And then, as the lead-dog caught the tail of Big Olaf’s sled, and yard by yard drew up abreast, the great crowd on the Dawson bank went mad.  It was a great crowd, for the men had dropped their tools on all the creeks and come down to see the outcome of the race, and a dead heat at the end of a hundred and ten miles justified any madness.

“When you’re in the lead I’m going to drop off!” Joy cried out over her shoulder.

Smoke tried to protest.

“And watch out for the dip curve half way up the bank,” she warned.

Dog by dog, separated by half a dozen feet, the two teams were running abreast.  Big Olaf, with whip and voice, held his own for a minute.  Then, slowly, an inch at a time, Joy’s leader began to forge past.

“Get ready!” she cried to Smoke.  “I’m going to leave you in a minute.  Get the whip.”

And as he shifted his hand to clutch the whip, they heard Big Olaf roar a warning, but too late.  His lead-dog, incensed at being passed, swerved in to the attack.  His fangs struck Joy’s leader on the flank.  The rival teams flew at one another’s throats.  The sleds overran the fighting brutes and capsized.  Smoke struggled to his feet and tried to lift Joy up.  But she thrust him from her, crying:  “Go!”

On foot, already fifty feet in advance, was Big Olaf, still intent on finishing the race.  Smoke obeyed, and when the two men reached the foot of the Dawson bank, he was at the other’s heels.  But up the bank Big Olaf lifted his body hugely, regaining a dozen feet.

Five blocks down the main street was the gold-recorder’s office.  The street was packed as for the witnessing of a parade.  Not so easily this time did Smoke gain to his giant rival, and when he did he was unable to pass.  Side by side they ran along the narrow aisle between the solid walls of fur-clad, cheering men.  Now one, now the other, with great convulsive jerks, gained an inch or so, only to lose it immediately after.

If the pace had been a killing one for their dogs, the one they now set themselves was no less so.  But they were racing for a million dollars and greatest honour in Yukon Country.  The only outside impression that came to Smoke on that last mad stretch was one of astonishment that there should be so many people in the Klondike.  He had never seen them all at once before.

He felt himself involuntarily lag, and Big Olaf sprang a full stride in the lead.  To Smoke it seemed that his heart would burst, while he had lost all consciousness of his legs.  He knew they were flying under him, but he did not know how he continued to make them fly, nor how he put even greater pressure of will upon them and compelled them again to carry him to his giant competitor’s side.

The open door of the Recorder’s office appeared ahead of them.  Both men made a final, futile spurt.  Neither could draw away from the other, and side by side they hit the doorway, collided violently, and fell headlong on the office floor.