pungent and rather obtrusive, and it annoyed Steele greatly.  "There's trouble in town", the man continued. "Dr. Welch has notified us of a diphtheria outbreak.  We've got six cases so far.  It started with a young boy."

Steele's master stroked his beard for a moment, and then shook his head sympathetically.  "Well Dr. Welch's staff may be small, but they ought to be able to handle this now that he's identified it, shouldn't they?"

The gentleman shook his head.  "Not likely.  It appears his supply of anti-toxin is nearly exhausted, and may well have expired beyond it's efficacy.  We are going to need to procure a supply, and quickly."

The master sat back and crossed his legs, laying his arms across the back of the couch.  The barking out in the yard had finally subsided, and he sighed.  "What are your intentions?"  Has the mayor consulted with Dr. Welch about this?"

At the master's question, the second gentleman responded.  "Yes he has.  There has already been one death, and a growing concern that this will escalate..."

Steele's ears pricked up at hearing this.  But with a quick roll of his eyes, he thought to himself "Tsk.  I don't see what the fuss is about anyway.  The population of this town has been steadily falling since the influenza epidemic of '18.  But Nome's still here.  If this town loses one or two more, it makes little difference".  He settled back into listening to the discussion.

The gentleman continued.  "We've sent messages out by telegraph, but it would appear our options for securing a resupply of antitoxin are severely limited by the prevailing weather.  The newspaper men want us to put our faith in the airplane, saying it would be the fastest and safest mode of transport for the medicine.  However, the territorial governor and several people of influence disagree with that assessment."

"As do I", the third man broke in.  Like the master this fellow was a musher.  "I will still hedge my bets with the dogs.  The mail teams have never failed us in the past.  You, Dan, are our best man for the job.  You have the fastest, most experienced team in the region, and that's why we came to you.  The mayor specifically asked us to do so."

Steele's master raised an eyebrow in surprise.  "Did he now?" 

"Yes", the second gentleman replied.  "A supply of the antitoxin has been found at the railroad hospital down in Anchorage, and they're shipping it up to Nenana by rail.  But it falls to us to send someone out there to pick it up and carry it back to Nome as quickly as can be managed."

The master paused for a moment to consider the implications of this revelation, and then stood up, crossed his hands behind his back, and strode slowly over to the mantle.  Laying one arm across it and, with the other, grabbing a poker to stoke the fire, he asked  "So...what's our play then?"

The first gentleman stood up and started to slowly pace about the perimeter of the room still puffing on his cigar and seemingly absorbed in thought, his head lowered in concentration.  Steele raised his head and observed the man closely as he went.  He passed around the furniture and then passed by the windows.  When he reached Steele's master he stopped, glanced up at him, and replied "We were hoping you might have some suggestions to that effect."

As Steele turned his attention to his master, the man scratched at his beard, seemingly lost in thought.  "Hmmmm."  There was a momentary pause.  Then he raised his right hand and, pointing and wagging his finger indistinctly in the air in front of him, said "You know, we could hold a small race through the town streets...invite the mushers in town to put in their best dogs.  From that, we could determine the fastest among them, and put together a special team for this run."

The men continued talking for some time.  Steele, growing weary of it, headed for the side door, which opened out onto the kennel yard.  He started whining and scratching at it, which brought the men's conversation to a momentarily halt.  The master, muttering through his beard, strode to the door and, with a frustrated glance down at Steele, opened it.  Steele returned his master's glance with one of feigned gratitude, and strode confidently out towards the kennel yard.  The door creaked on its hinges, closing with a dull thud.

Standing on the stoop outside of the door, Steele leaned back into a long stretch, and then leaned forward and stretched out his rear legs.  He observed that the sun was already down very low on the horizon, and twilight was setting in...even if it was several hours until "evening".  Descending the narrow steps, he sauntered into the kennel yard, and was approached by a large husky-Chow mix. 

"So, did youse hear the news, boss?  Word is that some sort of sickness has broke out in town, and they ain't figured out the solution there."

Steele just grunted indifferently in reply, and continued past him.  The chow mix continued, saying "I heard some of them little kids is sick too.  That is a shame, that is.  Those kids might die."

"If they're gonna get sick, Nikki," Steele replied with a curt sigh, and without looking back, "they might as well die and make room for those strong enough to fight it."

As Steele walked away, sternly inspecting the dogs curled up uncomfortably in front of their little houses, Nikki's brow furrowed in silent consternation.  Steele made rounds of the entire yard.  He was, however, momentarily startled as he heard a voice from behind him.  He turned to see his young nephew, a yearling dog of proud and pleasant bearing, approaching.  "Hello, uncle!  How are you?"

Steele rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore the young dog, only grunting in reply as he continued on towards his master's house.  But his young nephew persisted.  "What an exciting finish to the race today, huh?  The team did great!"

Steele turned towards him, casting him a hard glance, which caused the younger dog to stop in his tracks.  "Don't you mean my team?" 

The young dog stammered, wide-eyed, but continued.  "Sure, uncle.  Your team."  He paused for a moment, thinking to himself, and then offered "What a day!  Ol' Balto almost upset the apple cart though, didn't he?"  He laughed at the thought of it.

Steele turned again on him...fast this time and, with teeth baring, growled "DON'T mention that worthless half-breed in my presence again, boy, or you'll regret it."  Steele stood fast, towering over the young dog, who shrunk back submissively.

The young dog's face became serious.  "Don't be cross, uncle.  I meant no harm by it."

Steele shook his head in digust, and turned to resume walking towards the house.  "You know nothing.  You haven't even earned a place on the team yet.  You couldn't possibly understand, so don't bother.  Go back to your little hovel."

"You really shouldn't be so morose, uncle", the young dog lamented.  "I have no quarrel with you, and neither does he.  I don't consider him such a bad fellow anyway.  I came over here to welcome you home, and I want or need nothing from you but a simple acknowledgement.  Though I do wish we could be friends."

"Good night, Tommy," Steele replied, as dryly as he could, leaving the young dog standing in the snow utterly flummoxed.  By the time he returned to the house, the men had gone, and the master had let him back in for the day, as evening would soon be setting in.

Some hours later inside the house Steele, who was snoozing by the fire place, was awakened by the sounds of the master preparing to retire for the night.  Steele rose to follow him on his rounds just as the master had completed washing up some dishes from his dinner earlier that night.  As the master proceeded from room to room on the main level of the house, he turned knobs on a few lit gas lights, blew out a few candles, and attended to the remains of the fire in the fire place, which was all but embers and one faintly-burning log.  The master then proceeded up the stairs towards his bedroom.  Steele turned aside momentarily for one last lap or two from his water bowl, and then moved towards the staircase.  Then he heard it...a voice that was not the master's.  It didn't come from the upper level of the house either, but seemed to be all around him.

"Steele".  He froze.  The voice was at first indistinct, and sounded a bit hollow, as if it were but an echo.  But it repeated itself again.  "Steele".  Nervously, Steele shook his head and continued towards the stairs.  By the lower step was a carved wooden umbrella stand, in which were a few canes and odd items.  Around its exterior was carved a mountainous scene in a snowy wilderness, and a dog sled team in motion across it.  Steele's eyes were almost unconsciously drawn to the team, and specifically to the face of the leader.  But gazing upon it, he saw not the general face of a husky which normally was there, but that of his old co-leader, Charger. 

Charger's face...lit, it seemed, by some