Suddenly the girl turned and ran for the finish line. Hardly more than a hundred yards away Dalzene’s dogs were running straight for the line. His voice could be heard howling at the dogs, and his arm rose and fell like a flail as he whipped. A wild yell broke from the crowd which watched with bulging eyes. Gordon’s dogs seemed suddenly to have sprung into being side by side with Dalzene’s. Fifty yards, now! Again that shrill whistle. Gordon’s arm rose and fell. There was a sudden swerve of the great leader as he seemed to spring at Dalzene’s lead dog. Shrill and loud the whistle from the lips of the girl once more cut the air. The leader swerved again--away from Dalzene’s team. A loud cry forced itself from a hundred throats. Gordon’s light sled was on its side. His dogs were plunging neck and neck with Dalzene’s! “He’s draggin’! He’s holdin’ on!” “Hold on, Gordon!” “Fer God’s sake! Git out of the way!” “Here they come!” “Give ’em room!” “Hold on!” “Hooray! Gordon! Gordon! Gordon!” Once again the crowd went wild. “Plumb clean crazy wild,” as Enright later described it. “Fer, By God, them dogs with eyes a-shinin’, and a-glarin’, an’ their muscles fair bulgin’ their hides, _drug_ Old Man Gordon acrost the finish half a length ahead of Dalzene! Yessir drug him holdin’ on to the handle bars, face down--a-ridin’ on his whiskers!” CHAPTER XV “MINER’S MEETIN’” For a good half-hour following the spectacular finish of the dog race pandemonium reigned on the Koyukuk. Fresh fuel was heaped upon the red embers of the fires and in the light of the leaping flames the men and women of Nolan gave themselves over to a wild orgy of noise. Lou Gordon and her father were lifted bodily onto the shoulders of strong men and a leaping, dancing, howling procession was formed that wound in and out between the fires. Like a mad man Dalzene pranced about in a vain effort to make himself heard. The furious bellow of his hoarse voice but added to the general din, and those who noticed him at all paused in their jubilation to thumb their noses with yells of derision. It was not until the men of Nolan, crowding the bar of the Aurora Borealis, waited for Wilcox to open his safe that the man was able to make himself heard. His red face distorted with rage, he clawed his way to the bar upon which he pounded with mittened fist. His cap pushed back so that its ear flaps, their strings a-dangle, stuck straight out from the sides of his head, showed a forehead glistening with sweat, bisected by a thick blue vein that stood out in the acetylene glare with startling distinctness. As Wilcox swung wide the door of his safe and rose to his feet, Dalzene faced him with blazing eyes: “Pay them bets, an’ pay ’em to me!” he roared, and disregarding the mighty chorus of jibes and jeers that rose on all sides, he continued, “Damn you, you can’t frame me! I win that race, an’ I drag down all bets!”