He and his kind have ever shared the toil of the development of that desolate country that stretches from the ice-bound Arctic to where the gray and sullen waters of Bering Sea break on a bleak and wind-swept shore.  They figure but little in the forest-crowned Alaska of the South, with its enchanted isles, emerald green, in the sunlit, silver waves; but they are an indispensable factor in the very struggle for mere existence up beyond the chain of rugged Aleutians whose towering volcanoes are ever enveloped in a sinister shroud of smoke.  Up in the eternal snows of the Alaska of the North, the unknown Alaska—­the Alaska of Men and Dogs.

[Illustration:  The Alaska of men and dogs June 1—­The steamer Corwin at the edge of the ice, five miles from shore]

And so it is not strange that in such a land where the dog has ever played well his role of support to those who have faced its dangers and conquered its terrors, that his importance should be at last freely acknowledged, and the fact admitted that only the best possible dogs should be used for all arduous tasks.

Toward this end the Nome Kennel Club was organized.  The object was not alone the improvement of the breeds used so extensively, but also, since the first President was a Kentuckian, of equal importance was the furnishing of a wholesome and characteristic sport for the community.

And Nome, once famed for her eager, reckless treasure-seekers in that great rush of 1900; famed once for being the “widest open” camp in all Alaska, now in her days of peace and quiet still claims recognition.  Not only because of the millions taken out annually by her huge dredgers and hydraulics; not only because she is an important trading station that supplies whalers and explorers with all necessary equipment for their voyages in the Arctic; not only because of her picturesque history; but because she possesses the best sled dogs to be found, and originated and maintains the most thrilling and most difficult sport the world has ever known—­Long Distance Dog Racing.

Previous to the advent of these races any dog that could stand on four legs, and had strength enough to pull, was apt to be pressed into service; but since they have become a recognized feature of the life there, a certain pride has manifested itself in the dog-drivers, and dog-owners, who aim now to use only the dogs really fitted for the work.  Even the Eskimos, who were notorious for their indifferent handling of their ill-fed, overburdened beasts, have joined in the “better dog” movement, which is a popular and growing one.

According to Dubby’s stern law, however, most of the Racers—­the long-legged, supple-bodied Tolmans, the delicately built Irish Setters, Irish and Rover, and numberless others of the same type, would have been condemned to the ignominy of being mere pets; useless canine adjuncts to human beings—­creatures that were allowed in the house, and were given strangely repulsive bits of food in return for degrading antics, such as sitting on one’s hind legs or playing dead.