And what a dash it was!
[Illustration: AN ALAKAN SWEEPSTAKES TEAM
Fay Dalzene, Driver]
Like phantom teams they silently sped far out over the frozen waters of
Bering Sea, threading their way between huge ice hummocks that rose,
grotesque and ghostly, in the misty grayness of the Arctic twilight.
Through the chill dusk they toiled up the steep slopes of Topkok Hill,
through treacherous defiles, over perilous hidden glaciers, toward
Solomon and safety.
It was any one's race.
The telephone brought news that varied from moment to moment. John
Johnson was steady as to pace, and slightly in the lead; later Holmsen
had passed him, then Dalzene. Allan had dropped behind. The excitement
grew more intense each instant. Side by side drove Dalzene and Charlie
Johnson, with Holmsen at their heels--dogs and men on their mettle,
magnificent in endurance and spirit; but closing in upon them was "Finn
John" with his Blue Eyed Leader, and Nome well knew what they could do,
and had done twice.
Then, too, there was always "Scotty" to be feared; always his marvelous
generalship to be reckoned with; his perfect mastery of the dogs, and
their devotion to him to be considered.
"Seals on the ice ahead, Spot," had been a suggestion that had fired not
only Spot, but Tom, Dick and Harry also with a new interest that almost
banished fatigue.
Then at intervals there were broken bars, alternately whistled and sung,
of Home Sweet Home; and the dogs knew, someway, that this strange noise
always signified that their journey was nearly at an end.
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