by Helen Moss
It wasn’t just ice that was getting thrown around. The wind was buffeting the sled from side to side. Suddenly, with a yelp of dismay, Balto stumbled and fell. We all swerved and dodged in different directions to avoid running over him. At the same moment, a gust of wind scooped the sled up and hurled it high in the air.
We were all off-balance.
Scrabbling wildly, we were lifted up with the sled, twisting and turning in midair, like salmon on a fishing line.
13
SO ALONE
I landed on top of Newton, Jack, and Jet. Billy and Slim landed on top of me. Tillie and Fox landed on top of them. We were stacked up in a higgledy-piggledy pile, just like the slabs of ice. But a lot noisier.
“Get your paw out of my face!” yelled Jack.
“That’s not my paw!” shouted Jet. “Get your tail out of my ear!”
I tried to wriggle free. It was no good. We were all tied up in a tangle of lines. I wriggled some more. There was a ripping sound. Suddenly Lucy’s vest burst open. I slipped out and rolled down the lumpy, bumpy slope of ice.
Trevor and Maia had jumped clear of the crash and raced to my side. We all stared at the sled. It was teetering upside-down on top of a stack of ice. Still attached by their lines, the dogs were piled up below it. Jumble dogs, I thought. Broken and thrown around by the wind. “Newt!” I shouted. “Are you okay?”
“Oomph!” came the reply from somewhere in the heap. “I think so…”
Balto crawled out from behind an ice block where he had fallen. “My tug line broke,” he mumbled over and over. “It just clean broke.”
“Look!” cried Maia. “The serum!”
The crate was hanging by its rope from the tip of one of the runners, high above an expanse of broken sea ice.
Fox poked her head up out of the dog pile. “Don’t just stand there, you idiots! Get us out of here!”
“Don’t move!” I yelled in dismay. One wobble of the sled and the crate would fall.
I turned to Balto. Surely he would take charge. But the lead dog was shuffling in circles. “Tug line … just clean broke…,” he mumbled. I looked back at the sled. Where was Kaasen? He would know what to do. But there was no sign of the musher.
“Over here!” barked Trevor. Kaasen was lying motionless on the ice. “He’s breathing,” Trevor said. He sniffed under the man’s hood. “But there’s blood. He’s bumped his head.”
While Trevor and Maia tried to keep Kaasen warm, I ran back to the ice stack. What should I do? I couldn’t leave the team and the injured man out here on the jumble ice. But if I tried to pull the other dogs free, the sled would move and the serum could fall. It would smash on the ice or—even worse—fall through a crack and be lost forever in the ocean waters below.
I wished I hadn’t gotten into the van. I wished I was home with Lucy, curled up in front of the fire, sharing a plate of cookies.
I had never felt so alone.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I heard a grunting noise behind me.
I spun around to see a big, dark shape lumbering through the snowstorm.
A shape with a hunched back, a huge head, and antlers.
14
A SPOT OF TROUBLE
I stared in horror as the moose drew closer. I could see now that it was smaller than the last one. The antlers were tiny. It must be a female. My heart hammering in my ears, I did the only thing I could to protect the dogs trapped on the ice stack. I stood my ground, puffed out my fur, and barked louder than I had ever barked before.
The moose barked back. That was weird. Moose don’t bark. And wait! This moose had only three legs.
“Hey, Titch!” I was so relieved my bark turned into a whimper. “How did you get here?”
“How do you think I got here?” Titch limped closer. She was shivering and icicles hung from her ears. Ears so bitten and raggedy I had mistaken them for antlers. “I took the subway!” Titch snorted, and more icicles shot out of her nose. “I ran, of course.” She collapsed into a heap. “What was all that yelling about? ‘Go away! I’m big and scary and I’ll bite your head off!’ Nice welcome that was! What happened to Never Leave a Dog Behind?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Sorry. I thought you were a moose.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“But why didn’t you stay in the van?” I asked.
“I was starving. Couldn’t get that dumb refrigerator open. Went out to hunt for a burger bar. Nothing doing.” Titch shook her head. “Miami has really gone downhill since I was last here. Reckoned I’d catch up with you guys and see if there were any snacks on that sled…” She looked around. “Whoa! Looks like you and your wolf pack have run into a spot of trouble.”
We both stared at the crash scene. “Hey! Is that Princess Fluffybutt up there?” Titch asked.
I did a double take. Maia was scrambling up the ice stack toward the upside-down sled. “Maia!” yelled Trevor. “What are you doing?”
“Getting the crate back, of course,” Maia barked over her shoulder. “Walk along the runner. Grab the rope with my teeth. Pull it onto the sled. Simple.”
“No way.” Trevor raced up and down in an anxious frenzy. “It’s too dangerous. You’ll fall off. As your pack leader, I won’t allow it!”
Maia flicked her ears at him. “Pack leader? Says who? And I never fall off things. I took home gold in the State Agility Finals three years in a row. I’m a trained professional. Now, stop yapping. I’ve got this!”
I buried my head in my paws. I couldn’t bear to watch.
But I couldn’t bear not to. I peeked out.
Maia was balancing on the runner now, her feathery tail streaming out behind her. She placed one dainty paw in front of the other. She was almost close enough to touch the rope. Maybe she could do it after all. But then the sled began to rock. Down, up, down …
“Stop!” shouted Trevor. “It’s going to tip.”
15
A DELICATE OPERATION
Maia froze, one paw in the air. Very slowly, the sled stopped wobbling.
“What’s going on?” shouted Newton, his voice muffled by the pile of Siberian huskies on top of him.
I quickly explained Maia’s rescue mission. “But the sled keeps rocking. What do we do?”
“You have to apply an opposing load.” Newton said this as if it was meant to help. I looked at Trevor. He shook his head. Neither of us had a clue.
Titch stood up. “What Old Brainbox is saying is park your big Labrador butt on the other end of the runner. It’s like those teeter-totter things human pups play on. You’ve got to weigh it down.”
The other end of the runner? I gulped. That meant climbing up over the pile of dogs. It would be a delicate operation. I looked down at my big clumsy paws and my big clumsy tail. It was famous for knocking things over. What if I rocked the sled even more?
“Today would be good, Baxter,” called Maia. “I’m freezing my ears off up here.”
“I’ll do it if you won’t.” Titch staggered toward the ice stack. “Stand back, now. Incoming!”
“Stop!” I cried. Titch was many things. Delicate wasn’t one of them. If she parked herself on the end of the runner, the whole sled could fall, not just Maia and the serum.
Balto said I was brave. I didn’t feel brave. I felt scared. Then I remembered his words. Being scared is the biggest part of being brave. I took a deep breath and began to climb up the stack of ice blocks. That wasn’t so bad. But then I had to scramble over my teammates. “Sorry! Sorry!” I muttered as I picked my way through them.
“Ouch!” yelped Jack. “You’re standing on my nose.”
At last I spotted the curved end of the runner at the front of the sled.
Slowly, carefully, I lowered my weight onto it.
“That’s it!” shouted Maia. “The runner’s steady now.” She took two more steps and grasped the rope in her teeth. A gust of wind rattled the sled and made the crate swing from side to side. Maia clung on. Her ribbons had come undo
ne and flapped around her like streamers. Slowly, the little papillon inched her way backward along the runner and onto the sled, pulling the rope—and the crate on the end of it—with her.
Titch and I cheered. “I knew you could do it,” barked Trevor.
“Goodgirl!”
The human voice made me jump. Kaasen was getting to his feet, rubbing his head, and staring up at the sled.
I made my way back down the ice stack. The serum was safe. Kaasen and Balto could take charge now. But when Balto flopped down next to me, he wasn’t in a take-charge kind of mood. “It’s my fault that the sled tipped over,” he whimpered.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It was the wind.”
“We could have held the sled down if I hadn’t fallen and knocked the team off- balance.” Balto hung his head. “I knew there was something wrong with my tug line. I could feel it. But I didn’t want to stop and lose time. Then it snapped…” Balto looked up, his dark eyes clouded with shame. “Fox is right. I’m no good as lead dog. I keep messing up…”
I glanced at the end of the broken tug line, still attached to Balto’s harness. That’s when I realized. It hadn’t just snapped.
There were tooth marks in the leather strap.
Someone had gnawed through it.
16
PULL TOGETHER
Kaasen got to work. He cut the sled dogs free and checked them over for injuries. There were bruises and scrapes, but no one was badly hurt. He pulled the sled down from the ice stack and fixed the broken lines. Then we all gathered around as he gave out pieces of dried fish. Fox snatched her share from his hand and slunk away from the others, tail down, shoulders hunched.
I padded after her. I was a little afraid of Fox, but there was something on my mind. Something I had to say. “I saw what you did,” I whispered.
Fox bared her teeth at me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Balto’s tug line,” I said. “You chewed on it, didn’t you?” Fox didn’t reply, so I kept going. “It was after the moose attack. I thought you were chewing on your own line. I kind of understood. You were feeling miserable. But it wasn’t your tug line, it was Balto’s.” I paused. Fox glared at me. “It has tooth marks in it,” I said.
Fox shifted from paw to paw. “So, I might have nibbled it by mistake. Big deal! Don’t tell me you never chew stuff when you’re anxious.”
Fox was right. I love to chew, even when I’m not anxious. I have the fuzzy tennis balls to prove it. But I’d figured something out while I was watching Kaasen repair the lines. Any sled dog would know that it’s dangerous to chew on the straps that hold the team together. Fox was way too smart to have done it by mistake. I shook my head. “You gnawed on that tug line on purpose. You wanted it to break.”
Fox looked around to make sure no one could hear. “Okay,” she muttered. “But I didn’t mean for this accident to happen. I just wanted Balto to goof up again, so Kaasen would put me back in lead position. I can do a better job.”
“But Tillie said you lost the trail.”
“Last night I couldn’t pick up the scent in the storm. I refused to keep going. I was worried we’d run into danger. Balto said he’d take over.” Fox gave a sigh. “He did get us back on track, I admit. But then he started showing off. He led us into that crack in the river ice. It was lucky you guys showed up to help us out.”
“You didn’t think it was lucky at the time,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, well, we’re professional sled dogs. It’s kind of embarrassing to be rescued by a bunch of…”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Pip-squeaks?”
Fox turned away, but I think she was smiling, too. “Very brave pip-squeaks,” she mumbled.
“Fox! Baxter!” Kaasen was calling us.
Fox hung back. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
I hesitated. What Fox had done was wrong. But she hadn’t meant to cause the crash. If I told the team, we would lose even more time. We needed to pull together and deliver the serum. “No, I won’t tell.”
I got into position next to Newton. Kaasen knelt down beside me with Lucy’s vest. It was torn but still in one piece. I barked at him to give it to Titch instead. She would be running along behind the sled, and she needed the extra warmth more than I did. The musher seemed to understand and zipped Titch into the vest. But when he held out the tug line for the lead dog position, Balto turned away. Kaasen called again. Still Balto refused.
“Wow!” whistled Jack. “Balto’s lost his nerve.”
Kaasen sighed in frustration and called for Fox instead.
But Fox also turned her back. She nudged Balto’s side. “Hey, Boss, come on! You’ve gotten us this far. This is your mission now. You should be the one to lead us to the finish.” She looked over and caught my eye.
“You can do it, Balto!” I shouted.
Balto walked to the front of the team, looked up at Kaasen, and nodded. “Being scared is the biggest part of being brave,” I whispered as he passed.
Moments later, Balto—our leader—was calling us to action once again. “Team, get ready!” he barked. “Next stop, Nome!”
17
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
It was early morning when, at last, we staggered into Nome. It was still dark. Only a few lights glowed in the windows of the wooden buildings along the main street.
“Whoa,” shouted Kaasen. Humans came tumbling out of the houses, pulling on their coats and hats. Laughing and cheering, they crowded around us. Kaasen thrust the crate into the arms of a short man in glasses. The man opened the crate, pulled out a shiny metal cylinder, and hugged it to his chest. “The serum!” he cried, as he rushed back inside.
I leaned against Newton, so tired my bones felt as if they had turned to water. Trevor and Maia jumped down from the sled and joined us. Titch caught up with us a few moments later. “Mission accomplished,” said Trevor. “Good job, pack!” The humans patted and hugged us. They got very excited about Titch’s vest, too. I don’t think they had seen a dog wearing polka dots before.
But it was Balto who received most of the attention. He was lead dog, after all; the star of the show. “Goodboy!” the humans said over and over.
But Balto shrank back, his tail between his legs.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Balto groaned. “It’s embarrassing. They’re making a big fuss over me. Like I’m some kind of hero. But we were only the last leg of the relay. What about all the other teams? My friend Togo’s team ran much farther than we did. And we wouldn’t have made it at all without you guys.”
“Hooray for Trevor and his hunter’s nose!” cried Billy. The others joined in, howling louder and louder as they added each of our names. “Hooray for Newton and his brainstorms. Hooray for Maia and her balancing act. Hooray for Baxter, the bravest dog ever!”
“Hooray for pets and pip-squeaks!” Fox shouted. We all laughed.
The humans backed away. Some of them clapped their hands over their ears. I guess we had gotten a little loud.
Kaasen unbuckled our harnesses and led us into a cozy barn that smelled of horses and fresh hay. Other humans came in and set out bowls of food. I have no idea what was in those bowls, but it smelled so good I almost fainted.
Titch lunged for the nearest bowl. “Stand back! I’m going in!”
Jack and Jet pushed her out of the way. “Hey! Leave some for the rest of us!”
But there was plenty to go around, and we all tucked in. All but Maia. “Is it low-fat?” she whimpered. “And I don’t eat wheat or soy.” She sniffed at the food. “Oh, never mind. I’m so hungry I’d eat cat poop right now. Move over, Baxter!”
There was no more talking. Just slurping and crunching. When we had emptied the bowls, and licked every last scrap from the splash zone, we curled up on the hay. It felt good to be full and dry and warm at last. I closed my eyes.
But I couldn’t sleep. My legs twitched as if they were still running over the snow.
I listened to the others.
Snore, snuffle, snore.
And from Titch’s corner: scratch, burp, gurgle.
I got up and padded out of the barn. There were no trucks or cars in the street. The only sound came from a human lady sweeping her doorstep. I’ve always been scared of brooms. Yesterday I would have backed away. Today I barely flinched. I guess when you’ve survived moose attacks and jumble ice, brooms hold no fear.
I could hear a human pup crying inside the house where the lady was sweeping. It made me think of Lucy. When she wasn’t looking, I slipped through the door behind her.
18
LONG GOODBYES
The house was full of the usual human smells of cooking and soap and wood smoke. There was a lot less plastic and electricity than back home, but there was no mistaking the sour-sweet stink of sickness. It made my nose wrinkle.
I followed the crying sound to a room upstairs. A little girl was lying in a bed. When she coughed, her whole body shook under the thick quilt. I hopped up onto the pillow. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “The serum will make you better soon.” I don’t know whether she understood, but she smiled and stroked my ears. Then she closed her eyes and slept, her breath rattling in her throat.
I fell asleep, too. It’s funny. When I was an old dog, I dreamed of my puppyhood days. Now that I was a puppy, I dreamed I was an old dog again. I was lying on the porch in the sunshine, chewing on my favorite tennis ball …
“There you are, Baxter!”
In my dream, it was Lucy who was calling to me. But then I felt a nudge. I woke to see Newton peering over the side of the bed. Maia and Trevor were right behind him. “We have to get back to the van,” said Newton urgently.
