Not long before the Big Race, several unfortunate things happened in the Kennel to make Allan believe it was, as the “Wonder Workers” solemnly declared it, a “Hoodoo” year for the dogs.  Rover wrenched his shoulder in a friendly tussle with one of the Mego pups, Tom cut his foot badly on a bit of broken glass, and Baldy developed a severe cold that made him feverish and short of breath.

It seemed at first as if they might not be able to enter a team at all, so many accidents combined against them; but the lure of the contest was too much for “Scotty.”  “We’ll do our best.  Lots of teams go in that are no stronger than ours at its weakest, and every entry that drops out makes it less interesting.  Then don’t forget the luck of the trail, in which you believe so thoroughly.  Remember the Solomon Derby.”

“I don’t believe in working luck over time,” she answered.  “However, if you really think it would make any difference in the sport, of course we’ll go in.  I know you can do better,” confidently, “with a poor team than most men with a good one.”

But “Scotty” shook his head decidedly.  “Don’t think it.  Our antagonists are all that they should be—­men and dogs—­and the most careful driving will not always overcome the weakness of the team.”

Since the driver may use his own discretion as to the length and frequency of the stops to be made, he must have the ability to realize exactly how much rest he may take himself and give his dogs without the unnecessary loss of a moment.  He must know what the other teams have done, and are capable of doing; he must drive his own race, and he must know how the other men are driving theirs.  He must decide wisely how many dogs it is well to use—­that matter also being optional with him.  For it is an important point to select enough dogs to keep up to the required standard, yet not too many for good team work, in which individual peculiarities have been merged in general harmony of action.

No precaution is neglected to insure the comfort of the contestants.  Commissary teams sent out by the Kennel Club leave supplies at all of the Road Houses and camps that are to be used as rest stations—­drugs for emergencies, and all sorts of luxuries that would be too bulky to be carried in the racing sleds, but which are shared impartially at the different stops.

Each man must be certain of the best food for his dogs, and the length of time it takes to digest it.  The usual diet of the Allan and Darling Racers, rolled oats, dried salmon, and the oily nutritious flesh of the white whale, with a proper amount of bone, now was changed to chopped beef and mutton, cooked with eggs.  This was put up in hermetically sealed tins, with enough in each for a feeding; and every dog’s allowance wrapped separately in muslin so that there might be no loss of time in dividing it into portions.

And in all of these things “Scotty” Allan was a past master.  Yet in spite of his efforts and skill, they came in not first, but second; which was, according to George and Dan, “not so worse for a scrub team,” and according to Ben, “mighty good considerin’ they didn’t have Baldy.”