“We had supper together, an’ I kind of wanted it to be a big feed, so I rustled up a lot of extra grub--fancy stuff--canned lobsters, and canned olives, an’ a lot more stuff. The doc said it was one of them that poisoned her--ptomaine poison he calls it, an’ if he hadn’t got there quick an’ pumped her out, she’d be dead, by now. So, seein’ how I’m to blame, in a way, for her gettin’ sick, it looks like it’s up to me to win that race for her.” Bill Ames regarded the speaker for a full minute through narrowed lids. “It looks damn queer to me,” he said, bluntly. “The old man gittin’ pinched, an’ the gal gittin’ pizened all to onct. Facts is, I know a damn good dog driver here in Nome. Them dogs of hern has got to win. Not because I’ve got a little money up on ’em, but because that gal is as square, an’ white, an’ as game a proposition as the North ever seen----” “Put her there, pardner!” exclaimed MacShane, impulsively offering his hand. Ames ignored the hand. “As I was goin’ on to say,” he continued, still with his eyes on MacShane’s face, “It would break her heart to lose this race. They trailed all the way down from the Koyukuk to win it--an’ it’ll bust ’em if they don’t. Which thing bein’ the case, I’m goin’ to see that them dogs is handled by someone that’ll drive ’em to win.” “I know the dogs,” answered MacShane, slowly, “I can drive ’em to win?” “You know the dogs, all right,” answered Ames, without removing his gaze from the other’s eyes, “An’ you prob’ly _could_ drive ’em to win. But--I don’t know _you_! They’s somethin’ damn queer somewheres. They’s somethin’ about this here business that stinks. Mebbe you ain’t it, an’ mebbe you be. They was a damn skunk come nosin’ around the corral a while back that that there Skookum dog know’d. He smelt him ’fore he got inside the corral, an’ if I’d onchained him, he’d of et him up. This afternoon I was in the Malamute Saloon gittin’ a drink, when you an’ this here party comes in together. I didn’t think nothin’ of it then--but I do now!” Ames paused and glared, as just the shadow of a smile played at the corners of MacShane’s mouth. “Mebbe you see somethin’ funny about it,” he burst forth truculently, “But if I know’d you pizened that gal, I’d kill you where you set--an’ mebbe you’d see somethin’ funny about that!” “Maybe I would,” smiled MacShane, “Because the joke would be on you. Listen here, Bill Ames!” It was the first time MacShane had addressed him by name, and the dog keeper’s eyes opened in surprise. “I haven’t told anyone here my name, for reasons of my own. Miss Gordon knows me only as _Huloimee Tilakum_. But, I’m goin’ to let you tell me my name--tell _me_, an’ no one else, either before or after the race, or I’ll never speak to you again.” “What the hell you talkin’ about?” exploded the man. “Me tell you yer name! You full of hooch? Er what?”