[Illustration:  BALDY OF NOME]

Then came the day, filled with excitement and thrills, when on a tow-line three hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred and six famous dogs passed through the streets of the far-away Arctic town, on their way to the battle-fields of France.

At their head was Spot, with George Allan trudging proudly by his side.

“I’ll lend you Spot to get them down to the dock,” was his offer to Captain Haas.  “You know he is fine in a crowd,” and the officer smilingly accepted the services of Spot.

And crowds there were, too, to go through; for as on the Sweepstakes Days all of Nome had gathered to bid a final God Speed to the greatest dogs of Alaska—­a Foreign Legion indeed—­bound for the front.

With no confusion, under the direction of Captain Haas and “Scotty” Allan, who was to go with them as far as Quebec, they had been placed on board the “Senator” lying out in the roadstead.

A silent little group stood on the dreary beach watching the twinkling lights of the distant ship as she sailed, phantom-like, out into the misty grayness of Bering Sea.

Only the dull pounding of the surf and the weird cry of the wolf dogs broke the stillness.

At last the Woman turned from the Big Man at her side toward the boy and Moose Jones.

“Some time, perhaps,” she said half sadly, yet with pride, “the Captain may have great tales for us of the War Dogs of the North.  But never, never, Ben, will there be greater tales than we can tell of the Old Guard, Baldy of Nome and the others—­our Immortals of the Trail.”

[Illustration]