Clem Wilcox stepped close and faced the infuriated man: “Maybe you wasn’t,” he said, in a voice that cut cold, “But you’ll be gittin’ made _over_ in about a minute if you don’t quit yer cussin’ where ladies is. Up here on the Koyukuk we respects women. An’ what’s more you don’t happen to be runnin’ things up here, neither. Them dogs is entered fer this here race, all proper an’ regular an’ they’re goin’ to run. They’re Koyukuk dogs, belongin’ to the Gordons down on Myrtle----” “Myrtle! You can’t work that on me! Coldfoot’s dead, an’ Myrtle’s dead an’ forgot about!” “Mebbe you’ve fergot about it,” grinned Wilcox, “But, you wont never fergit it no more, Dalzene.” “I tell you I won’t run agin them dogs. I ain’t supposed to run no seven dog team agin’ a ten dog team! All bets is off! I won’t run!” “Jest as you say, Dalzene. It won’t make no particular difference to the boys whether you run or not. But the bets rides. I happen to be stakeholder, an’ it was made plain that if anyone hauled out, his bets loses.” “Besides which,” added Enright, who had joined the group, “We didn’t hear no partic’lar kickin’ on your part when you figgered on runnin’ seven dogs agin my six.” The enraged man whirled on the speaker: “You know’d damn well them dogs of yourn couldn’t run!” he roared, “I’ve be’n hornswaggled! It’s a frame-up!” “Ain’t it hell!” taunted Enright. “But, cheer up, Dalzene, it sure grieves us to see you onhappy. An’ say, if it’ll ease yer mind any, I don’t mind lettin’ you in on a secret--seein’ all yer money’s up, an’ we can’t git no more bets off’n you. That there team rambled over the trail to Johnny Atline’s an’ back yesterday, in seven hours an’ forty minutes, an’ carried double half ways. That’s jist an hour an’ a half better than that there pack of muscle-bound flea pastures of yourn done it.” Dalzene turned to Wilcox, “Jerk out three of them dogs, an’ I’ll run!” he demanded. “I ain’t goin’ to run no seven dogs agin’ a ten dog team.” Wilcox laughed: “Suit yerself. If you don’t toe the mark at eight o’clock, which is in ten minutes from now, I’ll begin payin’ off bets, an’ we’ll go on with the show.” With a muttered oath, Dalzene turned and elbowed his way through the grinning crowd. “Might’s well draw fer place, an’ get that settled,” remarked Crim. “They’s only three entries, so here goes.” Tearing a paper into three small squares, he numbered them with a stubby pencil, placed them in his cap, and after shaking it a bit, offered Gordon the first draw. “Number Two!” announced the old man, holding the scrap of paper to catch the light of the paling stars. Enright drew Number One, and chose center place, leaving Gordon free to chose the space to his left which was the better position. “Git set!” cried Wilcox, “an’ take yer instructions.” The teams moved into position, Dalzene’s sullen rage manifesting itself in blows of his whip upon his cringing dogs.