Ben regarded Jack with admiration and pity. He was sorry for even a dog
that has been misunderstood.

"No, ma'am, he don't look vicious, but he sure does look powerful. If a
man had a whole team like Jack there'd hardly be a chanct t' beat him, I
s'pose."

"I'm not so sure of that, Ben. Of course the team counts for a great
deal; so, too, does the skill of the driver. But there are many other
things that enter into this contest that do not have to be considered
usually. Given a mile of smooth track and horses in perfect condition,
well mounted, the fastest one is apt to win. In a race that lasts for
over three days and nights, however, through the roughest sort of
country, in weather that may range from a thaw to a blizzard, and with
fifteen or twenty dogs to manage, the Luck of the Trail is an enormous
factor. One team may run into a storm, and be delayed for hours, that
another may escape entirely; and a trivial accident may put the best
team and driver entirely out of commission."

"That's so," agreed Danny. "That's what happened the year 'Scotty' lost
the race to Seppala, an' came in second. Don't you know, George, your
father told us it was near the end o' the run, an' the dogs was gettin'
pretty tired, so he put a loose leader at the head t' give 'em new
life--sort t' ginger 'em up. I guess that dog 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