and they were off. But now there were only four men in the race, the half-breed, Joe, Hans Johnson, the Scotchman and Henderson. But Hans and the Indian were plainly outclassed, being an hour behind.
If Dick himself was excited Silversheene was equally so. He had drawn a sled to Nome many a time in the past and knew instinctively that the city was their destination. That was where men always went. And for some reason his master wanted to beat the team that they had trailed for the past three days and nights. Silversheene loved his master more than he did his life, and he would haul him into the city ahead of the Scotchman or die in his traces.
He would pull, pull, pull. He would run, run, run. He would make his team mates run. They must not lag. They must fly. The team ahead was flying, and they must fly.
So if the team started to lag Silversheene would lash them into a better pace by his
