 The challenge of the Yukon. Hug King, hug you, hug King. The Wonder Dog King, Switzerland's strongest of Eskimo Leap 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 wild beauty of the Yukon stretched out before Sam Bartlett, an aged trapper, as he stood in front of his cabin. His eyes swept the stillness of the snow-covered country in a quick appreciative glance. And then suddenly, he stiffened. Behind him, a twig snapped and from force of habit, he raised the rifle laying in the crook of his arm. Bartlett was trapped between two men, both of them armed. Look out, he's got a shoe! Get him! Benny, what have I done? Looks like you dropped him all right, kid. Benny, Benny, is he... is he dead? He sure is. And you killed him. No, no. I didn't mean... you shouted. I lost my head. Many. You have to believe me. There were two shots. I heard them. The other shot you heard was from Bartlett's gun. But I did not know. When I was indebted to you, you told me there was a way to make money quick. I did not think to murder. It was an accident. I tell you, it was an accident. Don't worry, kid. I believe you. You will tell the police that he was an accident? There is no reason why the police should know about Bartlett's stuff and a bullet of yours. Oh, no. No, many. If I tell them how it happened, he... he raised his gun... You won't tell him nothing. It's your word against mine, see? You'll hang here if I tell how it happened. Oh, Yvonne. My poor Yvonne. I was gonna let you act as a driver for me, thinking it might work out long as you didn't know too much about my business. Now, if you wanna save your neck, I guess I can trust you to keep your mouth shut. Come on. Let's take those pelts the old man's got stored in a sled and clear out of here. The golden horseshoe saloon in Higby City got its name from the huge good luck piece hanging over the bar. When Olaf Swenson first put it there, men laughed at it, talked about it, and wished on it. Now, the Conversation of Hungry Prospectors found a new topic for discussion. For Olaf, the owner of the saloon, walked among them wearing a bright, plaid coat with the naive joy of a child with a new toy. It was hours after Pierre Duval's unwilling participation in the murder of Sam Bartlett. Manny Wenzelow stood at the bar while Pierre sat at a table, looking glumly at the glass in his hand. Yvonne, a singer in the saloon, sat down beside him. As the two young people talked, Pierre Duval lowered his voice, leaning across the table to speak, listening to him. Yvonne went deathly white, her eyes widening in horror and fear. For at that moment, Sergeant Preston entered the saloon. His eyes roved about the room quickly as he glanced at the faces of the men. Olaf Swenson's face seemed hardly broad enough to hold a smile of welcome that creased it. Hello there, Olaf. Yes, I am Preston. Hey, Ben, glad you've come to Golden Horse Hue. It seemed like long, long time since you've been here, yes. Oh, they'll find you warm with your coat on in here. You like me in court, Sergeant? It's your snooze. Hey, Curly, I bet you've never seen one like it in all your currency. I'm going out with my brothers in a little while soon, yes. Maybe tonight, eh? You certainly have a lot of colors in it. Pete hasn't seen it yet. He's in for a big surprise. Yeah, look at the learning. They want you to see. Yeah, Ben, good warm for Olaf. Sergeant, you are my friend. I am happy to see you like it would be my own brother. You stay in town, huh, for a little time? Well, I don't know the answer to that, Olaf. No? Maybe a few days, maybe longer. I've just come from Sam Bartlett's place. Ah, how is Sam? Hey, Curly, he was just saying today he would like for him to come to see my new court they've ain't bought. He won't be in today or any other day, Olaf. He's been murdered, hm? And I'm out to find the murderer. It was much later that night, and in the small cabin that served as temporary headquarters for Sergeant Preston, the Mountie listened intently to Pierre Duval's story. Yvonne sat beside him, her face strained and anxious, the glittering spangles on her dress reflecting the light of the oil lamp on the policeman's makeshift desk. So that was why you wanted to see me, Pierre? Yes. Now you know the truth. I saw Manny Winslow in the saloon tonight. He's probably staying at the hotel. I don't think he intended to tell me about stealing peltts and hiding them away, but when Bartlett was murdered... He figured he could depend on you to keep quiet as long as he held the threat of exposure in his hand. Yes. Pierre said he would give himself to the authorities if Yvonne's beating. Maybe killing more people. You say you saw Sam Bartlett raise his right? My word of honor, Sergeant. I was looking at him. He pointed it at me. I'm putting you in jail, Pierre. Then I'll go after Manny Winslow. It is he who is responsible. He is a wicked man, Sergeant. Yvonne, I've been trailing him for many months. I've never been able to get through for the robberies he's been committing. But now Manny Winslow is going to pay for his crimes. And pay plenty. As Sergeant Preston walked the short distance of Pierre Duval to the small jail, the great dog King walked at the mountainside. Padding along in the snow, he thought briefly of the conversation he'd heard inside the cabin. To King, it meant little. And then suddenly King paused, glancing up at the mountain. But Preston seemed to be lost in thought, and King realized that his master was not aware of the figure watching from the shadow of several frame buildings. The light from the cabin made the mountain and Pierre plainly visible, but the mysterious observer was shrouded from view. The jail door closed behind Pierre Duval and Sergeant Preston, as King raced toward the line of buildings his curiosity aroused. muttering to himself, Manny Winslow at first didn't see the dog. Well, he talked. What a skunk. There were times for that Manny to hit town, and it would be Preston. Well, Sergeant, I've heard a lot about you and that mutt of yours, and it's going to be a real pleasure to pull the wool over your eyes. What? That must be the Manny's dog. King heard the ugly edge in the man's voice as he mouthed Preston's name. Almost at the same moment, he sensed the man's quick movement. Dodging swiftly, the great dog narrowly missed being struck while the rifle went low swung. Get out of here, you dumb one. Go on, beat it. Reluctantly, King turned, running back to Sergeant Preston. After his encounter with King, Manny Winslow had walked quickly to the back of the Golden Horseshoe Saloon. He saw Olaf's blood harness and knew that the big suite had not yet left for his brothers. The saloon was quiet and empty as Olaf stepped out into the night. Winslow swung his rifle for the second time in the space of a half hour. Better tie him up. He won't be out long. Winslow worked quickly. He dragged all of Swenson's inert form back into the emptied room of the saloon. Once inside, he took the plaid coat from the suede, bound his hands and feet, gagged him, and smiled as he pulled the coat over his own mackinac. Thanks for the coat, Swenson. If you'd have kept that big mouth of yours shut about going out to your brothers, I wouldn't be able to get out of town without that Manny spotting me. Even with the moon out, you'll take one look at the coat and I'll be all right. I'll fool the Manny and that dumb pooch he is at the same time. Leaving Higby City's one hotel, Sergeant Preston found. The clerk says he hasn't been in, fella. He either suspects Pierre came to me with his story in his left town or he doesn't know we're looking for him. Man and dog walked along the moonlit street. King's ears stood up sharply when he heard the sled pulling away from the back of the saloon. Sergeant Preston looked up to see a great figure in a plaid coat heading toward the northern trail. Well, King, oh boy, there goes Olaf. Olaf? King glanced at Preston. Olaf's so proud of that coat of his, he's taking to the trail of this hour to show it off. The great dog looked after the sled as it moved toward the town's outskirts. In the light of the moon, King saw the man and the coat that the Sergeant Preston's eyes were so godly colored appeared to the dog as so many varying shades of gray. The scent King caught was not the scent of the man Preston called Olaf. King knew Olaf. Olaf was a friend of his masters but the one who had struck out at him in the darkness at the short time before proved himself an enemy. He was puzzled. It was odd that Preston should have mistaken this man for Olaf. Now, what's wrong, fella? Impulsively, King raced after the sled, stretching his legs in a long, powerful stride. Why had the man wanted to watch Preston without being seen? As King ran, he determined Sergeant Preston should know the man in the sled was not a friend. In one leap, King was overwhelmed after throwing him off balance. And together they fell in the snow. Hey, the dog! The sled! The dog must have kept on running! Sergeant Preston had been amazed as he saw King raced after the sled. When he saw King jump the land, he ran toward him. King, boy! Get off of me! You may have my gunning! No, wait a minute. Wind slow. All right, King, quiet boy. It's dumb, buddy, you're trying to kill... You're covered, Manny. You can turn around right now and walk toward the jail. In Higby City Jail, a half hour later, Sergeant Preston faced his two prisoners. You admit you stole Bartlett's pelts in Winslow? Yeah, I admit they're all right. But that's all you can pin on me, Manny. Where were you when Pierre fired at Bartlett? He was in back of Bartlett. Now, answer my own questions, punk. Yeah, I saw it all. I was in back of Bartlett. Pierre says there were two shots. One from his gun and one from the old man. No, Manny, not from the old man's. From yours. Pierre's bullet never hit Sam Bartlett. He died with a bullet in his back. What? Bartlett's gun hadn't been fired. I found him about two hours after the murder. So by your own admission, you were behind him, Winslow. I arrest you for the murder of Sam Bartlett. I cannot believe my ears. I must tell Yvonne. You'll have to tell your story to a jury, Pierre. But I will haunt your sentence for participating in the robbery will be light. The two prisoners were locked in their cells when Sergeant Preston turned to King. The great dog had not known whether the Mountie would reprimand him for jumping the man on the sled. And as he watched the sergeant talk to Pierre and Winslow, he began to think he'd been right to try to make the Mountie see the identity of the man he thought to be Ola. And now, with Preston patting his head, King was sure. King, old boy, I owe you an apology. I thought you'd made a mistake. He thought he'd fool us with a plaid coat. And he did fool me. But, man, he forgot the dogs are colorblind. That rainbow didn't mean anything to you, did it? You'll snow I get out my ropes. He, he, that, that Winslow, he... Boy, sir, you... Why, you grin at me so like that... Winslow's locked up, Ola, and your coat's safe. It's over on the chair. I mean, coat ain't been stolen. You have King to thank for it. Well, by you, Pinniamini. Yes, King, old boy. Thanks to you, 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 are sent to you each week at the same time.