The Big Man always spoke pleasantly to the dogs, and had won Baldy's
approval by not interfering--as did the Woman--in Kennel affairs; and
the malamute--the Yellow Peril, as the Woman had named him--was plainly
antagonistic to the Racers, at whom he growled with much enthusiasm. And
so Baldy was glad to see the Big Man and the Peril amongst the
acquaintances and strangers who were thronging into the place.
George brought out a miniature racing sled--his most prized
possession--and a perfect reproduction of the one "Scotty" used in the
Big Races, being built strongly, but on delicate lines. Danny pulled
another, only a trifle less rakish, beside it. They were conversing in
low tones. "We got pretty nearly half an hour t' wait, Dan, an' it's
fierce t' have all these people that don't know a blame thing about
racin' standin' round here givin' us fool advice. Why, if we was t' do
what they're tellin', we'd be down an' out before we reached Powell's
dredge on Bourbon Creek. Most of 'em don't know any more 'bout dogs 'n I
do 'bout--'bout--"
"'Rithmetic," suggested Danny promptly.
"Well, anyway, we got t' run our own race. Dad says there ain't any cut
an' dried rules for dog racin' beyond knowin' your dogs, an' usin'
common sense. Each time it's different, 'cordin' t' the dogs, the
distance, the trail an' the weather. An' you have t' know just what it's
best t' do whatever happens, even if it never happened before."
"Gee," sighed Danny heavily, "winnin' automobile races an' horse races
is takin' candy from babies besides this here dog racin'.
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