 Now, as gunshots echo across the windswept snow-covered reaches of the Wild North West, Quaker puffed wheat, and Quaker puffed rice. The breakfast cereals shot from guns present Sergeant Preston 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. On King, on you huskies! 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 Quaker puffed wheat and Quaker puffed rice, bringing you the adventures of Sergeant Preston and his wonder dog, Yukon King, as they meet the challenge of the Yukon. Say, fellas and girls, Christmas goodies come only once a year, but the goodies you can enjoy every morning are those king-sized grains of sun-ripened rice or wheat shot from guns. Yes, I mean delicious Quaker puffed rice and Quaker puffed wheat, topped with lots of milk or thick rich cream and chilled fruit or sliced bananas. Mmm, a treat for your taste every time. Be sure to have a heaping bowl full of delicious Quaker puffed wheat or Quaker puffed rice tomorrow morning. The mother husky lay in the corner of the dog run with her puppies frisking around her. All of them were gray with white markings, with the exception of the tiniest of the litter. He was pure white, and it was he who ran forward to greet Angus McPherson and Sergeant Preston as they stepped inside the run. Well, hello there, young fella. The puppy liked the sound of the sergeant's voice, and he wagged his tail so hard he shook his whole body as he tried to make friends. The sergeant reached down and scooped him up. Angus shook his head. Oh, that one I call the we might. He'll never grow up to be a sled dog, I'm afraid. He's a friendly little rascal. But look at him, nearly a month old and lost in the palm of your hand. Oh, he's not made for the trail. He'd make a fine pet. Aye. And if you should meet a deserving Baron and your travel sergeant, he's yours to bestow your safe head. Well, thanks, Angus. I'll remember that. But for the time being, back to go to your mother, little fella. Look at him go. When the we might was three months old, he was only half the size of his brothers and sisters, but he was twice as venturesome. And those two factors determined his whole future. It was the day before Christmas. The we might burrowing in the snow found a small opening between the wire fence of the run and the frozen ground. If he'd been any larger, he wouldn't have been able to squeeze through it and tunnel his way up to the crusted surface of the snow on the far side of the fence. If he had known the meaning of fear, he wouldn't have raced straight into the dense pine forest that surrounded the McPherson cabin. But that's what he did. And once inside the forest, he ran on and on, having a wonderful time investigating the strange sights and sounds and sense of this great new world. Hours passed. The sky clouded over. It grew dark. The wind rose and the heavy snow began to fall. It was not until then that the we might gave a thought to home. And not until then, he realized he had no idea where home was. But the instinct for survival warned him his fluffy white coat wasn't sufficient protection against the driving snow-laden wind that he must find shelter. He floundered on through the deepening drifts until he reached the edge of the forest. But he was miles away from the McPherson cabin, and the two buildings he saw were dark and silent. The door of the smaller building was closed tight in padlock. The door of the larger one was also closed, but there was a broken board near the bottom that provided a means of entrance. The we might crawl through the hole. The building was a barn, and it was even darker inside than out. But here there was protection from the cruel wind, and the might trotted around making a tour of inspection. There was a stove near the door, cold and black, and a row of stalls on either side of the barn. They were unoccupied, but bedded with straw, and the might chose the farthest stall from the door. There he settled down and burrowed into the straw. Warm at last, he soon fell asleep, exhausted from his efforts. It was a light that woke him, a light pouring through the open door at the far end of the barn. The might nosed his way to the surface of the straw and peeked around the stall partition to see what was going on. A young woman holding a lantern was standing in the doorway, and behind her there was a young man. He carried a little boy wrapped in a blanket. There's a stove in here, John, and firewood beside it. Good. We'll stay here instead of breaking into the cabin. Oh, plenty of straw, too. We can make a bed for Davey close to the stove. I'll get a fire going. Let me have him. All right, dear. I shouldn't have insisted on coming along, but I would have worried so much staying at home and wondering. Oh, you were right to come. I'm sorry I couldn't keep up with you. I couldn't have gone on much farther myself, caring Davey. I'm so cold. I know, darling, but you'll be warm in a minute. And I hurt. I know, but Daddy's going on to Dawson and he'll bring back a doctor to make you well. When I saw these buildings, John, I was hoping there'd be someone here. Oh, not at this time of year. It's the way station for the stage line they don't operate during the winter. How far is it to Dawson? Perhaps 10 miles. Oh, dear, perhaps we should have stayed at home. Simply done nothing? No, we had to try and get into a doctor. We'd have made it if it hadn't been for the storm. What a Christmas Eve. Like Jesus. What, Davey? Like Jesus. This is a stable, isn't it? Yes, darling. Is there a manger here? Those are manger in the stalls. They put hay in them for the horses to eat. They're not very big. I couldn't fit into one of those. Jesus was only a little baby when they laid him in the manger. Oh, John. If there were only something we could do for him, John... I'm sure it depends a tiny bit. He needs a doctor. Yeah, the fire's going. It should warm up in a minute. I'll get some straw. From far back in the dark recesses of the barn, and with only his little head showing, though we might watch the man pile straw beside the stove, then take the little boy from the woman's arms and place him on it. The puppy liked the boy and would have liked to make friends with him, perhaps even snuggle down on the straw beside him, where loneliness and fear could be forgotten. We might have lost his supreme self-confidence, though. He was afraid the man and woman might object if he came any closer, might even drive him out into the night in the storm, so he nestled back in his burrow and whimpered a little as he watched. Doesn't he? It's soft. Are you feeling any better, son? I'm sleepy. That's good. You try to go to sleep, baby. All right, Mommy. John, I don't like the sound of that wind. I don't think you should try to get to Dawson tonight. Oh, I must, dear. Baby seems to be a little better. By morning, the snow may have stopped, and we can all go on together. You'll have to fight every step of the way, Dawson, if you try to make it tonight. Well, listen, someone call him. See who it is. The travel are heading this way. Anyone we know? No, a rough-looking customer. Perhaps I'd better stay here with you. Yes, by all means. Howdy, partner. You mind if I come in? No, not at all. There's a stove. We have a fire going. That sounds good to me. Why, a woman? Yes, my wife and my boy. I'm John St. Clair. I'm a trapper. Might call me a trapper too. Name is Smith. You're welcome. Are you on your way to Dawson? I've just come from there. How's the trail? There isn't any now. Oh, it's a terrible night. Merry Christmas. Well, at least we have shells. Who's that? I have no idea. Another traveler, perhaps. Stand aside from the door. Why are you drawing your gun? Never mind. Stand aside. The door isn't barred. Come in. I can't. I have a man who's really done for it. I'm holding him up. All right. Open up, St. Clair. Once more, the we might stuck his head out of his burrow and around the stall petition to see what was going on. Two men staggered into the barn. John St. Clair pushed the door shut behind him. One of the men was completely exhausted and would have dropped to the floor if the other hadn't lifted him bodily and carried him toward the stove. Here we are. Do you mind if I put him down here, ma'am? No. Is he hurt? No, not that I know of. But we'll have a look. I found him lying face down on the trail. He might have frozen to death. He might have. But there seems to be nothing seriously wrong with him. Little warmth is all he needs. Are you all right, ma'am? Yes. What is this place? What does it look like to you? It's a barn. I must keep going. Now, there's a brave idea. You take two steps outside and fall on your face again. Did I do that? You did. Who are these people? Since we've just arrived, I'm in no position to make introduction. Oh, I'm John St. Clair, a trapper. This is my wife and me, little boy who's sleeping by the stove is my son. My name is Smith. Is it now? And yours, mister? It, uh... It's Jones. What's yours? Green. Since I'm only competing with a Smith and a Jones, there's no reason why I should tax my imagination. What do you mean by that? Just that my name isn't Green. His name isn't Jones and his name isn't Smith. Now that Mr. Smith realizes he's among friends, he can put up his gun. Yeah. I don't understand. I'm afraid I do. These men are... Three wise men who've come to pay you a visit on Christmas Eve. Three wise men, ma'am, who are a little too wise for their own good. How do you figure you're so wise, Green? Well, when a man is killed and the police start rounding up all suspicious characters, it's their wise thing to get out of town until they find a suspicious character they're looking for, I mean. You've come from Dawson. How did you get? The man who was killed. They have any idea who did it? I didn't wait to find out. You... You men are suspected of murder. I had no love for the dead man. Nor I. I had good reason to hate him. Well, who are you talking about? Luke Devlin. It was he or one of his hired gunmen who killed my best friend, Tim Moriarty. I swore that nothing would stop me from evening the score. I made the mistake of trusting Devlin. My father made the mistake of trusting him. Devlin cheated him out of a fortune and destroyed his will to live. The law may not call it murder, but I do. Each of you hated this man, this Devlin. It seems so, ma'am. But you didn't. Somehow I know you didn't kill him. Oh, it would be hard for you to think evil of any man. What's the matter with the boy? Mommy, it hurts. Davy, darling. We think it's appendicitis. Do you mind if I take a look at him? No, no, no, indeed. I won't hurt you, Davy. I just want to see you. I'm sorry, Davy. Is it? I think so. My... My guess is that he should be operated on at once. We were trying to get him into Dawson to the hospital. No chance of that tonight. I've heard that the best temporary treatment is a cold compress. Well, now this bandana of mine could be wet with snow. It may help. No sooner said than done. I hear dogs. So do I. There they are. Coming from Dawson. It's a big man driving. Could be Sergeant Preston. Yeah. You leave that gun in a hole to Smith. There's all these decent people in there, boy. You want to be arrested? Does he know you by sight? No. Then stick to your story. Your name is Smith. For the first time that night, the we might hidden in the straw saw a familiar face. He recognized the sergeant and the great dog that entered the barn with him. The puppy would have run to greet them if King hadn't come straight to his hiding place far back in the barn. But King merely touched the puppy's nose and returned to his master. The might, more than a little bewildered by all of his going on, decided to stay where he was and continue to watch. The sergeant knelt beside the boy and examined him. He talked with Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair for a few minutes. And then he and the three men who called themselves Smith, Jones, and Green left the stove and walked straight toward the stall where the might was hiding. The might burrowed deeper in the straw. There's no need to disturb Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair with our business. You have business with us, sergeant? With one of you and any one of you might fit the description of the man I'm looking for. About six feet tall, about 180 pounds, blackbeard, caribou parka. The description fits all three of us, that's for sure. May I ask what this man you're looking for has done, that he should be wanted by the law? The man I'm looking for knows what he's done. I expect him to identify himself. Oh, do you, Sergeant? You seem very confident. I am. Because the man I'm looking for can save that boy's life. Come along, King. Where are you going? I got some food and some tea for my sled. I'll take it over, men. Think what over? What he said? That one of us can save Davy's life. Would take an operation. In Dawson. In Dawson? Yes. An operation. Tonight. And the one of us who can make that possible is the man the Sergeant is looking for. The one he'll accuse of murder. He said to think it over. The Sergeant returned with supplies and cooking utensils, and Mrs. St. Clair prepared a meal. It was eaten in silence. But we might was hungry, and he would certainly have joined the group around the stove if King hadn't brought him a biscuit. The puppy thanked him hastily and began to devour the hot bread. When he had finished it, he wanted more, and he would certainly have gone after it if his attention hadn't been distracted. The Sergeant was standing only a few feet away from him, once more talking with a man who called himself Smith. I take it you believe the boy has a cute appendicitis, Sergeant. There's no doubt of it. And the only thing that can save him is an operation. Right. An operation costs money, and St. Clair can't afford it. All right, I'm the man who can. You get the boy to Dawson. I'll pay for the operation. I have plenty of money on deposit at the Yukon Trading Company. Under the name of Smith. You don't have to be told who I am. I'm Nick Blaine, Devlin's ex-partner. How are you? I suppose people heard us arguing in his room tonight. When I hit him, I swear I didn't mean to kill him. You didn't, Nick? What? And you're not the man I'm looking for. People heard you quarreling with Devlin, but he was shot an hour after you left. You mean that? It isn't money that can save this boy. It would be impossible for any dog team to get back to Dawson tonight. I heard that. You did? I'm your man. Not if your name is Green. It isn't. It's Mike Mason. Why, sure now I remember. You won the Snowshoe Marathon from White Horse to Dawson last winter. I did indeed. And I can make it to Dawson without any trouble at all. Even carrying the boy in my arms. I'm ready to start this minute, and I'll turn myself over to the police as soon as I deposit Davy at the hospital. But I didn't kill Devlin, Sergeant. I'm telling you the truth. I heard the shot as I was coming up the front stairs. I ran down the hall to his room and opened the door. There he was, lying on the floor. I knew I'd be accused. That's why I ran away. Mike, you might be able to make it to Dawson tonight, but Davy couldn't stand the trip. You aren't the man who can save his life. Does that mean you're not accusing me of Devlin's murder? It doesn't. Devlin told us who shot him. Sergeant, may I speak to you alone for a minute? What is it, John? Well, there's no reason why I shouldn't say it in front of these men. I'm the man you're looking for. My name isn't Jones. It's Warren. Dr. Henry Warren. Yes. I went to Devlin's room and I leveled a gun at his heart. I told him who I was and why I... why I was going to kill him. And he'd driven my father to suicide. But I couldn't pull the trigger. Devlin took the gun away from me. Then how did that happen? How was he shot? It was afterward when he was pointing the gun at me and laughing. He said he was going to get rid of me and claim self-defense. I jumped at him and it was then... it was then that it happened. Your claiming self-defense? It would be hard to prove, wouldn't it? That doesn't matter. I'm willing to face the music. You're wrong, though, in thinking I can save Davy's life simply because I'm a doctor. How can I operate without instruments, without anesthetic or drugs? The ways of Providence are often strange. Providence. Call it what you like. After Devlin identified you as the man who had shot him, he went to your room in the palace. He'd gone a point. All your personal belongings were loaded on my sled to be taken to Headwater. At that moment we learned you'd been seen leaving town heading south on the stage trail. I took care of it to you at once. The instruments. My medicines. Are still on my sled. Are you ready to operate, Doctor? At once, Sergeant. I'll give you a hand, Warren. All right. Now, the Wee-Mites fly is really opened wide and wonder at the activity that filled the barn. And finally it's centered around the boy. It seemed to the might that the men were going to hurt Davy. He growled low in his throat. King was the only one who noticed it. The great dog trotted back to the puppy's side, touched his nose, and the might understood that this was some business in which he shouldn't interfere. King dropped the straw beside him, and together they watched the men who hid the little boy from view. It was some time before they stood aside, and the might could see Davy's face. It was so white and still that the puppy was afraid. King reassured him. For the next half hour, everyone in the barn was silent, watching Davy. Then the boy cried out. My right meant the same for her. She's coming out of the anesthetic. You just sit down beside him and take his hand. No, no. Davy. Davy, darling. Mommy, I had a bad dream. But it's gone now, isn't it? Yes. And it's been gone too, hasn't it? Yes. I'm sleepy. You go to sleep, darling. Go to sleep. The we might looked up into King's face, as if to ask him if everything was as it should be. King's answer was satisfactory, and the puppy followed Davy's example. Snuggled deep in the straw, he went to sleep. He slept for a long time. When he wakened, the storm was over. Someone had just driven up, and as the sergeant went out to meet the traveler, the might could see the clean white snow sparkling in the sun. But the puppy's first thought was of Davy. The boy was still sleeping. And then whoever had stopped outside the barn drove away, and the sergeant came back inside. That was possible downy, man. He brought good news from Dawson. Devlin's still alive? Yes, and what's more, he'll recover. Oh, thank heavens. But the news is even better than that for you, doctor. The Christmas spirit must have touched Devlin last night. Father Michelle came to the hospital to have a talk with him. During the course of it, Devlin exonerated you completely, doctor. You're a free man. This should be a very merry Christmas. I wish I could make it merry for my patient. You've made him a priceless gift, his life. But when he wakes up, he'll be disappointed. This is Christmas morning, and he'll be expecting a tree and presents. His presents are waiting for him at home. He can't be moved for at least another day. Well, presents may be an impossibility, but there are thousands of Christmas trees in the forest. There's no reason why we can't set one up in here. That's a fine idea. Who wants to give me a hand with it? And I'll have breakfast ready for you when you come back. We might watch King leave the barn with the man, and Mrs. Sinclair returned to the stove to busy herself with preparations for breakfast. Then the puppy's attention returned to the sleeping boy, and a strange, wonderful feeling filled his heart, a feeling that he would never be lonely or afraid again. Because he had found something he had been searching for, a master to love and follow all his life. More than anything in the world, he wanted to run to Davy's side, and with the desire came the courage to accomplish it. Without a thought of Mrs. Sinclair, he scrambled from his straw bed and started forward. When he was only a foot from Davy, he stopped. The boy's hand was lying on the outside of the blanket, and the might touched it with his little pink tongue. The boy's eyes opened. Oh, are you a mind? Must be. And I must have left you. Quite and soft. Oh, puppy, I love you. Davy took the might in his arms. The puppies settled down in perfect contentment. Together they dozed off to sleep. What's that? It was Mrs. Sinclair's voice that awakened the might. Where did you come from? The tone of her voice and the look of shock surprise on her face filled the might with panic. He turned to his newly adopted master, hoping he would vouch for him. But Davy was sound asleep. The puppy began to tremble, and he lifted his soft brown eyes to Mrs. Sinclair, pleading for permission to stay where he was. You know, I didn't mean to frighten you. They're there, little fella. You're a handsome master. The might was grateful for the kindness of Mrs. Sinclair's voice. But just then, the door of the barn opened and the men came drooping in. John, John, come here. Sergeant, please. The might dove underneath the blanket and began to tremble once more. Only a moment later, however, King stuck his nose under the blanket and gently forced the might to raise his head and look at the men gathered around him. At the same time, King made the puppy understand there was no reason to be afraid. And the might took him at his word. At least the big man with the red coat showing beneath his parka was a friend. Look, John, a puppy. Where did he come from? I'm sure he didn't slip in as you went out. I closed the door myself. He must have been here all night, sleeping in one of the stalls. And Davy's made friends with him. Now, could there be a better Christmas present for the boy? But the puppy must belong to someone, Sergeant. Only done. Davy can't keep him. We'll have to give him back. No. Angus calls him the we might. He'll never be large enough to be a sled dung. Even so? And Angus told me three months ago that he was mine. To give to any boy who wanted a pet. Oh. Without opening his eyes, Davy murmured. Why still, Whitey? You're the best Christmas present I ever had. Did you hear that, Sergeant? Yes, ma'am. Last night, when Nick and the doctor and I came here to this table and found the boy, I was reminded of the old, old story. And when Mrs. St. Clair asked us who we were, I said we were three wise men. Well, in a way, we acted just like those other wise men. They brought the babe and the manger gifts. Gold and frankincense and murder. Nick offered gold to Davy and I my strength and the doctor is skilled. But in the end, it turns out to be your gift that needs the most action. I haven't given Davy anything. The puppy. It's the we-might himself who's done the giving. No wonder that his offering is the most accessible. He's proving again what was proved 2,000 years ago. There can be no greater gift than love. Merry Christmas, everyone. Well, sir, fellas and girls, today is the day you look forward to for so long. Yes, and right here is someone who wants to say something to each and every one of you. Here is Sergeant Preston himself. And naturally, I don't have to tell you that King is here to right beside him. Woo-hoo! Fellows and girls, King and I just want to say this. We hope that you and all of your family and friends are having the most wonderful Christmas ever. How about it, King? Woo-hoo! That's King's way of saying for the both of us, Merry Christmas. And Sergeant Preston, that goes for me and for all of us here. And for the Quaker Oats Company, makers of Quaker Popped Wheat, Quaker Popped Rice and Quaker Packo Ten. Yes, from all of us, a Merry Christmas to one and all. In our next adventure, a young couple, Mary Kenyon and Bill Hayden, leave town and head for Green Island Lake. A December blizzard is sweeping the trail. At a painted creek, a band of desperate men are lying in wait. Determine that two young lives shall be sacrificed to their greed. Don't miss this next exciting adventure. These radio dramas, a feature of Sergeant Preston 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. Sergeant Preston of the Yukon is brought to you every Tuesday and Thursday at this same time by Quaker Popped Wheat and Quaker Popped Rice. The breakfast cereal shot from guns. Listen tomorrow at this same time to the Green Hornet brought to you by the drink that makes you feel fresh again. Delicious Orange Crush. This is J. Michael wishing you good bye, good luck and good health from Quaker Popped Wheat and Quaker Popped Rice. So long. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.