 The challenge of the Yukon. The Wonder Dog King, swiftest and strongest of Eskimo Lee 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. It was the time of year when prospectors and trappers were in saloons, laying bets on the hour when the Chinook wind would sweep suddenly through the Yukon, breaking up the ice and rivers and lakes, and bringing spring to the land of snow and high winds. Sergeant Preston and the Great Dog King had camped along the trail about a day's journey from half-mile. Darkness was still an hour away, and both the man and the dog were in high spirits as they looked about them. It's mighty good, isn't it, fellow? Those mountains over there, the birch trees. Everything looks fresh and unspoiled. What is it, boy? The Great Dog looked at the Mountie, and then toward the stretch of timber to the left of their camp. So you want to go all for a run, huh? All right, go ahead, King. In long eager strides, the dog loped across the snow, his lean muscular body arching gracefully with each stretch of his powerful legs. He sniffed the clear air, happy to be free of the responsibility of Preston's team of dogs, glad to explore on his own the icy land that had bred him, the wonder of which always seemed to beckon to him with some new adventure. He ran through the birch forest, stopping at the edge of a wide clearing, and as he stood there, he caught a peculiar scent. Slowly he walked forward toward the source of the scent. It was then he saw the small creature huddled in the snow, an odd animal as motionless as a stone. King wondered why it was so still. Ordinarily, it should have raced away at the approach of a potential enemy. A dog was almost beside it. Curiously, he sent it to the creature. And then, he shook his head violently and turned to run back to Preston. King, come to the ground, fella, hmm? You're running as if you can't cover ground, Preston. Fuck you by quilting your nose. Come here, come here. Here, put your head in my knee. Yeah, that's it. Easy now. I'm sorry, boy, but I've got to pull him out. How a dog as smart as you are would walk into a bunch of these needles, I don't know. The great dog stood silently. His eloquent eyes clouded with shame as he took the Mounties' good-natured scolding. Each of the quilts Preston pulled from the dog's sensitive nose, left his singing pain, reminding King of his encounter with this small motionless animal. The first thing we're going to do tomorrow morning is find a porcupine. There's only one way to approach those animals without getting a nose full of quills. And for your own protection, fella, I think you'd better learn it. Meanwhile, several miles on the other side of Half Mile, two men waited at a turn in the trail behind a huge rock formation. They had a clear view of the trail, but they were hidden from the unsuspecting traveler coming toward them. He's coming at a pretty good speed, Mac. It's a pity a man should be in such a hurry to stop a rifle bullet. You're sure this is McDaniel? Of course I am. Do I ever make a mistake? No, I guess you don't. But how come you're always so sure about who's going to be coming to the bank? Or does Banker Elliot know about what we're... No, no, no, he doesn't know a thing about our sideline red. He's developed a habit of stop again at the cabin for a bit of conversation. And he usually mentions the days certain men come in from the creek bed to make their deposits. You ready? Yeah, I'm ready. Well, when I say the word. All right, now. Hey, how's that for shooting, eh? Drop them in his tracks. Come on, forget what Dusty's carrying and the papers and then head for town. Yeah. What I'd like to know is what you do with them claim papers you've been lifting from these fellas, huh? That, my friend, is none of your business. You get your cut on the dust and, um, bring my caution, you'll not forget too curious. You understand? Oh, well, don't get me wrong, Mac. I was just wondering that. Well, these papers must be in the inside pocket. Uh, you lift the tarp over on the sled. Uh, might have some of the dust there. We'll leave McDaniels here and be back in town before dark. When Sergeant Preston arrived in half-mile, he hadn't been in the town ten minutes when the banker, Sam Elliott, searched him out. Elliott was a small man, but he walked up the main street with the red-coated policeman. He was out of breath. It's been going on for nearly a month, Sergeant. All of the men have been on their way from the creek beds into the bank. Then they've been killed on the trail and robbed. Been going on for a month, huh? It's a desperate situation, I can tell you. Why, it's getting so old that the most daring of the prospectors will risk a trip into town. And when they do, it's only to be stopped by a bullet. All right, Sam. I want a list of the men who've been killed. Certainly. McDaniels was shot yesterday. He was the fifth. And the worst part of it is there's nobody in town who'll organize in any way to put a stop to the killing. Everyone's afraid of this mysterious gunman. There's nothing mysterious about a gunman, Sam. Criminals are all alike. Some are smarter than others. But this one's got to be stopped. Well, I hope you can do it, Sergeant. Sergeant King, old fella. We've got a job in our hands, and it looks like a big one to me. For several days, the policeman went about investigating the crime, asking questions patrolling the trails outside the town. But his presence drove the killer into hiding. While he was in town, there were no more trail murders. And there were no clues to those that had been committed before his arrival. It was shortly after darkness, as the mountain walked slowly down the main street of Half Mile. King walked beside him, and the habit the man acquired on long, lonely trails persisted even in the crowded town. For as he walked, Preston spoke his thoughts to his dog. Well, fella, I don't know how we're going to do it, but somehow we've got to force the killer to show his hand. I can't help feeling there's a missing link in this business somewhere. Missing link. The murderers are missing link, huh fella? What I mean is information. Maybe something that seems unimportant, not worth mentioning. Well, come on, we'll stop in to see Sam Elliott. Hey there, Sergeant. Hello, Clem. Looking for Sam? Oh, yes. I was just about knocking his door. Hey, son, what's it? I'll catch you there. Thanks. In Professor McLaughlin's large cabin, Sam Elliott sat with his chair tilted back, his feet rusting against the warmth of the round iron stones. As I tell you, Professor McLaughlin, it does me good to be able to talk to a man of learning like yourself in the evening. If it wasn't for that, I guess I'd lose what's left of my mind. What's the story I've had over these trail murders and everything? Oh, I daresay it must be a relief to you having Sergeant Preston in town. By the way, is he making any progress? I can't say. You know how he is when he's working on a case? He doesn't say much except to ask questions. I've told him about all I can. I'm sure you have. I'm often thankful. I don't do any prospecting. A man isn't safe up here if he's carrying much gold. You've been connected with the Zoological Institute? Always seemed to me a funny reason for coming to the Yukon, where most table-bodied men are grubbin' in the dirt for gold. But then I guess some people ain't interested in gettin' rich. Money isn't everything you know, Sam. That's what I always say. Yes, sir, that's what Professor Mackie always says. Well, that's the first time your assistant has spoken his mind this evening. See who it is, will you read? The money. Well, Sergeant Preston. Howdy, Sergeant. Hello there, Sam. Clem told me I'd find you here. How are you, Professor? Fine, fine. Won't you sit down? Thank you. Well, I see you have a few stuffed animals back there in the corner. Have a good pair of eyes, Sergeant. Well, they're just a few birds. That hawk owl is an interesting specimen. Yes. You go in for our more trouble from the animals, too. Then you're gonna find Java stuffing them. Well, that's just the sideline of mine, so to speak. Usually, I'm pretty busy gathering material for the Institute. This country is a paradise for wildlife. The great dog King, who'd entered the cabin with his master, caught a faint animal scent in the warm room. Yes, the scent was faint, but it brought with it an embarrassing and unhappy memory. Slowly, the dog walked to the corner of the room. There's a light from the oil lamp cast flickering shadows that glittered in the glass, like eyes of the animals and birds. The men were engrossed in conversation, and only red noticed the dog. But he watched him with unconcerned amusement rather than interest. King disregarded the men, and as he stood facing the corner, his interest was focused on the small creature he had good reason to remember. He recalled, too, how Preston had taught him to grab the porcupine under its neck, the only place on the animal that was free of those treacherous quills King had encountered. So painfully anxious to show his master that he had learned his lesson well, King lowered his head. Deathly, he caught the porcupine by throat, dragging it to where Preston sat. Well, I'll be. This is the first time I've ever seen a dog figure out a way to dodge him porcupine quills. You certainly did a life-like job of preserving your animals, Professor Mack. King here went for that porcupine like it was alive. King, what's your idea, fella? Well, porcupine, drop that. Drop that, you hear? Don't get excited, Professor. You'll find he hasn't even broken the skin of the animal. Yeah, what's that? Papers? Papers. Looks like documents. Oh, never mind. I'll take those. Right here. That must be a new custom stuffing animals. Wait a minute. These aren't ordinary papers. They're claim papers. This one is John McDaniel's deed to the Lady Slipper Mine. That was where you kept them papers. McDaniel's claim papers. But I don't understand. I think I do. I want to see the rest of those papers, Professor. Reds, your guns. I got it right here, Mack. No, no, you don't kick. Don't move, Professor Mack. Don't move, except to put your hands up high. Get off of me. All right, fellas. Drop that gun, Reds. Now walk over here slowly. Over beside Professor Mack. All right. Sam, you look at those deeds. Call up the names of them. Yes, of course. And let's see. Pete Williams. Poor Pete. This is Snowshoe Snyder. Paul Adams. Mort Gleason. That's the four of them, Sergeant. McDaniel's was the fifth. You're under arrest, both of you, for murder. But I tell you, it was Reds. He did the shooting. I never fired a gun. You dirty double-crossing phony. Whose idea was it? Who got half the gold in the claim papers besides? And who figured out about this animal business being a good cover-up, huh? You took them papers. I never knew what you'd done with them till now. I can hardly believe it. One of my best friends, why. I trusted him as I'd trust my own brother. There's quite a scheme, Professor McLaughlin. Professor? Maybe he isn't even a professor, Sergeant. He's a professor all right. I'm sure of that, Sam. But when he got up here, he saw a chance to get his hands in a lot of gold. He thought he could get away with murder. And he knew that in hiding those claim papers and the belly of that preserved porcupine, he was fairly safe, because few people would dare touch the animal for fear of its quills. But how do you suppose King knew? Why did he bring the porcupine to you? Why? Well, I have an idea why he did it, Sam. But that's the secret between King and me. All I'm going to say is, thanks to him, this case is closed. Yes, fella. You'll learn your lesson well. These copyrighted dramas originated in the studios of WXYZ Detroit. All characters, names, places and incidents used are fictitious. They are sent to you each week at the same time. Jack McCarthy...