 The challenge of the Yukon. I'm the king. I'm the king. The Wonder Dog King, swiftest and strongest of Eskimo-leaf 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. In mid-summer of 1897, two young men, each bearing a heavy pack, waited ashore from a rowboat fast on the mud-flat at the mouth of the Daie River in Alaska. This is the last in mud we're plowing through. Well, I'll feel better about it when I get my feet on dry ground again. Well, that does it. Come on, let's stop in that store over there. Hey, wait a minute. Who's that, huh? That gent telling us away. Looks like he's part of a welcoming committee. Get a load of the shinier he's wearing in his shirt front. I've seen that guy someplace before. Hello, fellas. Going on the trail to the Klondike? Last news from there this week is great. Gold in every creek with a million. You're sure to make a strike. That's what we're here for, stranger. Hey, last time I saw you, you were on a street in Denver. Selling $20 bills wrapped around cakes of soap to the suckers for a dollar. Remember? Sure, sure I remember. I'm still giving them away. Jefferson Randolph Smith chuckled to himself. It was from his earlier street selling line that he'd acquired his alias, Sophie Smith, a name that was to strike terror to the hearts of law-abiding citizens in Alaska. For in 1897, Sophie had landed in Daie and had gathered under his command a band of crooks, card sharps and cutthroats. It was several weeks after his encounter with the two men in the banks of the Daie River. In his saloon, Jeff's place in Skagway, he lounged comfortably in a back room. Around him was an assorted group of men, and at the feet of one of them was a German police dog, a surly animal, as well-schooled and cunning as were the men he recognized as massive. Ah, come on, Sophie. You just say the word and the boys will go over to Killcute Summit and really scare up some ghouls. Wait a minute, wait a minute, boys. I've heard enough of this kind of talk. What's the matter? Isn't Skagway big enough for you? It's not that. It's just that there's lots of dust on the other side of the boundary that's plenty right for picking. Yeah? Well, the Canadian boundary is not going to be crossed by any of you. Why not? I say not. You're new in this country, Bill. Maybe you've never heard of the Northwest Mounted Police. I've heard of them, all right. They're the reason we stay on this side of the line. How come? They can't be bribed or scared. At one outfit, we're not mixing with. Yeah, what is it? Hey, Sophie, there's a minister here to see you. A minister to see me? Yeah, he says he's taken up a collection to build a church. A church in Skagway? Wait a minute. Why, uh, show him in, Ted. Right. This way, mister. You're going local, Sophie? He's interested in money. So, my, you keep quiet now, Fitz. Right in here. Well, I'm glad you're able to see me, Mr. Smith. My name is Wilson. Reverend Hyatt Wilson. Pleased to meet you, Reverend. I thought I might approve you for it. Why? Certainly, Reverend. Certainly. I'll not only contribute to your fund, but so will my friends here. I'll start out by giving, uh, should we say, $300? $300? By Mr. Smith, that's magnificent. Now, let's see. $100, $2, $2.50, $300. Now, boys, the Reverend won't be able to do any church building with $300. So how about shelling out whatever you have on you? Gentlemen. Hey, this is the most generous of you. Oh, my word, that's $500, and practically no time at all. You see the other citizens in town and tell them what Sophie Smith contributed. I'm sure they'll be more than willing to flatten the kiddie. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Smith. I'll do that. Well, good day, gentlemen. May you be richly rewarded for your splendid unsubstantiated. Oh, uh, Reverend. Stop back to see me after you've made the rounds. I'm interested in knowing about your progress. I'll do that, Mr. Smith. Yes, I said he would. Sophie wants the idea. Making us turn out our pockets to build a church. Always. That was an investment, Bill. An investment? What do you mean? You'll find out. That night, Reverend Wilson returned to Jeff's place as he promised. He told Sophie he'd been successful that he'd collected well over $3,000. Sophie appeared to be delighted and told the minister he should stay upstairs in the saloon that night where there was a comfortable bed for him. The Reverend retired early. Shortly after two o'clock that night, Sophie came into the back room. Well, boys, here's that investment I was telling you about. Oh, here's more than $3,000 for our treasury. You mean your... I took the liberty of relieving Reverend Wilson of our original contribution and, uh, a few more besides. Sophie, that's rich! The next morning, when Reverend Wilson discovered the theft, he hurriedly dressed. Leaving Jeff's place, he went quickly to see Frank H. Reed, one of the men who'd given him money the previous day. Reed was a prominent citizen, a civil engineer, and official town surveyor, and he listened thoughtfully to Reverend Wilson's story. I know Reverend Wilson. This town's had just about as much of Sophie Smith and his outlaws as it can stand. Why hasn't he been stopped before? I'm sure it must have been one of his men who stole the money from me last night and never realized till this morning what went on there. He hasn't been stopped because he's bribed every lawman in town. But the citizens... He has the citizens bluffed. There's only one man who can stop him, and I'm leaving this afternoon to find him. Who's that, Mr. Reed? Sergeant Preston of the Northwest Mounted Police. Frank Reed succeeded in locating the body in Circle City. And in Sergeant Preston's cabin there, he told him of the lawlessness that was rampant in Skagway. I tell you, Sergeant, it's not safe for a man to travel the trails anymore. Sophie's highwaymen lay in wait at every turn if a prospect is carrying dust. Yes, I've heard a lot about Sophie Smith, Frank. But my authority doesn't extend beyond Chiltcute Summit. Believe me, you're the only man who can stop him. I've been trying to organize the businessmen of the town, but we need a leader. No, Frank, I'm afraid my hands are tied. That's two disappointments I've had this trip. Disappointments? My lead dog was killed coming over the summit. A big, powerful malamute. Oh, that's too bad, Frank. Yeah, I'm almost afraid to attempt the trip back without him. Funny how a man's completely depended on his dogs in this country. Well, you'll need a lead. There's no question about that. Yeah. I was planning to leave for Skagway myself. King and I will go back with you. Of course, you'll realize that my being there has nothing to do with Smith. I can't act openly against him as long as he stays in Alaska. A great dog who'd stayed quietly at the mountain's feet during the conversation, now stood by his chair. He raised his front paws and rested them on Preston's knees, listening to what he said. That's great, Sergeant. That takes care of one of my disappointments anyway. King isn't an ordinary dog, Frank. He's never failed me in any crisis. And I think affairs in Skagway are rapidly reaching that point. If there's any way to help you, perhaps King can do it. As his name recurred in the conversation, the dog searched the mountain's face, an ageless devotion shining in his eyes. Yes, fella. We'll go back with Frank. Who knows? There may be some way to help him. King knew Skagway well. He'd been there many times as Sergeant Preston, but this was different. He sensed the high tension in the man as they walked along the streets, huddling in groups, talking in quiet voices. The meeting tonight, men, at nine o'clock at the silvest of Doc Warehouse. Again and again, King heard them mention the name Sophie Smith. The mountain talked about Smith, too, and from his tone of voice when he spoke of him, King knew whoever Sophie Smith was, he was no good. King had sent a dog at the edge of the crowd, standing beside a man who smelled strongly of cigar smoke and whiskey. The German police dog growled at the great Husky, having long ago acquired the shallow bravado that was typical of Sophie Smith's gang. King recognized the dog as an inferior, and though he was conscious of his every move, he regally disdained a return the other's attention. Fritz saw the lean muscular strength in the proud turn of the Husky's head. He steeled himself to jump, King, and as he did, the Husky dodged him with a quickness of a second nature. Almost at the same moment, King nipped Fritz's ear sharply. Fritz! Hey, Fritz! What's the matter with ya? Come on, I've heard all I want to. We're going back to Sophie. Sophie. So the man and the dog were going to see the one called Sophie. King mulled the thought over in his head. He wished there was some way he could tell Sergeant Preston, who stood at the back of the crowd, out of earshot at the conversation. It was late that night, and as the men gathered at the warehouse, King centered the man and the dog he'd seen earlier that afternoon. Sergeant Preston was inside talking to some of the men, and King, who felt stifled indoors, walked to the edge of the dock. Through the open door, he could hear Reid giving orders to his men. Sophie Smith's henchman, Bill, also heard the orders. I've already sent Sophie a note to come here, but there's a change of things. Write a note. Get a piece of paper. Be quiet, Fritz, be quiet. Now, you will be shot on sight. Stay in saloon. Don't leave there, Bill. That does it. Now, Fritz, I'm going to put this in your collar. Take it to Sophie, understand? King watched the dog leave the dock, while Bill remained with the townspeople to keep his finger on the pulse of the excited crowd. He sensed that the man was either a gambler or an outlaw, and that the dog was on an errand that might mean trouble for Sergeant Preston and his friends. Making a quick decision, King left the dock after Fritz. The fleets of Skagway were deserted as King looped along. He cited Fritz who'd stopped at the sound of the huskies' approach. Here was a chance to get even with the one who'd nipped him that afternoon, and the German police dog was quick to seize the opportunity. But King's previous disdain had given way to a determination to destroy the note stuck in Fritz's collar. The husky gave the dog no chance to take the offensive. King felt the sharpness of King's teeth at every turn. Quickly his bravado made it into fear, but he fought with a wily cunning. King had fought wild animals, whose agility and swiftness made them more worthy adversaries. He intended to waste no time with Fritz. With one powerful blow, King knocked him to the ground. Then with his teeth, he pulled the note from Fritz's collar and made his way back to the dock. He chewed the note and dropped it in the street as he raced toward the crowd. At the dock, Soapy Smith walked rapidly past the two outer guards. Two revolvers hung from his belt and a repeating wind zester lay in the crook of his arm. Behind him trailed a group of his henchmen. Hey, wait a minute, Soapy. Where you going? There's Reid up ahead. I want to see him. You can't come any further. You're at the bottom of this trouble, Reid. You'd kept your nose out of my business. I wouldn't have had to come down here to break up this little meeting. As King approached, he saw Soapy Smith strike Frank Reid with a butt of the rifle. And as Reid fell, one of the men in back of Smith raised a rifle to kill the man who'd fallen under the blow. King hurled himself at the gunman whose finger was ready on the trigger. Oh, it knocked my arm. Almost immediately, King heard eight other shots. Four from Soapy's rifle and four from Reid's revolver. The gangster dropped where he stood. Soapy. Hey, boys, he got Soapy. Let's beat it. It was then, in the middle of a frenzied mob that King caught a familiar scent. His heart leaps within him, pressed him. It was Sergeant Preston. King. King, oh, boy. Are you all right, fellow? For a moment, King forgot the excitement and the murders that raged about him. For the space of seconds from the gunfire, King had steered for the Mounties' safety. His one turn touched the Mounties' beloved hand. And then, together, they walked away where Soapy had fallen. Reid was already surrounded by the townsmen. You must be Sergeant Preston. Yes, I am. And I'm afraid Mr. Reid's been moved. We'll have to get him to a hospital at once. Look at Soapy Smith. Hmm, strange that Smith had come here knowing the men were waiting for him with guns. Yes, King. Looks like the career of Soapy Smith is closed. When he walked in here, he walked to his death. These copyrighted dramas originate in the studios of WXYZ, 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.