"Well then, let's make it somethin' worth while this time. Let's say
your claim agin mine--the Midas agin the Golconda--that the Allan an'
Darlin' dogs win the race."
A thrill of wild excitement ran through the crowd--two of the richest
claims in the whole of Alaska staked on the success or failure of one
dog team, and the leader of that "down and out" at Timber.
"Oh, Moose, if our team don't come in you'll lose a terrible lot, an'
you've worked so hard t' git it."
"Even losin' Golconda won't break me now, Sonny; not by a long shot.
An' even ef it did, I got what I allers did have left; two hands t' work
with, the hull country t' work in, an' a kid that likes me," with an
affectionate glance at the boy, "t' work fer. With all that, an' a good
dog er two, I wouldn't call a Queen my aunt. An' ef we should win,
Ben,--well, it's porterhouse fer Baldy the rest of his life at Mart
Barclay's expense."
At Timber the time was passing with discouraging rapidity. Nothing they
could do seemed to have any beneficial effect on Baldy's legs--the legs
that had been such a matter of pride to the boy in the old Golconda
days.
In the races it is the custom to carry, at intervals, any dogs who need
to recuperate, but Baldy had always manifested a certain scorn of these
"passengers"; and "Scotty" knew that it would only be by force that he
could be kept off his feet.
"Bill, you hold the dog; and Paul, if you'll keep the mouth of the
sleeping bag open, I'll try to get Baldy into it.
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