LITTLE WILLY WENT to see Mayor Smiley at the city hall building in town to sign up for the race.
The mayor’s office was large and smelled like hair tonic. The mayor sat in a bright red chair with his feet on his desk. There was nothing on the desk except the mayor’s feet.
“We have a race for you youngsters one hour before.” Mayor Smiley mopped sweat from his neck with a silk handkerchief, although little Willy thought it was quite cool in the room.
“I wanna enter the real race, Mr. Mayor.”
“You must be funning, boy.” The mayor laughed twice and blotted his neck. “Anyway, there’s an entrance fee.”
“How much?”
“Fifty dollars.”
Little Willy was stunned. That was a lot of money just to enter a race. But he was determined. He ran across the street to the bank.
“Don’t be stupid,” Mr. Foster told little Willy. “This is not a race for amateurs. Some of the best dog teams in the Northwest will be entering.”
“I have Searchlight! We go fast as lightning. Really, Mr. Foster, we do.”
Mr. Foster shook his head. “You don’t stand a chance of winning.”
“Yes, we do!”
“Willy . . . the money in your savings account is for your college education. You know I can’t give it to you.”
“You have to.”
“I do?”
“It’s my money!”
Little Willy left the bank with a stack of ten-dollar gold pieces—five of them, to be exact.
He walked into the mayor’s office and plopped the coins down on the mayor’s desk. “Me and Searchlight are gonna win that five hundred dollars, Mr. Mayor. You’ll see. Everybody’ll see.”
Mayor Smiley counted the money, wiped his neck, and entered little Willy in the race.
When little Willy stepped out of the city hall building, he felt ten feet tall. He looked up and down the snow-covered street. He was grinning from ear to ear. Searchlight walked over and stood in front of the sled, waiting to be hitched up. But little Willy wasn’t ready to go yet. He put his thumbs in his belt loops and let the sun warm his face.
He felt great. In his pocket was a map Mayor Smiley had given him showing the ten miles the race covered. Down Main Street, right on North Road—little Willy could hardly hold back his excitement.
Five miles of the race he traveled every day and knew with his eyes closed. The last five miles were back into town along South Road, which was mostly straight and flat. It’s speed that would count here, and with the lead he knew he could get in the first five miles, little Willy was sure he could win.
As little Willy hitched Searchlight to the sled, something down at the end of the street—some moving objects—caught his eye. They were difficult to see because they were all white. There were five of them. And they were beautiful. In fact, they were the most beautiful Samoyeds little Willy had ever seen.
The dogs held their heads up proudly and strutted in unison. They pulled a large but lightly constructed sled. They also pulled a large—but by no means lightly constructed—man. Way down at the end of the street the man looked normal, but as the sled got closer, the man got bigger and bigger.
The man was an Indian—dressed in furs and leather, with moccasins that came all the way up to his knees. His skin was dark, his hair was dark, and he wore a dark-colored headband. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight, but the rest of his face was as hard as stone.
The sled came to a stop right next to little Willy. The boy’s mouth hung open as he tilted his head way back to look up at the man. Little Willy had never seen a giant before.
“Gosh,” little Willy gasped.
The Indian looked at little Willy. His face was solid granite, but his eyes were alive and cunning.
“Howdy,” little Willy blurted out, and he gave a nervous smile.
But the Indian said nothing. His eyes shifted to Searchlight, who let out a soft moan but did not bark.
The Giant walked into the city hall building.
Word that Stone Fox had entered the race spread throughout the town of Jackson within the hour, and throughout the state of Wyoming within the day.
Stories and legends about the awesome mountain man followed shortly. Little Willy heard many of them at Lester’s General Store.
“Was this time in Denver he snapped a man’s back with two fingers,” said Dusty, the town drunk. But nobody believed him, really.
Little Willy learned that no white man had ever heard Stone Fox talk. Stone Fox refused to speak with the white man because of the treatment his people had received. His tribe, the Shoshone, who were peaceful seed gatherers, had been forced to leave Utah and settle on a reservation in Wyoming with another tribe called the Arapaho.
Stone Fox’s dream was for his people to return to their homeland. Stone Fox was using the money he won from racing to simply buy the land back. He had already purchased four farms and over two hundred acres.
That Stone Fox was smart, all right.
In the next week little Willy and Searchlight went over the ten-mile track every day, until they knew every inch of it by heart.
Stone Fox hardly practiced at all. In fact, little Willy only saw Stone Fox do the course once, and then he sure wasn’t going very fast.
The race was scheduled for Saturday morning at ten o’clock. Only nine sleds were entered. Mayor Smiley had hoped for more contestants, but after Stone Fox had entered, well . . . you couldn’t blame people for wanting to save their money.
It was true Stone Fox had never lost a race. But little Willy wasn’t worried. He had made up his mind to win. And nothing was going to stop him. Not even Stone Fox.