The bitter disappointment of Kid's death was fast yielding to amazement at Baldy's unsuspected fleetness. Trustworthy he had always been, and obedient and faithful--but his pace now was a revelation. There was yet a chance. "On, Baldy; on boys." And away they flew till the roofs of Solomon loomed on the horizon, directly ahead. Solomon at last. At the end of the one short street was a group of Kennel Club officials, and the entire population of the place, ready to welcome the coming and speed the parting racers. To his intense surprise Allan learned that his was the first team in, his delay having evidently been but a brief one. He resisted all entreaties that he should have medical attention. "There's no trouble at all," he maintained stoutly, "so long as my cap is frozen to the wound. Of course I am a little faint, and dizzy, but that will pass in the fresh air. Just water the dogs and see that they're all right, will you?" And resting only the five minutes that are obligatory for the signing of papers, he was again on his way, as Fred Ayer came into view, closely followed by Johnson. Returning, it seemed as if Kid himself could not have excelled Baldy in the management of the team--all of his latent powers developing to meet the great demands made upon him. He was proving himself indeed a leader. The news of the mishap had been telephoned to Nome; and the usual enthusiasm over the first arrival was turned into an ovation for the plucky and popular little Scotchman. With the loss of the best dog in the Kennel, on the eve of the race, and an obscure, untried dog in the lead; with a stunning blow that had left him alone and senseless on the trail he was still victorious, to the admiration of all Nome. The excitement was intense as the cheering throngs closed in upon the dogs and their driver, ready and eager to give their hearty greetings and unstinted applause. [Illustration: AN OVATION FOR THE PLUCKY LITTLE SCOTCHMAN] Moose Jones and Ben hurried toward the winners, both overjoyed at the success of Allan and their favorite, Baldy. "Some dog, Baldy o' Golconda, ain't he, Mart?" was Jones's exultant comment as they passed Barclay, who stood regarding the heroes with ill-concealed contempt. "Some accident!" retorted Mart. "There'll be a fine day," belligerently, "when 'Scotty' Allan'll find out that there dog's a fake, a reg'lar quitter. Jest now he's bluffed you all inter thinkin' him a wonder; but you wait an' he'll give himself away yet. He was ornery as a pup, an' he's ornery as a dog. You can't make a silk purse outen a sow's ear, an' I tell you straight you can't make a Sweepstakes Winner out o' Baldy o' Golconda, no matter what he done in this here measly Solomon hike." "Well, we'll see, Mart." "You've won a great race," exclaimed the Woman as she came forward with the Big Man, and grasped "Scotty's" hand warmly; "a great race, and against heavy odds."