Sergeant Preston was breaking camp early one morning, with the icy cold of the north chilling his face. Suddenly, as he turned from the fire he noticed his lead dog, King, seemed to be listening intently, his nose in the air, and every muscle momentarily tense. In spite of himself, the Mountie stood still, but the quiet of the Yukon seemed to him unbroken. It was then that King, a strange savage growl in his throat, ran from the Mountie toward a line of pine trees...