The cabin was bare of furniture, and without rising from the floor Gordon drew one of the plates toward him. Lou took the other, and seated herself at his side. “What’s this talk about drivin’ the race, an’ knowin’ the trail?” asked the old man, as he partook largely of a flapjack. The girl glanced up in surprise. “Why, I said I want to know all about the trail so I can win the race tomorrow.” “Ye win it! Losh, lass, ye don’t suppose I’d be lettin’ ye drive the race--wi’ twenty-five ounces at stake?” “What do you mean?” cried Lou, in sudden alarm. “I mean, I’ll drive the race myself, of course! A slip of a lass like ye drivin’ a fifty mile race! An’ expectin’ me to let ye do it! ’Tis never to be thought of. How could ye hold the dogs to the work? No, no, lass, the money’ll be ye’re own if ye’re dogs win it. But it’s a job fer a man, an’ not a wee lass.” For a moment the girl remained speechless--stunned. She wondered if she had heard aright. Surely her father could not mean that he would try to handle the dogs--her dogs, that she had raised from puppyhood, and trained, and worked over. Why, she knew those dogs! They were hers. Nobody but herself had ever driven them. Nobody could drive them as she could drive them. They understood her as she understood them. And, what did her father know of dogs? When at length she spoke her voice sounded strange and far off: “Do you mean that you are going to try to drive the dogs--my dogs?” “Of course I’m goin’ to drive ’em. Not that I think ye ain’t a good hand wi’ dogs, mind ye. ’Cause ye are. Ye handle ’em as gude as a man on the trail. But, not against a stake of four hundred dollars. Ye must remember that for all the pluck of ye, ye’re but a lass. Ye lack experience----” “Experience!” cried the girl, her face flushed with the mighty anger that surged up within her, “Experience! When did you ever have any experience racing dogs?” “I never raced any dogs in my life, but all my life I’ve handled dogs----” “And you don’t know any more about dogs than I know about your old boiler! Why, dad, can’t you see? Those are my dogs! I know every one of them, and they know me. I can get a hundred times more out of them than you can. Why, I _raised_ them! And besides, you think I’m just a baby! You’ve been so full of that old boiler that you haven’t noticed that I’ve grown up! But, I’m not a baby! I’m nineteen! And I can out-drive you, and out-mush you, any day!” “Tush! Tush, lass! Ye’re fergettin’ yourself. Ye’re lettin’ ye’re angry passions rise against ye’re own father. Honor thy father an’ thy mother, the Gude Book says, an’ ’tis scant honor to face down yer own father wi’ foolish prattle! I never thought ye’d be expectin’ to drive the race yerself, or I’d told ye long ago. I can see how ye’re maybe upset wi’ disappointment, an’ I’m not holdin’ ye’re hasty words against ye.”