dared question. That is, none save Dubby, who recognized no standard
other than his own; and that standard took no cognizance of Racers as
Racers. They were all just dogs--good or bad--to Dubby.

The fact that Tom, Dick, and Harry had been in every one of those unique
dashes across the snow-swept wastes of Seward Peninsula, from Bering Sea
to the Arctic Ocean and return, and had never been "out of the money,"
did not count greatly in his rigid code. The same distance covered
slowly by freighters in pursuance of their task of earning their daily
living would seem to him far more worthy of respect and emulation. And
so, when the Tolman brothers, who were apt to be quarrelsome with those
"not in their class," showed a coldness toward Baldy that threatened to
break into open hostility at the slightest excuse, Dubby promptly ranged
himself on the side of the newcomer with a firmness that impressed even
Tom, Dick, and Harry with a determination to be at least discreet if not
courteous.

They had learned, with all of the others in the Kennel, to treat with a
studied politeness--even deference--the wonderful old Huskie whose
supremacy as a leader had become a Tradition of the North; and who was
still in fighting trim should cause for trouble arise. He did not rely
alone on his past achievements, which were many and brilliant, but he
maintained a reputation for ever-ready power which is apt to give
immunity from attack.

Dubby's attitude toward the Racers generally was galling in the extreme.
Usually he ignored them completely, turning his back upon them when they
were being harnessed, and apparently oblivious of their very existence;
except as such times when he felt that they needed suggestions as to
their behavior.