sed and fell off, Smoke would be
in the lead and the race would be lost.

Big Olaf tried to spurt ahead, and he lifted his dogs magnificently, but
Smoke's leader still continued to jump beside Big Olaf's wheeler. For
half a mile the three sleds tore and bounced along side by side. The
smooth stretch was nearing its end when Big Olaf took the chance. As the
flying sleds swerved toward each other, he leaped, and the instant he
struck he was on his knees, with whip and voice spurting the fresh team.
The smooth stretch pinched out into the narrow trail, and he jumped his
dogs ahead and into it with a lead of barely a yard.

A man was not beaten until he was beaten, was Smoke's conclusion, and
drive no matter how, Big Olaf failed to shake him off. No team Smoke had
driven that night could have stood such a killing pace and kept up with
fresh dogs--no team save this one. Nevertheless, the pace WAS killing
it, and as they began to round the bluff at Klondike City, he could feel
the pitch of strength going out of his animals. Almost imperceptibly
they lagged behind, and foot by foot Big Olaf drew away until he led by
a score of yards.

A great cheer went up from the population of Klondike City assembled
on the ice. Here the Klondike entered the Yukon, and half a mile away,
across the Klondike, on the north bank, stood Dawson. An outburst of
madder cheering arose, and Smoke caught a glimpse of a sled shooting out
to him. He recognized the splendid animals that drew it. They were Joy
Gastell's. And Joy Gastell drove them. The hood of her squirrel-skin
parka was tossed back, revealing the cameo-like oval of her face
outlined against her heavily-massed hair. Mittens had been discarded,
and with bare hands she clung to whip and sled.

"Jump!" she cried, as her leader snarled at Smoke's.

Smoke struck the sled behind her. It rocked violently from the impact of
his body, but she was full up on her knees and swinging the whip.

"Hi! You! Mush on! Chook! Chook!" she was crying, and the dogs whined
and yelped in eagerness of desire and effort to overtake Big Olaf.

And then, as the lead-dog caught the tail of Big Olaf's sled, and yard
by yard drew up abreast, the great crowd on the Dawson bank went mad. It
WAS a great crowd, for the men had dropped their tools on all the creeks
and come down to see the outcome of the race, and a dead heat at the end
of a hundred and ten miles justified any madness.

"When you're in the lead I'm g