 The challenge of the Yukon. It's Yukon King, swiftest and strongest lead dog of the Northwest, blazing the trail for Sergeant Preston of the Northwest Mounted Police in his relentless pursuit of lawbreakers. Gold, gold discovered in the Yukon, a stampede to the Klondike in the wild race for riches. Back to the days of the gold rush, with Sergeant Preston and his wonder dog Yukon King as they meet the challenge of the Yukon. The man's parka was ragged, his mucklocks cracked, his heavy beard was frosted white, and with every step he took he left a faint red stain on the snow. He staggered down the hill to the Yukon. Yukon, trail to the gold hills. Come on, boys, make your fortune the easy way. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. One, you come all under Dawson. You've got to get there. You've got to tell him. You'll never be missed unless you tell him. One, two, one step. One, two, one step. Sergeant Preston, driving up in the south, saw the man reach the banks of the Yukon. There he wavered on his feet, and suddenly pitched head first into a snow bank. One, King, one, you, Husky. Sergeant drove on to the man's side. One, you, Husky, one, a whole. Nearly done for, King. We've only a few miles from town. I'll put him on the sled, cover him and drive on to the hospital. One, King, one, you, Husky. When the hospital was reached, the sergeant carried the ragged traveler inside. There he was put to bed, and the sergeant waited while the doctor made his examination. Not much chance. It isn't only exposure, he's ill as well. Pneumonia? Yes. Eye fever, feeble pulse. Tell him. He's conscious, anyway. He's delirious. I've gone through his clothes, doctor. There's no identification. Can I try to talk to him? He won't make sense, but he can't do any harm. I'll try. What's your name? Name? No name. Never be missed. He understood my question. You heard his answer. Gotta tell him. Go ahead, tell me. I'm listening. Stop them. The man sat up and grabbed the sergeant's arm. The sergeant eased him back to the pillow. No need to get excited. Just tell me. Hey, pick on you. Pick on you down and up. That's easy to see. They buy you good meal. They talk to you. Find out you haven't any friends. You're just the kind they want. They kind of never be missed. Who? Who does this? They do. They offer you a job. Good pay. Good food. It sounds like heaven, but it turns out to be hell. Work? Yeah, work. You'll be beaten up. Work or you'll starve. If you're lucky, you die and they bury you up in the mountain. No one will ever know you'll never be missed. What's your name? No name. The only way out is through the canyon. That's God at night and day. They say you can't escape, but I did. Over the ridge and they said you couldn't climb. I did it. His talk means anything at all. He's been through a terrible experience. Unbelievable. Men held prisoner, working as slaves here in the Yukon. We'll do our best to pull him through, Sergeant. If he becomes rational at all, I'll call you... I think he's told us only can. What? Let me see. He'll write. He's gone. The sergeant left the hospital, but returned in 15 minutes with Tex Richards from the Monte Carlo Cafe. You have a wonderful memory for faces and names, Tex. If this man was ever in the Monte Carlo, you may recall him. He's in here. The sergeant drew back the sheet that covered the dead man. Well? I remember him. His name? Bill is all I... I haven't seen him for, oh, six months. Tell me all you can about him. Sure, he's like a lot of others. No luck in finding gold, spend all his money, sold all his equipment to buy food. He was hoping to get a birth on one of the river boats, work his way to St. Michael and from there back to the States. But with no success. There were too many others trying to do the same thing. The freeze up came and he was stranded. He found a few odd jobs. I gave him a meal occasionally and lent him a little money, but he was proud. He didn't like charity. He tried to hide the fact that he was hungry most of the time. He was at a mighty low ebb. And then, one day, just about six months ago, he came into the Monte Carlo and paid me what he owed me. Said he'd found a job. With whom? A new mining syndicate. I don't think he mentioned a name. Where, Tex? He didn't seem to be quite sure as to the exact location. I picked him up on the Yukon Trail a few miles south of here, but there's no big mining syndicate operating around there. Nothing but snow, forest and mountains. He traveled a long way, that's certain. Where could he have come from? Search me. You have no idea who might have heard him? No. You didn't see anyone buying him drinks or food? No. Too bad. I wished him good luck. He walked out the door and I never saw him again. Until now. Well, somehow I'm going to find out who hired him. Somehow, I'll find out where he worked. There was too much sense in what he said to dismiss it as delirium. I can't help feeling that this is murder. From the hospital, the sergeant drove his team to headquarters. He fed the dogs, turned them into their run, and went directly to the inspector's office to report. There was a bearded stranger in trail clothes with the inspector. Oh, sorry, inspector. I'll come back later. No, come in, Sergeant. I want you to meet Constable Garrett. He's just in from Skagway in new addition to our force. This is Sergeant Preston, Constable. Glad to have you with us, Garrett. Thanks, Sergeant. I'm glad to be here. After two weeks on the trail, I'm glad to be warm again. The sergeant has just come in from the south himself. He has. Oh, you mean he came in today? He's had a chance to change clothes and shave. No, Garrett. I always keep shaved on the trail. If you don't, your breath freezes on your whiskers, and it isn't long before you're wearing an ice mask. Then when you start breaking it all... Ouch. You don't have to tell me. Shaving once a day is easier. I'll shave from now on. I suppose I should apologize for the way I look. Not at all, Constable. The sergeant will take you over to the barracks and you can get keamed up now. I'd rather not, inspector. What's that? The Constable's appearance has given me an idea, sir. You see, I run into a strange case. About five miles out of town, I found a traveler at the side of the trail. He was unconscious. The sergeant told the inspector all about the man he had found and the things he had said in his delirium, about his death, and Tex Richard's partial identification. Finally, he summed up the situation. So all we actually know is that six months ago, this man left Dawson. He left Dawson to work for some vague mining syndicate. Today, he returns to town a physical wreck babbling about slave labor had an escape over a high ridge. Don't you think, sir, we should try to find out what happened to him during the past six months? I most certainly do, Sergeant. Slave labor. Now, you said that you had an idea. Yes, sir. I imagine that six months ago, Bill, uh, no name, looked exactly the way Garrett does now. My suggestion is that instead of shaving and changing into uniform, the Constable pretend that he's broke. Down on his luck, completely disheartened and ready to accept any job that's offered him. More than that, sir, let him pretend that he has no friends in Dawson. Then let's see if anyone offers him a job. Well, they might, of course, someone with a perfectly legitimate business. True enough, sir, but I'm not suggesting that they ask anyone for a job that must be offered him. Hmm. And, sir, I know for certain that none of the big mining companies will be hiring men before spring. Do you think that you can look and act like a derelict Constable? Like a man who would never be missed if he should disappear? In my present condition, I'm sure. The Monte Carlo would be a good place to make your headquarters. All I have to do is sit in the corner and look discouraged. That's all. I'll have a word with Tex Richards who owns the Monte Carlo. He'll help you play the game. It might be a good idea if you didn't come here again. You can keep in contact with the sergeant through Tex. Of course. Where shall I sleep? Ask Tex if you may sleep in his storeroom. That suits me. I could sleep on a better nails right now. Oh, is this an assignment, Inspector? Yes, Constable. We'll try it for a few days. Nothing happens. Well, we'll have to try something else. Forced labor. Prison camp. We'll have to patrol every mountain range in the Yukon. And so it happened that Constable Matt Garrett, still dressed in his travel-worn Parker and trail clothes, spent the afternoon sitting in a corner table in the Monte Carlo. That night he slept in the storeroom. The next morning resumed his seat at the corner table in the cafe. Shortly before noon, a burly man with black piercing eyes sat down beside him. Are you glad I joined you? No, not at all. You've been sitting here for a long time without ordering a drink? Tex doesn't mind. It's warm. I don't have any other place to go. Sort of done on your luck, eh? Yeah. I'm hoping to find a job soon. Not much chance around, Dawson. Yeah, I found that out. Haven't you got any friends? Well, it's...it's Tex. Sure. I saw him give you a dollar last night to eat, or... I mean to pay him back. Don't you, uh, know anybody else around town? I just got in yesterday. Where from? Whitehorse. Selkert. Uh-huh. I got a ride in a mail slip. Say, uh, look, why don't you come down to the restaurant and have dinner with me, huh? I'm not hungry. Now don't try to kid me, Miss. What's your name? Matt Garrett. Well, I'm Rafe Hawkins, general manager of the Coronado Money Company. Is that a big outfit? One of the biggest. Oh, I don't suppose you... No, I've been told people like you aren't doing any errand before spring. Well, now people might just be wrong about that. You come on down to the restaurant. We'll talk it over. Sure thing, Mr. Hawkins. It was an hour later that Garrett returned to the Monte Carlo and pushed his way through the crowd to Tex Richard's side. Tex, he's offered me a job. He says his name is Rafe Hawkins and that he's the general manager of the Coronado Money Company. There's no such company. You're sure? Positive. Well, the job is throwing out and digging gravel. An ounce of dust a day. That's regular pain, but, uh, where are the diggings? He wouldn't say. He's taking me there. I was leaving right away. I just came back for my knapsack. You were going with him? Yes, that's the way we planned it. I'm going with him and the sergeant will follow us. You get word to him as fast as you can. Right. I gave him one of my gauntlets. He's certain that King can follow the scent. There's no doubt about that. I'll get my knapsack from the storeroom. See you later, Tex. The message was delivered to the sergeant and he and King were on front straight when Rafe Hawkins with Garrett aboard drove his sled down the banks of the Yukon and out onto the trail. They headed south. Well, King, we know which way they've gone and there's fresh snow. We should be able to follow the tracks. But you won't let us lose the trail, will you, boy? Come on, fella, back to headquarters for the team. The sergeant left Dawson two hours later. On King! On you, Husky! King had been given the scent of the Constable's glove and he was working as a loose lead so that he could concentrate on following the trail. But for mile after mile, he kept straight on due south on the Yukon. Then, oh, boy, you won't lose him. The short day faded and with night the northern lights began to sweep across the sky. There was no need to stop at any of the way cabins along the trail to make inquiries. From the way King acted, the sergeant knew that Rafe and the Constable had passed them all by. The miles flew by and it was not until midnight that King turned aside to follow the tracks of a sled that went up and over the West Bank. When the bank was reached, the sergeant called the hawk. Okay! Oh! The team needs a rest, King. I don't think it'll snow tonight. The trail will still be fresh in the morning. A fire was built, the dogs were fed, the sergeant ate his own supper and then crawled into his sleeping bag. Six hours later, King roused him. What? Oh, good morning, King. Except it's still dark. Let's see. Six o'clock. You're right, fellas. Time to be on our way. Half an hour later, they started out once more. On King! The trail led across a series of low hills. The sun rose at nine o'clock and at noon when they stopped to eat, they had reached a great snow-covered plain. Far to the West, the crystal range reared its snowy mic toward the skies. It doesn't look like there's any break in that pile of rock and ice, King, out front, King. Follow the trail, boy. Across the plain, the sled tracks followed a frozen creek toward the mountains. And as the sun sank in the southwest, the sergeant could see where the stream dropped 200 feet to the plain from a crevasse in the cliff wall. There's our break, King. It was dark again when they reached the foot of the frozen waterfall and here the track swung to the left where the slope was more gradual. The sergeant stopped the team. The trail leads straight up to the canyon but there's no telling what we'll find out there, boy. Better leave the team behind. The sergeant found a sheltered spot and unharnessed the team. After they were fed, the dogs immediately burrowed in the snow and prepared to go to sleep. The sergeant covered the sled with snow and then he and King started up them up. The trail twisted and turned while the ascent was gradual until it became nothing but a ledge sticking out from the side of the cliff. It led, as the sergeant had noticed, directly to the canyon from which the stream dropped to the plain. Now the opening of the canyon was reached and the sled tracks led into it. Yes, the canyon's narrow, boy. We better take it slow and easy from now on. But the canyon widened beyond the entrance and sloping gradually upward, it seemed to be endless. King kept close to the shadowed side, on and on, until finally... King, it looks to me as if the canyon's widening out still more up ahead. It could be a valley right in the heart of the mountains. I think we found what we're looking for. King was nervous. The wind was at his back. No saint reached him from the direction in which they were traveling and he had to depend entirely on his eyes. Each shadow must be distrusted until it resolved itself into a familiar, harmless form. Then suddenly he barked. He threw his weight against the sergeant, pushing him close against the canyon wall just as a rifle cracked. King, you've been hit. It was true. The great dog looked up into his master's face for a second and then dropped to the snow. The sergeant lifted him in his arms and carried him to safety behind a large boulder. The rifle spoke again. The sergeant saw where the shot came from and fired twice and returned. He turned to King. It was a head wound. Quickly, the sergeant opened his first aid kit and went to work. Not very deep, King. You'll be all right. We'll stop the floor of blood and bandage away. Another bullet chipped the boulder in front of the sergeant. He paid no attention. King's eyes were closed, but the sergeant knew he could save the dog's life if he worked fast. He listened for footsteps in the snow coming toward him. There were none. He was brought to lift the dog in his arms and carry him back to safety when he heard a voice on the top of the canyon wall above him. The sergeant's gun was in its holster. King's eyes opened. He tried to raise his head. Quiet, boy. I still sleep. The dog obediently closed his eyes as the sergeant rose to his feet. His hands held high. Three men closed in on the sergeant. One of them carried a rifle. The other six guns. We'll take care of it. Okay. That's all. What about the dog? I guess it's dead. You hurt him. Get going, mister. The canyon opened into the valley. There were a number of buildings on the banks of the stream. Several cabins, sheds, and large bunkhouse. The windows were barred. There were sleuces as well with huge piles of gravel near them. Gold was being washed out here. To his right, the sergeant could see a man scrambling down on a series of natural steps that led to the top of the canyon wall. The man who had gotten the drop on him from above. Wait here, mister. He joined the others as they stopped in front of the largest cabin. Keep them out here for a second. I'll report to the boy. Five minutes later, the door of the cabin opened again. You two get back to the canyon. All right, lucky. This is a surprise. You didn't tell me who I visited or was, lefty. I don't know him. Just because he's wearing a park over his uniform? Your fault. This is Sergeant Preston, the Northwest Mudded Police. Huh? A money? Do you know who I am, Sergeant? You're Ralph Hawkins of the Coronado Mining Company. Hmm. You're well informed. Have you filed claim on any of this valley? Of course not. Why should I? If I did, I'd have to announce to the world there was gold here. And in return, I'd get 500 feet along the creek. As it is, I can work the whole valley. And I don't pay the government any royalties. You can work the valley. You mean your prisoners work it? Hmm? You see, lefty, I didn't get the right information at all when I was in Dawson. I get that the bill died without regaining consciousness. But he must have talked to the sergeant. He certainly did. You're under arrest, Hawkins. It don't make me laugh. Borseth, the Northwest Mudded Police knows about us. They don't. Sergeant's lying. He didn't get any information from Bill. No more than an idea, anyway. Hawkins is in the Coronado Mining Company where names are made up for our latest recruit. You followed us on a hunch. That's true, isn't it, Sergeant? The Northwest Mounted knows what you're up to. Perhaps. But you're the only one who knows where I am. And with you out of the way, I'll never be found. What are we going to do with him? It's too bad he can't join our happy family. He'll never be found. He'll never be found. It's too bad he can't join our happy family and work for a living. I'm not a person who'd never be missed, is that it? That's it, Sergeant. When you don't come back to Dawson, they'll be looking for you. Let me put a bullet through him right now. He must be found a long way from here, somewhere at the bottom of the cliff. I'll take care of that tomorrow. Time up, Joe. Throw him in the next room of the stores. Give him a hand, Lifty. All right, boys, move you, buddy. Back in the canyon, King was slowly recovering his strength. His head throbbed, but the pain meant nothing to him. His master was gone and he must find him. He staggered to his feet and sniffed the ground. The sergeant and the other men had gone up the canyon. King started to follow the trail. At first, it was only instinct that drove him on. But with movement, power returned to his muscles and his sense became more alert. There were two men ahead. They had built a fire in the shelter of some rocks. His master's trail led past them. Keeping close to the opposite side of the canyon, he crept ahead, ready each instant to break into a run if he should be discovered. The men were arguing and didn't see him. He was in the valley now. The sergeant's trail led straight to one of the cabins. There was a dog run back of it, and one of the dogs inside it began to bark. King ran up to the fence and growled in menace at the other dog. He stopped barking. King dropped into the snow and waited. Finally, the other dog burrowed in the snow and went to sleep again. King knew that his master was in the cabin, and he had an impulse to let him know that he was near. But there was a stronger sense of caution that stopped him. There were men in this valley who had tried to kill the sergeant. They were enemies, and until he could reach his master's side, he must be silent. Now there were no lights in any of the buildings in the valley. There were two windows in the back covered with oiled paper. He leaped to the narrow ledge of one of them and fell back to the ground. On his second attempt, he managed to force his head through the paper. On his third attempt, he scrambled all the way up to the ledge through the torn paper and jumped to the floor inside. King lay at his master's side without uttering a sound. It seemed a long time. The sergeant lifted his hands in King's mouth and the dog understood. Go ahead, boy. King worked hard, and at last the lobes parted. I can get the ones with my ankles. A few minutes later, the sergeant stood up and started for the door of the other room. He opened it. King followed silently. The sergeant stopped the table in the center of the room. There was a gun there. His own gun. King growled as Rafe stirred on his cot. But before he could browse himself, all of the gun down hard. Now we bind and gag him and head for the bunkhouse. The guard in front of the bunkhouse was sitting on a blanket crouched close to his fire. His rifle there crossed his knees. He was drowsy, but a slight noise behind him made him turn his head. But the sergeant's gun hit him squarely and he slumped back on the blanket. That takes care of two of them, King. Now to get some reinforcements. With two blows, the sergeant broke the lock on the bunkhouse door. When he opened it, a wave of whispers swept through the building. Garret. Quiet. Quiet everybody. Quiet. Are there any small arms around, Garret? They say there's a shed full of them next to Hawkins' cabin. All right. Everybody get dressed and follow me. There are only two guards awake. The one's up at the opening of the canyon. You'd better bind and gag the one outside, Garret. We'll go to the shed and break into it. Get all of you armed. Then you surround all the cabins, and the old Garret and I have a chance to take care of the guards in the canyon. Don't do anything until you hear shooting. If we manage to take them by surprise, I'll fire three shots. Then take your jailer's prisoner. All right. Quiet does it. Follow me. The guards in the canyon were also dozing. But the sudden touch of cold steel on the back of their necks wakened them with a starch. The sergeant's voice stopped them from making any move for their guns. Let your guns stay where they are. I'll signal the others. The valley echoed to the shouts of the liberated men as they broke into the cabins and took charge of their ex-jailers. The attack came as a complete surprise. And when the sergeant and Garret returned with their own prisoners, the whole gang were huddled together, surrounded by rifles, carbines, and six guns. Take charge, Garret. Right, sergeant. The sergeant entered Rafe's cabin and pulled the gag from his mouth. Where you done? Careful, careful. How did you get loose? You'll have a long time to figure that out if all the crown prosecutor figures out all the charges against you. Going to untie you so you can get dressed. Then you and all of your men will be starting for Dawson, guarded by the men you kept prisoner for so long. But before you wrecked slaves, the men who would never be missed leave here. I'm going to suggest that they all file claims to the land here in the valley. When they get to Dawson, register those claims and all the gold you've mined will belong to them. That's robbery. The courts will call it justice. It'll be their land. It'll be their gold. And it'll be your finish. This case is closed. In our next adventure, two men share a corner table in the notorious El Dorado cafe. It's all set. We'll pass the girl off as the old man's knees. And all we have to do is get rid of him. And the mine belongs to us. Watch your step though. Sergeant Preston's moved into the district. Nothing would please me better than to get rid of him at the same time we finish off the old man. Just let him try to interfere. A murder is planned. The victim, the owner of the fabulous Polar Star Mine and the prize, a fortune. But the killers realize the sergeant threatens the success of their plans. That only dead can he cease to be dangerous. Don't miss this next exciting adventure. These radio dramas, a feature of the challenge of the Yukon Incorporated are created by George W. Trendle produced by Trendle Campbell Enterprises directed by Fred Flower Day and supervised by Charles D. Livingston. The part of Sergeant Preston is played by Paul Sutton. The challenge of the Yukon is brought to you every Saturday and Sunday. This is J. Michael wishing you good bye and good luck until our next adventure. This program came from Detroit. Today's most popular heroes of outdoor adventure are heard every weekday afternoon from five to six o'clock. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Mark Trail roams the wilderness. Clyde Beatty defies the beasts of the jungle and Victor Borga entertains with five minutes of musical laps. Tuesday and Thursday there are the Indian hero straight arrow riding to a pole justice. Sky King zooming to supersonic action and Bobby Benson the cowboy kid in Tales of Western Daring. Listen to Mutual's hour for fun with Mark Trail, Clyde Beatty, Victor Borga straight arrow, Sky King and Bobby Benson over most of these stations every weekday afternoon. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.