 The challenge of the Yukon. A king when you husky! 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. Two men walked into the long narrow frame building that served as a bank in Morriston. They walked one after the other and before he closed the door behind him, the second man looked back to the warmly dressed lookout standing by the sleds. They exchanged nods and, apparently satisfied, the men closed the door. Looks like you're about ready to close up. Oh, yes, that's right, we are. We just made it in time. See, I don't think I've ever seen you before. Going to open an account here? No. Oh, then you have one. Funny, I never forget a face. I never would have thought that... What's the name? I'll waste some time, boss. Let's get the dust and get out of here. Would you say the name was? No, I didn't. Drop that book, Mr. Unreach. Now you can walk over and open that safe. You heard me get moving. Dude, you go over and get what dust and the cash draw. Sure, boss. Quit stall and spin that combination. I'm a little bit nervous. Now, maybe I'd better... There we are. With that paper money and the gold out of there. Good. Now load all this in the sack. Hey, there. That's all there was in the safe. Let me see. Yeah, you're right. You've been mighty obliging for the money, Countess. No, Ed, you're not going to... That number you've got in the faces ain't going to do us any good. You ready, Duke? I got it all, Chan, except those pokes. All right, then take these pokes and go on out to the sled. I'll be right with you. Listen, I'll forget eating the sheen yet. A lot of people come in and out of here. Have I taken a chance? No, wait a minute, please. The early morning at an isolated spot surrounded by birch trees, a driver halted his team of dogs. The sun glinted blindingly on the snow, and a fierce wind stabbed the man with icy intensity as he stood before the cabin. Oh, it's you, check. Come on in. Where's the boss? Right here, meet my friends. My friend, Ken Serling, check. Charlie Sullivan saw us leave the bank in Morrison. He's on his way to half-mile now to meet Sergeant Preston. Red was on the lookout. Well, he slipped up. I was in the saloon over there when I heard about Sullivan. And if he gets to Preston, Chan, your neck's as good as in a rope this minute. And the rest of us ain't much better off. That Mountie. That Mountie's been out to get you a long time. We've just been lucky so far that he ain't been able to get enough evidence to do the job up the way he'd like to. But it looks to me like you'll get all you need unless you stop Sullivan and stop him fast. Yeah, see what you mean. Duke, get the sleds ready to travel. What are you going to do? I'm going to stop Sullivan. What's more, I'm going to stop that Mountie, too. I'm tired of running from that red coat. Every time he gets a good thing, he starts nosing around. It's suicide to murder a Mountie. Why the whole force would be out on her skin? Don't worry. We've already got an idea. The first job is to head off Sullivan. Then we'll take care of Preston. Taking the back trails, Chandler and his men made good time. The wary gunman had been silent during most of their trip. And when Chick returned from scouting late the next night to report he'd seen Sullivan making camp, Chandler questioned him for several minutes. Then, early in the morning, they were on the trail before daybreak. Listen, Chan, I'd feel a lot better if you'd let me know what you're planning to do. Now you'll see in a few minutes. Oh, you huskies, hold that! How do you expect to get down on the trail from here? I guess you expect the dogs to make a jump from this ledge. See that herd of caribou over there? Yeah, sure, but what's that got to do with it? Past down there is mighty narrow, isn't it? Yeah, yeah, it's narrow. So what? The oven will be coming through here in about ten minutes. There's not a track down there yet, so you... What's wrong? Hey, there he is now. Yeah, the wheelie's well into the pass so we won't be able to turn around in a hurry. Check double back quick. Drive over there behind the herd. When you hear my rifle, start firing. You got me? Sure. Mush, you huskies! Mush! Once those bulls start running, there ain't a thing on feet that'll stop them. Yeah. So, you haven't eaten with Preston, has Sullivan? The only place you'd tool ever meet will be on the other side of the grave. It's getting closer. Wonder if she's ready yet. Now, it's a week later, and on the trail north of Half Mile, where Charlie Sullivan had met his death, Sergeant Preston stood, looking up to the ledge walling the narrow pass. Well, McCall said this was about where it happened, fella. Sullivan hadn't sent me a letter. I never would have known he was on his way to Half Mile, but it had me someone else knew, too. The Great Dog King walked beside the mountain, sniffing the air curiously, for, mixed with the animal scents that came to his nostrils, was another scent, the scent of a man. He looked to Preston questioningly and then ran over the icy crust of the snow to discover the source. A few minutes later, he came on the man, leaning against a rock, his rifle trained on the mountain, who walked back along the trail. Preston's dog, huh? Almost at the speed of light, King plunged at him, tearing the man's arm from the rifle. And as the dog stood, his fur bristling dangerously, he kept the man from retrieving the weapon that had fallen to the snow. Caribou heard still in the hills, that's it. Now get the money the same way you got Sullivan. All right, you mutt. Too bad my revolver's in camp. King caught the threatening tone in the man's voice. And as the man retreated, leaving the rifle behind, the dog waited until he was out of sight, and then went back to his master. Carefully, the Mountie searched the hills and the trails for the signs of a camp. Unaware that the tracks Chandler left in the snow were designed to lead him into a death trap. The next morning, with King leading the dogs, Preston followed the sled tracks of the man who seemed to be playing hide and seek with him. The sharpness of the outlines told him he was close to the man he sought. Well, he's going through the pass, fella. We'll turn here and take the trail through the trees. We'll make better time with luck we may be able to head him off. On, King! On, you huskies! A short time later, the Mountie sighted the slope which eased down toward the pass. A herd of peaceful caribou milled around like cattle. Watching them, Preston saw two men standing well behind the herd, with rifles resting on their arms. He went toward them, his own rifle in readiness. But King had caught a scent, the scent of a man he recognized, and the dog turned sharply back toward the ledge overlooking the trail. Oh, you huskies! Hey, Duke, it's a Mountie! Drop those rifles and put up your hands. Now before I get a shot at you! Oh, my shoulder! They got my shoulder! At the sound of the rifle shots, the frightened caribou raised their antlered heads and began to run. The two men standing before the Mountie's rifle looked wide-eyed after the herd, and while Chick Kramer put his hand to his wounded shoulder, an expression of horror crossed his face. Duke, look! Down there in the pass! It's a boss! The caribou will run him down! He won't have a chance! Sergeant Preston shifted his position. With his gun still trained on his prisoners, he glanced toward the pass. Standing firmly on the ledge where it graduated into a slope was the Great Dog King. His eyes fixed on the man looking frantically at the frightened animals running toward him. Their treacherous antlers lowered. Their flying hooves drumming a terrifying message to the man trapped in front of them. Jack Chandler ran from his team toward the ledge, struggling for a foothold, reaching for brush, a twig, and extended rock. Anything that would save him from the short death running steadily toward him. I'm going to grab that rock! If it'll hold! If I can only grab that rock, I'll be above the antlers! His fingers closed on the edge of the rock, and Jack Chandler raised his eyes to face the bared teeth and menacing growl of the dog who had disarmed him the day before. Like a man hypnotized, he looked into the dog's eyes. Then, in a breathless instant, Jack Chandler disappeared. To be swallowed up in the herd of frightened animals, his men had stampeded. Chandler? When Charlie Sullivan got it that way, I never thought the boss would. Jack Chandler was responsible for the death of several men. He's beyond the law now, but you're not. You're under arrest, both of you. The Great Dog rejoined the group of men, satisfied that the man who had fallen from the ledge would never again make an attempt on the life of his master. But as Duke and Chek moved sullenly toward the mountains sled with Preston's gun held on them, neither king nor the policeman knew that both men had but one thought. To escape. It's a good two days trip to town, so we'll hit the trail now. Travel as far as we can and make camp. All right, get the dogs up, King. That night, as the light of the campfire flickered low, the two outlaws talked quietly. You know what's waiting first when we get to town, Duke? Yeah, sure. But I ain't aiming to stop one of the Mounties' bullets. This way we stand at chance. We got the dust stashed away, and now it'll only be a two-way split. I tell you, we got everything to gain and nothing to lose. We've got nothing to lose. We've got nothing to lose. We've got nothing to lose. We've got nothing to gain and nothing to lose. King raised his head from between his paws as the two outlaws crept from their bedding. What is it, Phillip? Quiet. Get to your sled, Duke. Come on. Let's get out of here. Apparently, Sergeant Preston dozed. His head low on his chest, oblivious to the persistent tugs from King's teeth pulling at his sleeve. As the sled started and was well away from the camp... Oh, don't look so disgusted, fella. They've made a getaway. But if my guess is right, they'll head for the spot where they've got their loot hidden. I'd get the dogs up, boy. We're going after them. With King leading the dogs, the Mountie followed the tracks clearly edged in the snow. It was after daybreak when they arrived at the cabin. Preston pulled his sled into the protection of a rock formation. Meanwhile, inside the cabin... Hey, Chick, what are you standing at the window for? Come on, give me a hand with this dust. I should have thought of it. The Mountie followed us, Duke. Get your rifle. We'll give him a fight. Just wait till he lifts his head over that rock. Yeah, I think we're going to beg us a Mountie, Duke. There. Give it to him. He's ready to shoot it out, Chick. Yes, or we. The long, endless minutes of the battle waged. Two men against one. The bullets striking against the rock sheltering Preston. Then, a word from his master, King went silently through the timber, doubling back toward the cabin. The great dog nobody had to do. Instinctively, he steeled his body for the impact that was to come. The large window was at the side of the cabin. Duke and Chick were firing from the front of it through the cracks in the logs. King measured the distance, then broke into a run, gathering speed with each long stride, and then the jump. Seconds later, the window smacked at the impact of the dog's body. Get him, Duke! How can I get him? You don't stay in one place long enough to get a beating. Drop your guns. You hurt me. Drop them. Okay, okay. Well, I see I'm just in time to take the gold you've collected back to town with me. You're under arrest, both of you. And this time, there'll be no escaping. Yes, fella, thanks to your help, the case is closed. These copyrighted dramas originated in the studios of X, Y, Z, Detroit, and all characters, names, places, and incidents used are fictitious. They're sent to you each week at the same time. Jack McCartney.