“_Look!_” The voice of a dance hall girl cut shrill and thin with excitement. Men and women stood frozen in their tracks, as far away in the depths of the blackness a tiny flare of light appeared. Seconds passed--tense fraught seconds--seconds of silence, absolute, profound, as hundreds of eyes focused upon that single ever increasing flare of flame. “_One fire! It’s Gordon!_” With a bellow the voice of Enright shattered the unnatural silence. Instantly, a pandemonium of sound blared forth. Men seemed to go crazy. Caps and mittens flew into the air. Men grabbed dancing girls and whirled them over the ice in a mad waltz. Others locked arms and jumped foolishly up and down, howling like beasts. In the pandemonium the voices of the judges were drowned as they charged frantically up and down trying to drive the crowd behind the line. “Go back! Git back! Dammit, you’re in front of the line!” Gradually other men helped, and within a few minutes the crowd was being forced slowly back, howling and dancing like demons. Then, suddenly came a great calm. Once more every eye was staring into the dark. Where only a moment before a single fire had burned, two fires now flared. “God!” cried a man hoarsely, close to Lou Gordon’s side, “Two fires! Dalzene!” A low murmur, sullen, growling, swept the crowd. The excitement was gone. Slowly, muttering, they receded toward the dying fires. “What--what does it mean?” faltered Lou Gordon, who paused at the line to stare at the two distant fires. “I’m ’fraid it means, Miss Lou, that Dalzene’s leadin’. But the race ain’t over yet.” “But--the signal!” cried the girl, in a voice that faltered and broke. “Surely--it--was--one--fire. And now--two.” “I s’pose one of ’em had trouble lightin’ his fire, an’ the other one got the start,” explained Enright. “We’d ort to be seein’ the dogs presently.” Together they stood and strained to catch the first dim blur of motion. Behind them the crowd hugging the fires, seemed suddenly to have lost all interest in the race. Lou sprang forward: “Look! Look! I can see them! It’s--it’s Dalzene! But--Oh, look! Look! Dad’s right behind! Here they come!” With a wild cry that broke into a sob, the girl leaped forward. Behind her the crowd came to life as from an electric shock. As a man, they crowded the finish line, peering into the gloom. Lou Gordon was running toward the oncoming dogs. Voices roared from the crowd: “Come on, Gordon!” “Whip ’em! Whip ’em!” “Gordon!” “Gordon!” A shrill whistle cut the air. Enright leaped to the line where the judges already waited expectantly. “_Shut up!_” his voice bellowed like thunder, causing a momentary silence, during which the voice of Lou Gordon out on the ice could be heard: “Hi, Skookum!” Again the shrill, peculiar whistle, followed by words of encouragement. “Skookum! Skookum! Mush-u, Skookum! Hi, mush! Mush!”