 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 a small band of Northwest modded police who preserved law and order in a 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 Sergeant Preston plotted wirrily beside his sled His team was exhausted and strained to keep up with King, the huge husky lead dog who seemed the only one with enough strength and reserve to carry on They pulled up in front of Jacques LeBlanc's trading post. The dog team laid down in their traces too tired to move King followed his master into the store. Do you run this post? Oui, I'm Jacques LeBlanc. This is my post. I'm Sergeant Preston of the Northwest modded. Glad to see you, Sergeant I have here about you, but you never come up here before. This is the first time I've had to come up here It's a little outside my usual territory. I'm trailing a criminal. C'est quand, Sergeant? Oh, you look so tired. Let me get you some hot tea. Thanks, Jacques, but there isn't time. All I want is some information. Have you seen anything of a half-breed? He's big like an Indian, talks good English, a stranger around here. That description fits so many. I could tell you turned 15 like that to bring furs to trade. This man's name is Pedro Duchet. They call him Indian Pete. I do not know that name. I've been trailing him for two months, almost caught him at Circle City. He had to abandon his dog team. He knows I'm following him and his trail leads here. You have seen him? You know how he looks? No, I've never seen him. My dog here knows he sent those, so I know I'm on the right trail. He's a murderer and a thief, and I'm out to get him. He's a murderer? He killed an Eskimo and his son and stole a blind catch of fox pelts. Silver fox. Silver fox? Like this? Exactly like that. What'd you get this? There is man here. One hour ago. He's very tired, but hardly walk. He trade me these for supplies. King, come here boy. Get the scent of this boy. He not like fox smell, eh? It isn't the fox scent he's growling at. It's the scent of Indian Pete. Can you tell me which way this man went? No, I not see. He very tired just like you. He can't go far. Why you not rest and eat? I can't stop for that. You almost got him at last. King will pick up his trail from here. Come on boy. Thanks shark. See you again. Goodbye Sasha. Good luck. All right King. Get that scent. Off into the woods. All right. Up you Huskies. Come on boys. Up I say. Push! Push! The dog team dragged at their traces where, with very little rest, they had traveled almost a hundred miles on the trail of Indian Pete. As King led them into the forest, the trail grew difficult. Stomps of trees and snow in drifts hindering their passage. Finally Preston called a King as he broke the trail in front. King, come back here boy. Come here. Hello. Hello you Huskies. I guess you're gonna have to double duty boy. Help these dogs pull that sled. I'm sorry old fella, but you're the only one with enough strength left. And King, hello you Huskies. Though it was unusual for Preston to put King in harness, it had happened before. And his amazing strength and stamina eased the burden of the dog team and enabled them to go faster. Darkness was almost upon them. And suddenly a shot rang out to the forest. King halted the team and turned anxiously as Preston staggered and fell. Hitting his head against the stump of a tree as he went down. King, come here. King! King, the harness holding him back, could not pursue the man who shot his master. He turned the team around and came back to the unconscious body. And tried to arouse him by licking his face and tugging at his sleeve. The dog team sank down in the snow exhausted and were soon asleep. King and his harness finally curled up close to the body of his master, his head on the mountain shoulder. When Preston regained consciousness, darkness had fallen. King was dodging him with his nose anxiously. What? What are you...leg? King, I guess you kept me from freezing, boy. Now if I could drag myself to that sled... Painfully, Preston dragged himself to the sled, crawled into the blankets and furs, and sank into an exhausted slumber. Teela, the young squall of Big Feather, the Indian trapper, crooned softly to her baby in her small cabin at the edge of the forest. Big Feather would be away for two nights tending to his traps, but Teela was used to being alone in the wilderness. She gazed fondly at her firstborn child, the son that she and Big Feather had wanted so much. I'm a trapper! What do you want? I'm sick. Come in. I come fast and far. You lie down. Teela give you hot soup. Too tired to eat. No soup. I just... Sleep, Big Feather, here. Teela had stirred up the fire and fed the baby when Peter woke. Oh, sleep. I've been asleep. You sleep all night. All right. I gotta get out of here. You got some breakfast? On table. You eat, you go. Warm me some tea. Hurry up, be quick about it. Me, hurry. Hey, listen. What's that? Me, Luke. Don't him come. Men sit on sleds. What? Can't be trailing me. I circled and came from the other way. Where's my rifle? You won't shoot him? He's after me, ain't he? I was sure I hit him, I saw him fall. Where's my gun? Here it is. This time I'll get him the dirty red coat. Him, police? Now let him come out. Why do you break windows? I'm gonna shoot through it. You won't know what hit him. What now? Where did the bullet go this gun? Why, you filthy insin' you? No, why not? Yeah, I know you did. I would have bashed you over the head with this. Well, I got more bullets here. Why, you dirty squire, you took those two? You bad man, Teela, no. Tell me, or I'll kill you, you dirty squire. Teela, throw out his throat, you can't... Why, you double-crossing rat skinner? I know what I'll do. No, you not hurt Papus. See this knife? I'm holding it right under the kid's blanket. You doers, I tell you, or I'll kill him. Please, I do. No hurt Papus. I'm putting this blanket around me and holding the kid. You say I'm your husband, see? You big feather? Tell him I'm in then. I can pass for one. Get him in here. Then go outside till I come and take the dog team. You no hurt Papus. You doers, I say, and your baby won't be hurt. Hello? Anybody here? Open the door. I'll be watching from the window. Bring him in. If you say anything you shouldn't, this knife goes to your kid. Me do. No hurt Papus. How? Well, will you help me, please? I've been shot. You, please? I'm Sergeant Preston of the Northwest Mounted. Is there anyone else in the cabin who can help me in? Husband, he's sick. I do, and he's strong. Quiet, King. He's not used to being in harness. We'll bring you in later. Boy, be quiet. You think you can get me in? I've been shot to the leg. Oh, Tila's strong. You lean on shoulder. Me get you in. Wait. Hand me that stick to support me. Here. Thanks. Here we go, Tila. Hopping sure makes it hurt. That's it, Tila. Now if I can get hold of the door. King grew almost frantic as he saw Sergeant Preston disappear into the cabin. We had left the trail of Indian bait. King had picked it up again as they pulled up in front of the door. He somehow connected the scent of this man with his master's injury. And a growl rose in his throat as he felt the restraining harness that kept him from the mountain. And lastly turned and began to slash at the strap with his sharp teeth. Inside the cabin, Pete sat hunched over the baby's basket, a blanket wrapped around him, as Tila put Preston on the cot. There, Tila. Thank you. Now maybe I can dress this wound. It feels good to get warm again. Where are you shot? I'm on the trail of an outlaw. He ambushed me and shot me through the leg. You haven't seen anything of a strange man around here, have you? No. No man around here. Woman. Take off Parker. Gun belt. M1 fixed bullet hole. You can take my Parker, Tila, but I'll keep my revolver. Thanks. Now I wonder if you'll go out to my sled and get my first aid kit. It's a square box. Me too. Me help bring blankets in. That's not necessary, if you're sick. Me not too sick. Where are you, woman? As the door of the cabin closed, the last strap of the harness parted between King's teeth. Pete rushed to the sled and King got his scent. The son of the man Preston had told him to get. As Pete reached for Preston's rifle that lay under the blankets, the great dog rushed in. All right, Tila. I'll lean on the door. I can cover you with my revolver. You all right? Yes. Get off him, King. Back, boy. All right, Pete. I've got you covered. Don't reach for your gun. Him not got gunned. Me throw away bullets. I'll see you, Tila. All right, Pete. Get up. Bring him in, King, and watch him. The dog's staying right behind you. Come on. Papoose. He all right? He's all right, Tila. Sit over in that chair on the corner, Pete. Guard him, King. Don't let him move. Don't incur. That's enough out of you. That dog's going to be your jailer until we get you behind bars. You better be nice to him. Where's your husband, Tila? Big feather. He'll come home tonight, maybe. You sick. After you lie down. I guess you're right. I am a little dizzy. You want me, old guard? It's not necessary. We don't need a gun with King watching. Do we, boy? Watch him, boy. Keep him in that chair. If he moves, get him. Now, if you'll help me with the cot, Tila, we'll fix this wound, and maybe I can get some rest. King guarded Indian Pete well until Sergeant Plustin's wound was healed enough to travel safely. The outlaw was brought to justice. The Mountie still went a little when he made his report to headquarter, and King stayed close at his side. I'm not the one who deserves commendation, Lieutenant. It was King who did all the work. Oh, you both did a fine job, Sergeant. And if King were a man, we'd commend him, too. He's the finest dog in the service. Hear that, fella? You're the finest dog in the service. And from the look of him, that's all the reward he wants. A pat for doing to hear that tot in your voice. I wish you were right, Lieutenant. We kind of like each other, don't we, boy? These copyrighted dramas originate in the studios of WXYZ in Detroit, and all characters, names, places, and incidents used are fictitious. They are sent to you each week at the same time and reach you from our transcription studios. Now, Neil speaking, this is the Michigan radio network.