This is the National Mall in Washington, D.C. More than 25 million people visit annually. At lunchtime, on any given day, hungry tourists spill out onto the streets. Majid Naim, the owner of the food truck Chicken Friendly, is feeding them. From his spot in front of the National Museum of American History, as he competes against dozens of others in a parking free-frol. Location is everything. To keep their prized spots, vendors park dummy cars overnight. These trucks offer better value than the pricey cafes of the Smithsonian Museums. Right now, customers are at the National Mall, and they're screaming out for more food options. Attorney Justin Pearson directs the National Street Vending Initiative at the Libertarian Legal Nonprofit, the Institute for Justice. So it makes sense the food trucks try to provide those food options so that the food trucks can stay in business and not lose their dream. The diversity is incredible. The food is so well cooked. You can see they really pour their hearts into it. The prices are extraordinary. You can't beat it. These food trucks really have an impact on people around here, and I just think they're good for the community. They face another challenge, these guys. We are struggling a little bit with the tickets every day. Sometimes it's $200 each day, $300 each day. So it's not like easy here. Sometimes the police bother us.  Selling food from a truck along the National Mall is technically illegal. That mattered less before COVID because there were other neighborhoods where they were allowed to serve lunch. What was appealing was the gratification you get when you have 50 people in line that are just dying to try your food and they love it. The pandemic obviously closed all of the office buildings. Trucks then had to find other places to vent. The mall became the only spot in D.C. with significant lunchtime foot traffic. So we worked here at the National Mall for just the tourists.  He eventually saved enough to buy his own truck. We hope everything goes back to like a normal. I don't have nothing else to do besides this, but it's just only the food truck business. Meanwhile, the fines rack up. Last year, the city collected $467,000 in parking tickets along the mall. What's happening at the National Mall is a real shame. Customers are being ripped off by overpriced food sold at the museum's cafeterias. And that problem is directly a result of the lack of competition. It's ultimately a problem of jurisdiction. Nobody seems to want to take charge on the enforcement. Patrick Rathbone, who's the owner of the big cheese truck, used to serve the D.C. lunch crowd. Now he focuses exclusively on catering and special events. So the roads are D.C. jurisdiction. As from the sidewalk on is National Park Service. They think the National Park Service maybe should be doing the enforcement. There's inter bureaucracy like apathy, I guess. Nobody wants to be in charge of actually taking care of the trucks down there. The National Park Service has resisted calls from lawmakers to make vending legal there. I think there has to be a meeting between the D.C. folks and the National Park Service. D.C. can say we can solve the parking and the illegal vending piece of it. But if we don't solve the transaction side of things that's in your hands, Park Service, it's not going to work. With no compromise in sight, food truck operators remain stuck in the middle. And millions of visitors keep coming to the mall every year, looking for a delicious and affordable lunch, with officers waiting nearby. I see the future kind of like a little bit difficult, because we still get like buzzer from Barco Police and for the tickets. So I was thinking a lot to leave this business to get something else. But for now, I'm sitting in this business to see what's going on.


The challenge of the Yukon! Un-King! Un-U-Mala-Mute! The Wonder Dog King, swiftest and strongest of Eskimo lead dogs, blazes the trail through storm and snow for Sergeant Preston as he meets the challenge of the Yukon. The Yukon! Sergeant Preston was typical of a small band of Northwest mounted police who preserved law and order in the new Northwest country where the greed for wealth and power led to frequent violence and bloodshed. But in spite of the odds against them, Sergeant Preston and his Wonder Dog King met that challenge and justice ruled triumphant. Pring had come to the Yukon and with it the thaw and magic of the Chinnick Woods transforming the snowbound North country to a green wilderness of unsurpassed duty. Through this wilderness a group of travelers made their way on horseback. In the lead was the guide, a brawny Frenchman well versed in the ways of the lambs for which he traveled. Beside him rode a young nondescript looking man, obviously a chichaco, as was the attractive girl and the elderly man riding close behind. The man riding beside the guide looked about with impris. How much more time do we spend traveling? From what I understand from Mr. Thompson's directions are good five days.  Five days, huh? That's a long pull. They will be as nothing, poof, like that they will be gone, believe me. Myself, I find these days very enjoyable. If you're thinking of Judy Thompson, you're wasting your time, Bouchard. She's spoiled in as hard as nails. Well, one can but try, Monsieur. Someone on the trail ahead of us. What can't you say, Bouchard? I say someone on the trail ahead of us, Monsieur. And it is... are we? It is a mountain. A mountain, eh? Hi there, Monty. Yeah, yeah, yeah. It is such a pleasure. What's he doing up here? On patrol duty, most likely. It is well to be pleasant to these mountains. Myself, I have always found a source. Oh, well, well, well. It's been a long time since we've met. Well, yes, Monsieur Jean. Whether you can plainly see, I am now honorably employed as a guide. No more rum smuggling to the Indians. Oh, man, makes a mistake, Maui. But I present my employer, Monsieur Jean, Monsieur Thompson, Sager and President. I'm glad to know you, sir. Thompson? Well, that name's familiar, not Chester Thompson. Well, yes. I never expected to meet the famous American mining engineer in our country. I'm happy to know you, Mr. Thompson. For the moment, I was doing some quick thinking about my past, wondering why my name should mean anything to a Canadian policeman. Oh, well, forgive me, sir. My daughter, Judith. How do you do, Mr. Thompson? How do you do? And my assistant, Mr. Jackson. How do you do, sir? Well, since we seem to be traveling in the same direction, why don't you take the path lock with us tonight? Bunk beside our campfire. That's an excellent idea, and I'd enjoy it very much. All right, boy. I'm King. I'll give you money. Good evening. As the group prepared to make camp, Sergeant Preston talked to Chester Thompson and Judith while Gustav Bouchard and Charles Jackson left to gather firewood. Yeah, let me help you with that. Thank you, Mr. Thompson. So I'm on the trail of one of the richest orest discoveries ever made, Sergeant. And believe me, I'm looking forward with the keenest anticipation to seeing it with my own eyes. Come on, Bouchard. We'll go gather firewood. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. That mountain may stay with us for the rest of the trip. True. He may, mon ami. And if he does for myself, I want no part of the scheme. What do you mean? You don't want any part of it? Well, the mountain one never knows. He's here today. In the morning, he may be off somewhere else. Well, that makes no difference. You'll be well paid. Well paid, yes. But what good is money to me if I should be where I cannot spend it, huh? No, a merciful providence has been with me. I do not entail the same thing. Well, providence may not be so merciful to you if you're back out now. Get me. Well, as I tell you, a bullet will stop a money's heart the same as it will any other man's. We can't afford to take any chances. With him out of the way, we'll get the map from Thompson. What the sergeant? You'll tell me nothing. You'll do as I say. That night, as they thought about the campfire, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Are you trying to tell me, sergeant, that you've pipped the intelligence of your dog against Gallagher? Not at all, Miss Thompson. I don't doubt for a moment the intelligence of your stallion. I've trained that horseman time as a yearling. The Cupsies one would lie in a room. But I was going to add that it's loyalty as well as training and intelligence that are the qualities of a priceless animal. And that loyalty is something which can be tested only in a trial by fire. What are you talking about, sergeant? I'm saying there's a difference between training and loyalty. What an impossible statement. The two are synonymous. I'll wager any sum of money against the loyalty and training of Gallagher as opposed to the intelligence of your dog. I'm not a gambling man, Miss Thompson. Well, I'm for turning in. Good night, everyone. Good night. Good night, sergeant. Looks like you've met your match there, dude. My match? A few saw him back down, didn't you? He talks a big game, Father, but he knows I'm right. That night, as Sergeant Preston slept, King was on the ground beside him, a round motionless ball of fur. And then suddenly the great malamute sensed rather than saw that the man on the other side of the campfire was awake and moving stoutfully. I can't get but this gun. Quick! Quiet! King! King! What's wrong, fella? I'm sorry. A thousand pardons, my sergeant. What you see, I thought I saw one of those mountainous cats at the edge of the timber. Your girl, she was closer than mine. What happened? Well, we did. We must have frightened her. I no longer see those fierce eyes, but by car I do not feel any comfort unless I stand on watch the rest of this night. If my gunlet shall stand watch. It won't be necessary, Bushards. I'll watch you go back to sleep. Timber in this country is full of links, so I'll keep my gun net. Early the next morning, before hitting the trail, Sergeant Preston spoke for a few minutes to Chester Thompson. I'll be turning off about two miles up the trail, Mr. Thompson. As a village of Indians, I must look in now, but I'll join you before sundown. What was that, Sergeant? Are you sure you'll be able to keep that schedule without a horse? I shall, Mr. Thompson. Mr. Denton, how did you happen to hire Bushards? Well, as a matter of fact, Jackson hired him, why? You'd better keep your eye on him. Been arrested a couple of times for smuggling. May or may not mean anything, but don't take any chances. Don't worry, I won't. I'll see you later then. Later on the trail, Charles Jackson looked toward the French guy. But he nodded and almost instantly, both he and the Bouchard drew the revolvers. All right, halt those horses. A gun? Jackson, have you gone mad? What's the meaning of this? You too, Bouchard. What is this? You'll find out in a minute. Just a minute. You'll regret this, both of you. You seem to be running a party. You bet I am. From here on, Thompson, I'll hand over the map. Oh, so that's it, huh? Yeah, I'll hand it over. Come on, quit stalling. It may interest you to know that from some story to map this morning, the only copy of it exists in my brain.  I dare you, sneaking up stock.  You'd be smart to keep your mouth shut, my friend. Your friend? For you praise and toad-face scoundrel? No, please. There's nothing I can do but cooperate with him. But you... Get out of here, quickly!   Run, boy! Run! He is wounded.  Why didn't you fire on her?   Well, I can shoot you and I will. There'll be more in this for me alone. No, no, no, please, Mr. I beg of you. The old man and me are in this together. I'll drag him with me every inch of the way with a gun next to his head just to keep his memory clear. I don't need you anymore. You didn't get pressin' and you didn't get the girl. Please, please! I will help you! No! Margaret. You cold-blooded Margaret. That's right, Grandpa. And the same thing will be waiting for you unless you pay my way. Judith Thompson urged Gallowhead to his greatest seed, flying hoofs thundering seconds away into a singing eternity for the frightened girl. She gave the sergeant his head, praying he would keep to the trail they had traveled earlier. And then as the ribbon of trail skirted the timber, the horse stopped, sensing a danger that was not apparent to his rider. Instantly, she was thrown to the ground. King and Sergeant Preston covered the trail at an easy face. There was freedom and strength and unconscious grace in a Malamute's rhythmic stride as he ran from the trail through the timber. As he ran, he realized that he was not the only one in the stretch of timber. For in a distance, he caught the wild cry of a lake, hungry, searching for food. Helpless on the trail, Judith Thompson also heard the cry of the lake. And at the same moment that the dog and a treacherous cat caught the scent of human flesh, she knew in a blinding flash that certain death walked toward her. The flash to the edge of the bridge forest potted beneath the weight of the claws of the lake. A thousand danger signals flashed in King's mind, for he had recognized the scent of the girl. He knew that if he were to savor, his task would be to delay the attack of the lynx by deferring his attention. He would risk death himself. When Sergeant Preston approached, he found the lynx poised to jump, and King, every muscle, steeled ready to dodge. With an agility more than matching the cunning of the giant cat, the Malamute thrushed and parried. His sense of timing, saving him by inches from the claws spent on tearing life from his body. King, King, oh boy! Saved her life. Ah, that's one lynx that won't look for food again. Miss Thompson, right there. Don't remind her, you'll be all right. If you chuckle, we'll leave a trail that's mighty easy to follow. We'll put you on the travel on, start immediately. The band from the poorly concealed camp, Charles Jeffman of Maine. We'll start early tomorrow, Townsend. From what I remember, a bouchard's talk, we're on the right track. You better make sure you keep the directions in mind that you'll never get away with this, Jackson. No? Well, shoot the first man that tries to stop me, just like I shot Bouchard. You won't have a chance to shoot another man, Jackson? What? So dutiful round you. Oh, no, I didn't find him, Father. King, call me. My child, I'm so thankful you're safe. Sergeant, you murdered Bouchard in cold blood. You're under arrest, Jackson. My dear, what's happened? It's nothing really. Gallowhead was badly frightened on the trail and he threw me. You'll have to treat me like an invalid for a while, I'm afraid. It's nothing to worry about, Mr. Townsend. She had a bad fall, but she'll be all right. Well, so the product will return. Never mind, boy. I forgive you. You never tried by fire before, were you? You mean Gallowhead left you? What happened? A Link's father. Gallowhead was pretty badly frightened. But you should have seen this pucky dog. I never saw anything like it. All right, Sergeant Preston. There is a difference between loyalty and training. Gallowhead's always been a show horse. I trained him to win cups. Now that we're together again, I guess we both know the meaning of loyalty. Loyalty is something that can't be learned, Miss Townsend. It's given. Now his coming back means that he wants to give it. Yes, I see what you mean. Gallowhead. Yes, Sulla. Thanks to you, the case is closed. These copyrighted dramas originate in the studios of WXY's The Detroit, and all characters, names, places, and incidents used are fictitious. They are sent to you each week at the same time and reach you from our transcription studios.