 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. Henry Louis Durand was a small man, heavy for his height. But what he liked in stature was made up for by the tallness of his tails, and nothing pleased him more than to have an audience. Trappers and sardos gathered about the hospitable warmth of the pot-bellied stove in the trading post as the old gentleman reverted to his favorite theme. I tell you, my friends, that courage is in the blood of our family. Listen, Louis, when a man's in a tight spot, he's bound to be afraid. No, fear. We, Durand, fear nothing. Now, my uncle, that is to say, he was my mother's uncle, my great-uncle, Henry Louis Philippe Durand, for whom I was named. He told me himself of the bravery of the French soldiers, how they endured the terrible cold on the winter march to Russia. I don't know about Russian winter, but believe me, there ain't no place as cold as the Yukon. Enough to make a man lose his mind. The freezingness of the place. Durand's no, no weakness, my friend. And the men with Napoleon were soldiers. They did not lose their minds. They must have had eyes and their veins to start with, if they was marching in weather any colderness. Oh, no, no. They were red-blooded fighters. Oh, have I told you how, in the freezing cold, my uncle, Henry Louis Philippe Durand, had his leg cut off to here? Yeah, yeah. We heard about it, Louis. Only the last time you told it, it was only a little past the ankle. What them Russians do when they saw him coming? The Tsar himself fated Napoleon in the Kremlin. And my uncle said the Kremlin was beautiful, with torches for light and food and footmen serving the slightest wish. When the Tsar himself petitioned Napoleon, Napoleon said that as one emperor to another, he would spare the country. So, after the Russians had extended every hospitality to the victorious troops, Napoleon turned his armies back, waved the glorious farewell to the Tsar, and started a gain for France. You mean after mushing all that way, he just turned around and went back home? Oh, of course, they were laden with precious jewels, and... Oh, Marie, my child, really opened the door. Yes, Papa. Hello, Marie. Where is the sergeant, first of all, at the end of the door? Come in, come in. Papa will be so glad to see you. Hello, sergeant. All right. Sit down, sergeants. Oh, Marie, those biscuits I smell must be about to come out of the oven, hm? Perhaps the good sergeant would like some. I could do with some of them myself, man. Oh, of course, Sam. You shall have as many as you can eat. Now, wait a minute, Sam. We'll be only left for the rest of it. What about them Russians and French, Louis? What'd they do with all the jewels they got? Ah, Pete, yes, yes indeed. Well, now that the sergeant is here, he's a man of education like myself, and for him, I'm sure my story will be just a needless repetition of history. Did you see Pierre as you came in, Sergeant? No, I didn't, Louis. He's the fellow who helped you at the post, isn't he? Of late, he's spending so much time out of doors. Oh, well, no matter. Here comes Marie with the biscuits. Perhaps we will have something to drink with him, huh? Sergeant Preston's patrols often carried him into the territory of the Yukon Indians. And while he made Durant's trading post his headquarters for a few days, he visited the nearby tribes. Mushing along the trail back to the post, he met Tom McGregor, a young prospect. Un-king, un-you huskies! Going to call on Marie, I'll bet, Tom. That's right, Sergeant. I've often wondered. Of course, it's no concern of mine but you and Marie. I know what you mean. But when I'm with her, well, I might just as well be dumb. Every time I try to get up courage to ask her to marry me, the words won't come. Uh-huh. And what bothers me most is this fellow Pierre Vance. He's already asked her father if he could speak to Marie. Evidently, he isn't as tongue-tied as you are. That's just it during the luck. But Marie, well, I don't think she feels the same way he does. Meanwhile, at a creek running through Henri Durant's trading post property, Pierre Vance knelt low where the wind had swept the bank clean of snow. He looked quickly over his shoulder. All of it, mine. If there were only some way to fix things. Sifting the gravel with shaking fingers, he separated the glittering flakes of classic gold. Then slowly, he made his way back to the post where Henri Durant was sitting quietly beside the stole. As Pierre hung up his mackinac, he watched the elderly man narrowly. Mr. Gervan. Yes, Pierre? I have spoken to Marie. Oh, so she has told me. Then she has told you that she refused me. But take heart, Pierre. I myself favor the match very much. I would not you understand persuade Marie to marry a man against her will, but on the whole, I think you would make a good son-in-law. Polished, gentlemen? Thank you, sir. Indeed. You are unlike that close mouth McGregor. Perhaps my boy is only a matter of time. But I have told Marie how I feel. She refuses to listen to me. Women are sometimes like that. They don't know their own minds. My own opinion is that if she gets used to seeing you around, well, who knows? Will you add to the fire, Pierre? Of course. And take my advice. Women are not predictable. Another thing I have been meaning to tell you, Pierre. Yes? Should anything happen to me, I have left you a share of the swimming post in my will so that if Marie wants to go on with the business, she will have to depend a bit on you. You see? You have made a will? I am not growing any younger. All my uncle leaves to be 92, even after those strenuous campaigns in the Napoleonic army. But these days, a man can never tell. You are right, Mr. Durand. A man can never tell. It was certainly generous of you to believe me. You will never know what it means to him. It was shortly before dark when Sergeant Preston and King and Tom McGregor arrived at the trading post. Tom watched Marie devotedly, while King lay at his master's feet. When will your father be back, Marie? In a short while, I think, Sergeant. In Pierre, I went out for a little while. Pierre, huh? Yes. You do not like Pierre at all? No, I don't. I... Well, that is, I... I mean, I... What's the matter, boy? He paces back and forth, and then stops. It seems like he's looking over to see what you think, Sergeant. Hmm. King's restless pacing was the outward sign of an inner sense of impending danger. A danger he didn't immediately recognize and yet every sense was alert as he settled himself on the floor. Not far from the post, Pierre walked beside Henri Louis Durand. A lantern the young man carried swung with each step he took. Ah, how much further is this Pierre? We've done much walking now, and it will soon be dark. Besides, I do not like the sound of those wolves. They are too close. Just a little way now. I hear, over here. That is it. Oh, my foot, my foot, Pierre. I've caught in a wolf trap at last. Pierre, help me. Pride is loose. It will tear my foot off. Help you. Are you old fool? Why do you think I led you into it? You... You what? Yes, I led you into it. I set this trap myself. Pierre! Not because I want to marry your daughter. I thought at first that would be the only way to get the gold. Gold? What gold? Pierre, don't stand there. I'll beat you up. Gold down by the creek. Plus our gold, Louis Durand. You here, and it is mine. Pierre, listen to me. I do not know what you talk about. If there is gold, take it. All of it. You bet I will. Every bit of it. That will of yours. Fix me up fine. I'll find some way to get rid of my thing. No, Pierre. Pierre, don't leave me. The wolves will die. Pierre! At the trading post, King walked about restlessly. Finally, he caught the sleeve of the Mount East tunic in his teeth and pulled it gently. Sergeant Preston took King's head in his hands. What is it, boy? What is it? It seemed as if the urge to articulate some sound the man would understand was King's greatest effort. His keen ears caught the cries of the timber wolves and the dog became more insistent. At length, the Mountie rose, pulled on his mackinon, took his rifle, and together he and King went out into the Yukon wilderness. All right, seller. I don't know where you want me to go. Lead the way. I'm with you. Tom McGregor followed them. He too carried a rifle, but the dog's urgency was infectious. King listened, and his nose caught the unmistakable scent of human blood. King raced ahead, knowing Preston would follow him. As the wolves cried, King gave voice to a great defiant challenge, and he raced forward, every sense alive. His cry echoed back to the hungry wolves, but still he ran on, knowing as the scent of blood, human blood, filled his nostrils, that the hunger of the wolves would drive them to a frenzied battle for the prize. Say back! Back, you beast! He ran his eyes glazed with terror sore King. The dog ran from the timber line into the clearing, planting himself between the man and the approaching wolves. As the leader of the pack sighted him, King heard the animals' paws in their crazed rush. The hesitation of the wolves was momentary. The leaders had a cry to the others, and King's heart lifted. Here, indeed, would be a fight, a fight to save a friend of the man who filled his heart with so much love. He had thrown down the challenge, and his life was at stake. A short time later, while Sergeant Preston pried the trap loose, Durand told the Mountie what had happened. King stood beside him, the blood of the dead leader of the wolf pack still on his coat. Henri Durand, with a life of exaggerated tales behind him, could find nowhere in his vocabulary words to express the magnificence and courage of the dog. Easy now, Louis. My foot. Oh, I had noticed it. His breathing, blood. Sergeant, Sergeant, he isn't dead. No, Tom. When he saw the blood, he fainted. Holy Moses. Oh, he's lucky, mighty lucky. That foot will be all right in a few days. Well, I'll go over to my cabin and get the sled, and we'll carry him back. It's not far. Good. We've got a score to settle with Pierre. Come on, King boy. Oh, ho, you huskies. Now, Louis, Tom. If he's harm, Marie, I'll... I hardly think you'll try another murderous trick knowing I'm around. Durand! Daddy King. All right, Tom, shut the door. Sergeant, you carry your gun. You're under arrest, Pierre, for attempted manslaughter. For attempted manslaughter? It was I who tried to murder. There is gold in his property, and he'd have left me to be worth-meat, so he could get his hands on it. No. In my foot, caught in the wolf trap, he led me into, and he left me. If it hadn't been for this magnificent, this beautiful, all this stupid, this doger... Oh. And cup him down. What's wrong, Louis? Your foot pained you? Oh, no. No, I just remembered how the brave man my uncle was. Papa, you are a true descendant of a brave man. Sergeant, I shall never be able to thank you and King. No, no, my child. I was not brave. Oh, he's just being modest. Of course, King did save his life, but your father stood in the middle of those wolves like nothing you ever saw. You were there, too? Yes. Yes, he was. He and a good sergeant. And I am thinking, my child, that perhaps it is good to have a close mouthed son-in-law. Marie, would you? Would you marry me? Tom, yes. Yes, I will. Well, it looks like our work is finished here, King Boy. All right, Pierre. We're heading the trail right now for Fort Mon. And to think I wished for Marie to marry him. Yes, King, old fella. 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're sent to you each week at the same time. This is Jack McCarthy speaking.