"I give you tas'e of Injun travel. Better you dress light an' buckle up dat belt, for I got reason to fin' out who keel Courteau. I ain't goin' sleep no more till I know." The officer smiled as he declared: "That suits me exactly. We may not catch them, but--they'll know they've been in a race before they thumb their noses at us from across the Boundary. Now see how fast you can harness up." It was considerably after midnight when 'Poleon swung his dog-team into the lighted space in front of the Rialto; nevertheless, many people were about, for Dawson was a city of sleep-haters. The sight of a racing-team equipped for a flying trip at this hour of the night evoked instant interest and speculation, pointing, as it did, to a new gold discovery and a stampede. Stampedes were frequent, they never failed to create a sensation, therefore the woodsman was soon the center of an inquisitive crowd. Not until he had fully explained the nature of his business was suspicion allayed; then his word that Joe and Frank McCaskey had fled for the Boundary ran up and down the street and caused even greater excitement. Rouletta came hurrying forth with the others, and to her 'Poleon made known his intention of accompanying the fleet-footed Rock. "Nobody is able to catch dem feller but him an' me," he explained. "Dey got too long start." "You think they may get across?" she queried, apprehensively. "Five, six hour, dat's beeg edge. But me--" The speaker shrugged. "Forty Mile, Circle, Fort Yukon, Rampart, it mak' no differ. I get 'em some place, if I go plumb to St. Michael's. When I get goin' fas' it tak' me long tam for run down." Rouletta's eyes opened. "But, 'Poleon--you can't! There's the Boundary. You're not an officer; you have no warrant." "Dem t'ing is dam' nuisance," he declared. "I don' savvy dis law biznesse. You say get 'em. Bien! I do it." Rouletta stared curiously, wonderingly into the big fellow's face; she was about to put her thoughts into words when a shout arose from the crowd as the Police team streamed into view. Down the street it came at a great pace, flashing through shadows and past glaring lighted fronts, snatching the light hickory sled along behind as if it were a thing of paper. Rock balanced himself upon the runner heels until, with a shout, he put his weight upon the sharp-toothed sled brake and came to a pause near 'Poleon. The rival teams plunged into their collars and set up a pandemonium of yelping, but willing hands held them from flying at one another's throats. Meanwhile, saloon doors were opening, the street was filling; dance-hall girls, white-aproned bartenders, bleary-eyed pedestrians, night-owls--all the queerly assorted devotees of Dawson's vivid and roisterous nocturnal life hastened thither; even the second-story windows framed heads, for this clamor put slumber to flight without delay.