From Topkok on, he was forced to face the wind which tore at his exposed face and whipped the sled about so that it was with the utmost difficulty he managed to keep it from being smashed into kindling wood against the telephone poles that flanked the trail. MacShane was running mechanically, taking no thought of miles. He had used the last of his lemons and was consumed by torturing thirst. The sweat squashed audibly in his mukluks, and he ran as in a dream. A crashing explosion brought him to his senses. It was the gun at Fort Davis that announces to the waiting thousands in Nome that the first racer is in sight. “Only four miles to go! Four miles! Four miles!” MacShane found himself babbling the words aloud. The report of the gun had put new life in his veins and he ran on encouraging his dogs to a faster pace. Nome! From the roofs of the buildings, from the cross-arms of poles men and boys cheered him on. As he ran down the seemingly endless street the crowds thickened. Black masses of howling, yelling people lined the sidewalks. And as he crossed the line the Queen of the Alaska Carnival, running at his side, hung a huge wreath of flowers about his neck. The great race was over. The Gordon dogs had won! “How is she?” asked MacShane, as Bill Ames, swearing great round, bragging oaths of pure joy, took over the dogs. “She’s comin’ along. They tuk her to the horspital.” “Don’t tell ’em my name--any of ’em,” whispered MacShane, and the next moment he was gone. CHAPTER XXV HULOIMEE TILAKUM The Gordon dogs win! The Gordon dogs win! All Nome rang with the cry. Like wildfire the words leaped from lip to lip. Lying upon her bed in the hospital with eyes half-closed, Lou Gordon heard the boom of the signal gun at Fort Davis. “What is it?” she asked of a nurse, who at the sound had taken her position at a window that overlooked the street. “It’s the gun! The first of the racers has got to Fort Davis! It won’t be long, now, till we hear the news. I’ll bet it’s John Johnson--he’s just grand! So big and strong. But, it might be Scotty Allen. He’s an awful good man on the trail, they say. I’ll tell you as soon as I hear.”