 The challenge of the Yukon. The Wonder Dog King, swiftest and strongest of Esmoli 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 story behind the fabulous Valera diamond was one mixed with good and bad fortune for those who possessed it. It seems strange indeed that this diamond, resting safely in the United States in 1897, was destined to be the cause of death in the Yukon, a territory as incredible as the almost legendary story of the precious stone itself. In the old Barlow mansion in New York City, there was a deep quiet. The servants talked in hushed whispers as nurses in crisply starched uniforms went back and forth through the echoing halls to Mrs. Barlow's bedroom. Doctors held lengthy consultations. There were consultations too in the kitchen as the cook brewed an early morning cup of tea. Here now, Adams, just settle yourself comfortable. What you ever need of it is a good cup of tea. You too, Mary. Well, so Mrs. Barlow will hardly last the day. Yeah, she's pretty far gone. Young Mr. George is a mighty sad man. Is it he didn't have enough on his mind? End it. Just what are you meaning by that? Why, that girl, Emily Quinn, her and her father left for Seattle yesterday. From there, she says they're going to the Yukon. The note he got this morning was a bad blow to him, I can tell you. Oh, the better she's gone, if you're asking my opinion. That forsaken Yukon country is the place for the lights of her. No family background at all. His mother would never hear of the match. His mother will have nothing to say about it. She's a dying woman. That's the only reason young George didn't take the next teamer up with the Yukon himself. Well, he's up with his mother now. Poor soul. She knows there's not much time. George, dear. Yes, mother? I want you to promise me something. Try to rest, please. No, listen to me. It's the diamond. What about it, mother? Promise me you'll never give it up. I'm an old woman and perhaps a foolish one. But the stone has brought misfortune to anyone who's ever gotten it through wickedness. I promise, mother. Remember, dear, it's the only thing I ask of you. It was a few days after Mrs. Barlow's death. In the library of the old house, George Barlow spent a hurried few minutes going through miscellaneous papers. His cousin, Henry Drake, walked slowly around the room peering at the titles of the books along the shelves. Well, that's that. All finished. At last. George, about the diamond. Huh? Aunt Mary told me she wanted you to keep it with you. As a matter of fact, she made me promise I always would. Why? Taking it with you. I gave my promise, Henry. Though I don't like the idea of carrying around the stone that size. Since you were determined to go off to the Yukon, I thought you might take it with you. Then after you've had enough of that place, go over to Amsterdam. I haven't made up my mind yet what I'll do. I want to thank you for standing by as you did. That's all right. I thought a lot of Aunt Mary, you know. This is goodbye then for a while. Take care of yourself, Henry. Maybe we'll run across each other. Maybe we will. Goodbye. We'll run across each other all right, my dear cousin. Going to the Yukon isn't exactly my idea of a pleasant trip, but the valor of diamond is quite an inducement. An expression of bitterness crossed the young man's face. Litched inside his coat from a pocket, he drew out a slender sheath. Pulling out this stiletto, he held a point expertly between his thumb and index finger. Then stepping back, he faced the wall paneling. An old Mexican knife trick. A very worthwhile accomplice. From Skagway, it was only 600 miles to Dawson by way of Chilcute Pass, or White Pass and Arctic Lakes and the wild White Horse Rapids. This was the shortcut for the coarse gold and nuggets countless hundreds of men sought. George Barlow hired a guide and took the shortcut because of a clue he picked up in Skagway. Somewhere in that desolate country, he would find Emily Quinn and her father. Several days later, King ran far ahead of Sergeant Preston's dogs breaking a trail in the snow for the sled. The sharpness of the air exhilarated the great Huskies and he set a fast pace for the rest of the pack. Okay, hold you, Huskies! Here we are, boy. This is where we'll stop. A short time later, King ran through the timber over the crest of a snow-covered hill. He tilted his nose in the air and stopped a moment as he caught the scent of another camp off in a distance. His curiosity aroused, he went forward quickly. King approached the two men unobserved. He knew he'd never seen either of them before, so he stopped at a prudent distance and watched. One of them might have been an Indian as far as the dog could make out. He was the one who carried a rifle as he walked. As King watched him, he was conscious of another scent. The two men had paused for a moment so that the lynx coming suddenly into view was unaware of its danger. Two ladies saw them. The lynx! Your rifle! See! See! He felt rather than saw the pain of the wounded animal. For a fraction of a second, the lynx hesitated. Then ran in leaps, zigzagging confusedly, desperately. Then the man who was apparently unarmed did his surprising thing. He had a slender knife in his hand, calculated for a moment, and at the next frenzied leap of the lynx, he threw it. The knife caught the animal in the chest. How's that for accuracy, Jose? It was all over. King heard the cruel edge in the man's laughter, and he was contemptuous of them. You aren't a vestillator like you may have gone, senor. And you carry the knife like you may have gone, eh, senor? And they use no sheath. What is danger? I use it better than any Mexican, so I might as well carry it as they do. Only one sheath and I would have to leave in that confounded steamer. Here, lick this animal. It was early evening, two days later. A light snow was still falling, a sergeant Preston called... Okay, oh, you huskies! A campfire was burning back from the trail, and as the mountain approached, a young girl and an elderly man rose to meet him. Welcome, stranger. Mind if my dogs and I share your campfire? I'm Sergeant Preston in the Northwest Mountain Police. Pleased to meet you, sergeant. I'm Jack Quinn, and this is my daughter, Emily. Emily? What a magnificent dog, Sergeant. What's his name? Well, this is King. Well, I haven't been up here long, but I can tell from the looks of him, he's a mighty fine husky. Say, Emily, seems like we're going to have more company. There's another sled coming. Yes, you're right, Mr. Quinn. This is more people than we've seen since we left Skagway, Dad. Eh, Jesus, Dad. Sure is a lonesome country. I don't think Dad's as happy up here as he thought he'd be, Sergeant. You see, I... I'm Miss Quinn. Is there something wrong? Emily Child, you're as wide as a sheet. What's the matter? George! Emily! Emily, darling! Well, I'll be if it isn't young Barlow. As the two young people talked happily, Sergeant Preston got this story behind George Barlow's coming to the Yukon. The young man told the Mountie how the previous night his pack had mysteriously been stolen. Meanwhile, another sled approached the camp, where Preston talked to George Barlow, Emily Quinn, and her father. I should have known it wouldn't be in the pack. I was a fool not to think of the pouch before. Must be around his neck. This time, Lux on my side. With the snow to cover my tracks, it's a perfect setup. Marshal, men and lutes! We're joining my cousin, Jose. Tonight we'll all bunker on the same campfire. King watched Sergeant Preston's new friends greet the man they called Henry. He watched, too, for his master's reaction to the newcomer he had seen a few days ago. And he sensed that because these people seemed to know each other, the Mountie accepted Henry Drake as one of them. At Preston's feet several hours after supper, a great dog carefully weighed the feeling of goodwill everyone showed Henry against his own dislike for him. The two were not to be reconciled. His instinct told him the man with the hard laugh was an anime. Not to be trusted. It was much later that night. Curled up beside Preston, King looked from one sleeper to the other. Everyone slept heavily after a long day on the trail, but as the dog listened to Henry Drake's breathing, he realized the man was awake. Henry got up, cautiously made his way over to where George Barlow lay sleeping. He hesitated a moment. Then bending over his cousin, he listened to his breathing. King waited. Henry had slowly and carefully lifted something from around Barlow's neck. Torn between the desire to jump him or keep quiet, King watched. He saw him pull out the knife he had thrown at the links when the dog repaired the jump. It was only a chord Henry held in his fingers and he cut it quickly. When he stood up, the satisfaction crossed his face. He put the knife inside his mackinac and stepped to a fire. At last, a valorant diamond. King glanced at the sleeping man from whom Henry had taken this thing that caught the light and glittered. He had waited tensely, giving this man the benefit of the trust his friends felt for him. But when he made a movement to slip the pouch inside his mackinac, King jumped. The dog's weight knocked Henry to his knees. What's wrong? What's wrong? The pouch is gone in his teeth. Come back here! Gury swept over Henry's grave like a wave of insanity. He started after the great dog and the dog, remembering the fate of the links, dodged from one side to the other. King had seen this man throw this slender knife and he knew that if he were to take the pouch to Preston, Henry might again throw the knife and kill him out of it. So he ran from the camp out into the darkness. Henry ran like a madman. Everything forgotten but the diamond. A narrow gully lay across King's path and the dog jumped it easily. But his pursuer, plunging blindly after him, fell headlong into it. Come here, boy! What have you thought about? It's Henry. Pull that lantern up a bit, will you, Mr. Quinn? Here comes that dog of yours, Sergeant. King, King fella. Looks like he's got something in his teeth. The pouch. He wants you to take it, George. How did he get it? Where's Henry? Lying down there in that gully. Well, I have to carry him back to camp. It was his gelato. He falled. He falled in the gelato. I tell him this is dangerous to carry without the sheath. That's what happened, all right. He fell on his own knife. That pouch, King, gave you, George. What's in it? Perhaps you've heard of the Ballora Diamond, Sergeant. This is it. I've been wearing it in the pouch around my neck. You can see where the cord was cut. Mm-hmm. Oh, look here by your sleeping bag. Those footprints. Yes. Henry came over here and took it while I slept. Well, King's the only one who knows what really happened. But it's my guess he jumped Henry and took the diamond from him, planning to return it to you as he did. No one knew I brought it with me except Henry. You know, there's a superstition connected with the stone, Sergeant. Anyone who's tried to steal it has always come to a bad end. Well, I'm not a superstitious man myself, George. It's my own opinion. Your very lucky King was here to guard it for you. Yes, fella. You've done a good job. 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.