was as tired as the rest, an’ nervous, ‘cause he missed the trail in a terrible blow an’ got separated from ‘Scotty’ an’ went back t’ the Road House they’d left last, like he’d been learned t’ do.  O’ course ‘Scotty’ looked for him a while an’ then went back for him.  But it lost the race, all right, an’ the cinch he had on breakin’ the record.  With them four hours lost, an’ what he done later, he’d ‘a’ made the best time ever known in a dog race in Alaska.  Gee, it was awful.”

The Woman sighed.  “Well, at least they can’t blame the loss of that race on you, can they, Jack?  It certainly was hard luck, but we will have to be good sports and try it again.  Perhaps you’ll develop a dog star of the first magnitude for us in your race, boys.”

George and Danny looked serious.  It was a difficult problem—­this assembling of a racing team, and the responsibility weighed heavily upon them.  Why, it meant the possibility of making a juvenile Record, and winning a Cup, and naturally required a critical consideration of even the smallest details.

“If I could only take some o’ the Sweepstakes Dogs,” mused George regretfully, “it ’ud be dead easy; but Father says it wouldn’t be fair t’ the fellers that hasn’t a racin’ stable t’ pick from.  We got t’ use some o’ the untried ones.  I been thinkin’ o’ Spot for a leader.  He seems sort o’ awkward, ‘cause he’s raw-boned, an’ ain’t filled out yet; but all the other dogs like him, an’ he’d ruther run than eat.”

“Isn’t he pretty young for that position?” hazarded the Woman.  “Let me see, he can’t be much more than a year old now.”

She remembered when he had been a common little fellow, but a short time ago, sprawling in every mud-puddle, or wobbling uncertainly after the many strange alluring things in the streets.  Matt, who seemed to have second sight in regard to the invisible, latent good points in all horses and dogs, had picked him up in the pound for a mere nothing; and to him there was granted the vision of a brilliant future for the vagrant puppy.  “Mark my words,” he had said decisively when Spot’s fate hung in the balance, “you can’t go wrong on him; he’ll be a credit to us all some day.”  And so Spot was rescued from death, or at least from a life of poverty and obscurity, and given to George Allan to become his constant companion.

“You know,” she persisted, “if a leader is too young he’s apt to become over-zealous and important the way Irish did the day we loaned him to Charlie Thompson in the first Moose Handicap.  Don’t you remember he was disgusted at the way they were being managed by a rank novice, so he took his place in front of a rival team that was being well driven, and led them to victory, with the whole town cheering and yelling?  You don’t want that to happen to you, because your leader is inexperienced.”