She had kept him guessing from the first
time they met, and patience had been joined unto his virtues.
"Hi! Wolf Fang!" she cried, springing upon the sled as it leaped into
sudden motion. "Ai! Ya! Mush-on!"
From the corner of his eye Harrington watched her swinging down the trail
to Forty Mile. Where the road forked and crossed the river to Fort
Cudahy, she halted the dogs and turned about.
"O Mistaire Lazy Mans!" she called back. "Wolf Fang, him say yes--if you
winnaire!"
* * * * *
But somehow, as such things will, it leaked out, and all Forty Mile,
which had hitherto speculated on Joy Molineau's choice between her two
latest lovers, now hazarded bets and guesses as to which would win in the
forthcoming race. The camp divided itself into two factions, and every
effort was put forth in order that their respective favorites might be
the first in at the finish. There was a scramble for the best dogs the
country could afford, for dogs, and good ones, were essential, above all,
to success. And it meant much to the victor. Besides the possession of
a wife, the like of which had yet to be created, it stood for a mine
worth a million at least.
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