"0pen those tins of hound feed, will you, Rydeen? This is to be theirfirst gigantic banquet, where they get as much as they can eat," said"Scotty" to one of the friends in the group about him. "Then if Humberand some of the rest will help me, we'll give them a fine alcohol rub inno time."

"You'd better do some resting yourself, 'Scotty,'" they urged, but hewould not consider that till he had thoroughly examined the team.

Then, "McMillan's feet are bruised," he exclaimed ruefully. There weremany offers of assistance in caring for the hound, which, however, Allangratefully declined. "He doesn't like having strangers work over him;and when he's nervous he becomes headstrong; so I'd better attend to himmyself."

From Candle came the recents--"All teams have left on return trip exceptAllan and Darling." And as hour after hour passed and "Scotty" had notyet started, there was exasperation in the hearts of his backers inNome. Exasperation, but not despair; for all remembered when Allan haddriven Berger's Brutes to success after a wait so long that all of Nomewas in a ferment over the fact that "Scotty" had "slept the race away."But he had planned that campaign well; he had figured the possibilitiesof his rivals, and knew that they had exhausted their strength too earlyin the game. And so he had come in first with every other team at leastsix hours close behind; and the cry "'Scotty's' sleeping the race away atCandle" became the derisive slogan of the Allan clan.

"Jack McMillan's feet are giving trouble," was the response of "Central"to the frantic inquiries over the long distance telephone as to thedelay, "and 'Scotty's' massaging them with menthalatum."