs of the man or man responsible for killing the beavers. The dog soon caught the scent of two men and in his eagerness accelerated the pace. Meanwhile, Pete Ferguson and Whitey McLaughlin sat in their camp eating cold rations since they didn't dare risk making a campfire. Sure be glad when them two clear out of here. When I eat beans, I like them cooked. Well, don't worry. Give them another day or so. I'm fighting about it now. Mosquitos won't leave me alone. Well, we're kind of getting a share of them ourselves. Yeah, they're not as bad over here. Besides, we're used to them. I got close to the camp last night and believe me, the pests are there and swore. Hey, what's that? Somebody come. Where did I get that rifle? Hey, Pete, it's a Monty. I didn't know there was any around. Well, this is quite a surprise. Out of curiosity, I followed a trail not knowing whose it was. I never expected to find you two. Now listen, Monty, we ain't done nothing. We're just peaceful prospectors. There's no use talking, Whitey. You managed to get out of the territory last year after those bank robberies. Pete, you lame brain fool. I should have known better and take you up on that crazy idea of yours. Follow them, too. Drive them away from the claim. Yeah, you drove us straight to jail. All right, Monty, you win. And after hearing what Whitey just said, I think before I take you back to town, we'll make one stop. Get the dogs up, King. When John Rogers saw Sergeant Preston's two prisoners, his eyes widened with surprise. There was little resemblance in the surly face of Pete Ferguson to the same man who'd been so affable and helpful when the two had met on the steamer city of Seattle. These men are responsible for the mosquitoes that have been swarming around your camp. How do you mean, Sergeant? There's a beaver dam farther upstream. Now, they broke the dam so that this ground would be flooded. Shallow water was a perfect breeding place for mosquitoes. But each time they broke the dam, the beavers rebuilt it. So they killed some of the beavers. And that's where they made the mistake. Mistake? Yes, because it was the dead beavers that aroused my curiosity. I followed their trail. Well, I'll be... I told you you never should have trusted Ferguson. You told him about the map, I guess. Well, we've got nothing to worry about now. The sergeants arrested them. Sure, we've got nothing to worry about. The mosquitoes are still here. Look at them all over my clothes. I don't think they'll be troubling you too long, Paul. Of course, you'll never be free of them this season, but the beavers swam upstream. And they'll build another dam, which will divert the water. And as soon as this ground dries up, you'll have fewer mosquitoes. It'll be small relief. Oh, any relief from the pests can't be sneezed at. Sergeant, we'll never be able to thank you. Well, I've got my men, and you'll be free to work your claim. Seems like that evens up a score. Oh, there's just one thing, John. What's that, Sergeant? The next time you meet a stranger who's very much interested in your business affairs, I think you better use a little discretion. Maybe next time you'll be plagued with bees instead of mosquitoes. See, I told you. Maybe from now on you'll keep your mouth shut. Sure. And when we get to town, I'll buy you a drink on it. Well, Mr. Ferguson, I wish you a pleasant journey. A one-way journey for him. Yes, fellow? The case is closed. 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. Jack McCartney.