 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. Years before the gold rush began, there were many men in the Yukon who knew gold was to be found in the rich soil of a hitherto unknown land inhabited by Indian tribes and a handful of courageous white pioneers. Sam Benson and his partner Jerry O'Neill were among those pioneers. Sam had gone hunting for caribou early one morning and in the small log cabin that was his home, his wife looked through the window. Her eyes widening in terror. They're coming here. I've never seen them like this before. They're yelling to fold the door. They've got their hands on some liquor. I'll take Sam's rifle and try to hold it. Oh, quiet, darling. I've got to hide you. Find some place where you'll be safe. It was late that evening when Sam Benson returned to the cabin. His face, a reflection of the fury and terrible fear clouding his mind as his eyes swept across the devastation the Indians had left behind them. Mary! Mary! Sam, the Indians... They've harmed Mary and the baby out. Here she is. Mary. Mary, get some water, Jerry, quick. Don't stand there. It's no use, Sam. That bullet went right through her heart. No. No, it isn't true, I tell you. Mary. Those heathen savages. They were full of red eye. That's what it was, Sam. Remember, the trader in Landstown told us somebody was selling them the stuff. She died fighting alright. Here's your rifle. I'll get them for this. I'll... The baby, Jerry. Where's the baby? She's gone. They've killed my wife and taken my baby. Come on. Where are you going? I'm going after them. They think they know about killing. I'm going to pay them off for this bullet for bullet with interest. Sam Benson had no difficulty following the trail of the intoxicated savages. It led through timber and across plains to the Indian village, where the red men sprawled almost unconscious like so much debris. Sam saw a squaw sitting in front of one of the tents, stitching hides. Look, you talk English. Yeah. What you want? These are the same men who stole my cabin a while back. They killed my wife and took my baby daughter. Maybe they killed her too. I don't know. But I'm going to settle with every last one of them. Where's the chief of the tribe? Him over there. Looks like the chief isn't any better than his brave Sam. He's out cold. Many braves kill fight with creeds. Long time enemy of tribe. Much killing. Killing because our people drink fire water white men bring. White men know good. Ruined our people. Better they kill them. Better they come killed with guns. That better than this. How many were killed? Many men ride from village. Only these return. Looks like the creeds took care of your killing for you, Sam. What about my baby? Where's my little girl? The stoic Indian woman raised her eyes to meet those of the tall white man standing in front of her. Her fingers hesitated over her work. Should she tell this man that her own two children had stopped the wild bullets fired by the men of the tribe, killing them both where they stood? Should she tell them that when they brought the fair skin child back to the village, she had taken it to her heart? Baby's mother killed. Yes, by those murder and red skin heathens. Baby need more that. Need woman take care of the... I wasn't asking you about that. Where's my little girl? May not know. Sam looked about him from one sprawling figure to the other. The wounds many of them bore showed him that the woman had told him the truth. There had been a battle with the creeds. Helplessly he clenched and unclenched his fists and then turned, striding hurriedly from the village. It was a day later. Sam Bunsen stood looking at the small cabin that had been home to him. Sam, I'd like to ask you something. You went into that village with murder in your eyes. Whatever changed your mind? Not that I'm not glad. It turned out like it did, understand? I don't hold with this eye for an eye business. You remember the wounded Indians we saw in the village? How that woman told us about the ones that had been killed? Yeah, I remember. But none of them knew what they were doing. Sure. It all had so much rum they were like madmen fighting and killing. They get that rum from the men who smuggled it through, Jerry. I don't see what you're driving at. That woman said rum was ruining the Indians. A ruin that was worse than wholesale slaughter. So I'm going into business to sell them rum. Years passed during which Sam Bunsen traded and sold liquor to the Indians, posing as their friend. In 1898, white men migrated by the thousands to the Yukon, a sudden and sweeping migration that changed Sam's plans. It was early morning, shortly before dawn. In a tent at the edge of an Indian village, the liquor smuggler spoke to a short, heavy-set man who listened to his words intently. I want you to go in the town and keep an eye on the man who has the trading post. What's his name? LaRue. Henry LaRue. Not that the name makes any real difference. Make sure the hours he keeps, where his cabin is, and what time he leaves the post at night, see? Yeah, sure. What do you aim and do? Well, the Indians want to get even with the man they think is refusing to trade them the rum. Maybe they'll deal hasty with him. Break into the post and get enough rum to stage a real celebration. Matter of fact, they're ready to commit murder right now. Murder? Henry LaRue? A lot of Indians will swing for that, Sam. And if the Mounties get the story, our necks will be stretched too. You can count me out. By the time a Mountie gets in town to settle the thing, you and I will be making tracks for Skagway, Red. I'll just about finish when I set out to do. This is going to be a sort of final performance, you might say. Two days later, at the edge of a birch forest just outside Ferris City, Sam Bunsen stood talking to a tall, powerfully built Indian. Monistam will come into town with me, say. He'll wait outside the post till LaRue leaves it. I've already told you what time to be set to mush. But don't start in the town until you hear the shot from the rifle. Understand? Yeah. Once you hear that, you'll be at the post inside of a few minutes. Red, you stay here. Come into town with a chief here, and I'll be waiting for you. Yeah, sure, Sam. I know what to do. All right, Monistam, let's travel. It was shortly before closing time at the LaRue trading post when Sam Bunsen opened the door and closed it behind him. Walking into the long, rambling room, he stopped short and stared, unbelievingly. Sergeant Preston was standing at a counter, talking to a slim, dark-haired girl. Slowly, Sam Bunsen walked toward them. You know, I think he worked too hard, Sergeant. But then, Father's always been like that. He's always been like that. At least as long as I can remember. Oh, a late customer, I see. What is it you want? I, uh, some tobacco, I guess. I'll get it for you. You're a stranger in town, aren't you? Who is that girl? Henry LaRue's daughter? Why? I thought for a minute. Well, she reminds me so much of someone I once knew. I suppose I should say she's Henry's adopted daughter. But he can't do that. I brought you two packages. I didn't know whether you wanted one or two. That, uh, that's a locket you're wearing, isn't it, ma'am? Locket? Oh, yes, it belonged to my mother. I bought a locket like that once. Did you? I often wish I knew more about this one. My mother died, you see. An old Indian woman took care of me when I was a child and gave it to me when, when my father adopted me. She told me it was my mother. See? See the chain on it? See the chain on it? Father brought me a new one for it when the other broke. He sent all the way to Seattle for it. But what's wrong? Sergeant, catch him. I'm afraid he can't... Oh, that's all right. I just lost my balance. Oh. Here. I guess I'll take care of the tobacco. Well, I think I'll be on my way. If you're leaving now, Miss LaRue, I'll walk you to the cabin. Oh, good. Father's staying to close up. It was already dark as Sam Bunsen followed the mountain and Maury LaRue down the main street of Ferris City. After Preston left the girl at the door of her cabin, Sam hurried toward him. Sergeant! Sergeant, wait a minute! Yes? I don't have much time. But there's a band of unfriendly Indians just outside town. As soon as it gets dark, I'm afraid there'll be trouble. They didn't know you were here. But if you go out there, once they sight your uniform, they'll quiet down. You're Sam Bunsen, aren't you? Yeah, that's right. Why? I've been warned to keep my eye on you. Matter of fact, I've been waiting for you to turn up in town. Why? I want to talk to you about liquor smuggling. But that can come later. What you say is true. It's true, all right. You'd better hurry, Sergeant. There's no time to lose. The mountain looked sharply at the lined, embittered face of the man in front of him. But in Sam Bunsen's eyes, he saw an urgency that was genuine. And turning on his heel, he walked quickly toward his sled. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the Indians striding up the street to take his place across from the trading post. I gotta slip in the back way. That Indians libelist start looking for trouble if he suspects anything. Who in the world is coming to the back door? I don't seem to... I don't seem an obliging stranger, but I was just about to put the lamps on. What can I do for you? Are you Henry Larue? Yes, I am. I don't believe I've ever seen you before. Is that your mackinac hanging over there on that hook? Well, sure it is. Why all the questions, stranger? You're acting mighty funny. I'm sorry, but... That's not such a good way to pay you for being a father to my daughter. I better blow out this lamp. I gotta get this mackinac out of the door in the dark. Sergeant Preston stood in the relighted trading post. Henry Larue rubbed his jaw, twisting his face painfully while Marie pensively toyed with the locket hanging around her neck. Funniest thing I've ever heard of. Knocked me out and didn't take a thing from the store. I got a story from the Indian who killed Benson Henry. He claimed, and the rest of the trap backed him up. That Benson planned the whole thing. Only that that bullet was meant for you. He was even wearing my mackinac. I don't understand it. If this man planned to kill me... Why would he know? When I talked to the Indians, I put Benson's accomplice under arrest. A man named Red Walters. I knew Benson was working with somebody, but I didn't know who. What did he say, Sergeant? He said that Benson had had some sort of a grudge against the Indians. And that that was the reason he sold them liquor. But Walter didn't know. What that grudge was. It's an odd case. Even King looks a little puzzled about it. I guess King's just echoing my frame of mind. But thanks to him, we were able to reach those Indians in double-quick time. They were all ready to go on the warpath. Believe me. Penny, you seem like such a nice man. You remember, Sergeant? He... He was so interested in my locket. Yes, I remember. But I guess we'll never reach him. Yes, fellow. In spite of that, the case is closed. These copyrighted dramas originate in the studios of WXY Z Detroit. And all characters, names, places, and incidents used are fictitious. They are sent to you each week at the same time. This is Jack McCarthy speaking.