Chapter 3

The day wore on with little else happening anywhere in, or around the town. When the grey light in the sky settled down into a inky blackness, night began it's rule; and with night came the gentle wind, and stifling snow that would come as a surprise to some in the morning. The only good in the night came in the form of lights above the clouds which gave the entire land, from the mountains north of Nome, down to the end of the pack ice some two hundred miles to the south, a hue of red thsy gradually changed to blue, then green, and finally back to red again.

As the night settled around Nome, lanterns were lit inside homes to eek their light out onto the streets through frosty windows. For the most part they provided much of the light needed in the streets of Nome, though the northern lights gave off a fair share. Nevertheless a lone scraggly man came around the town through the darkness, dressed to the teeth to bare the cold. In his gloves he pulled a sled full of lit lanterns. On every corner the lone man would stop, take a lantern from his sled, and hang it high on a hook on top of a metal pole with the aid of a long stick that he carried in his hand. In the morning he would return and remove the empty lanterns to refill and hang up again in the night.

As the lone man passed down the dark street with his sled in tow, aiming his body for the end of the street where another pole stood without a lantern, he passed a place where a meeting was being conducted in a squat log cabin where wisps of smoke came from the chimney. The cabin was old and had parts of it repaired at different times of different years as needed. A new log stuck out here, an old one that would soon need to be replaced here. The roof had been rebuilt during the previous summer when the mayor decided to put his own money into it. The politicians down in the lower forty-eight didn't see the need to send five hundred dollars up to repair a leaking building that wasn't even in their own territory.

Inside the building a wide stove that could easily heat the whole cabin burned at the front near the door and the street. A large pile of wood sat next to it on a steel stand that held half a cord of wood; enough for an entire month. For the most part the room was empty. Only empty chairs filled the room in a semi-organized fashion by a person who had no care as to how they looked. He knew he would have to pick them up tomorrow, so what did it matter how they were arranged.

Only three people came to the meeting besides the Mayor and the Telegraph Operator; only two of them to voice their concerns and worries. One was Mr. Scads, an old man who had come to Nome on the very first steamer and had helped put up the cabin he stood in. The other was Mrs. Tussle who worked everyday in the church on one thing or another for long hours of each day. Behind her sat her husband with his arms crossed watching everybody without a hint of enthusiasm. The only reason he was here was because his wife forced him. Behind the desk Mayor George Neil, a portly fellow who enjoyed chewing cigars down instead of smoking them, leaned back in his personal rocking chair taking everything in. Next to him stood the Telegraph Operator like a beat-down slave ready to do any bidding his master commanded. A lantern on the desk illuminated them all, along with three lanterns strung down the center of the cabin at equal distances. The meeting had been going on for some time already.

Mrs. Tussle leaned forward over the desk with her thin hands stretched out in front of her. "What can we do? I mean, the cold is the cause of this, and there's nothing that we can do about the cold unless you can change the weather. What we nee-"

Mr. Scads removed his hand from under his beard where he had been resting it and set it on the edge of the cherry wood desk. "-We're not here to decide what we can't change. We know we can't change the weather or how cold it is. I mean Nome has always been cold in the winter. Truthfully I don't think there's much of a problem. Ten years ago when we had no sheriff and the cold settled in for two weeks, half the town burned and three hundred people died. Of course it was mostly tents and men then, but I mean it's just a little cold. It can't stay forever, right?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

Mrs. Tussle looked right at Mr. Scads. "Mr. Scads. This has nothing to do with what happened ten years ago when this was a godless providence. This is about now. We are a civilized people who are ripping ourselves apart at home. Men are yelling at women and children, women are yelling at men and children, and everybody is yelling at everybody. It seems that everyone is forgetting the bible. Love thy family, and thy neighbor." She spoke with an edge of dissatisfaction in her voice.

"Well what do you suppose we do? Open prayer? No offence to your god or anything, but I don't think god has anything to do with this. It's plain and simple, it's just cabin fever. We need to get the people out of the homes and away from each other. And personally, I don't think many people will come out for god." Mr. Scads said flatly.

"Mr. Scads. You are a filthy pig." Mrs. Tussle turned her nose up and away angrily.

Mr. Scads remained quiet for a long while. He stared straight at Mrs. Tussle to see if she was serious. After ten full seconds of staring at her he started laughing at the top of his breath. "You are so in love with god."

Mrs. Tussle dropped her jaw in shock. "Well, at least I'm not taking advantage of women who have nothing but their flesh." She turned away to see if her insult sunk in.

Mr. Scads' shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, what are you going to do?"

Mrs. Tussle turned and pointed her finger at Mr. Scads in shock. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to personally see to it that god himself doesn't let you even look at the pearly gates. It will be straight to Satan for you."

Mr. Scads shrugged his shoulders again. "At least it'll be warm."

Mrs. Tussle sighed begrudgingly and rolled her eyes. She turned back to the mayor. "What I'm saying is that we need something that will bring families together, show them how much they actually love one another, and show them how much they love there neighbors. We need something to show the power and love of god can concur all"

George Neil removed the stub of a cigar from his mouth. "So what are your ideas for making that happen?"

Mrs. Tussle leaned back in her chair. "Well, I'm not quite sure what kind of program we could do. We could have a potluck with three legged races, and pie eating contests, and a polar bear swim - no no, there would be nudity in that and we can't have that"

Mr. Scads threw his arms up in the air and let them come back down and slap his thighs. "Oh sure, take all the fun out of everything why don't you."

"Mr. Scads I am not taking the fun out of anything. We cannot have nudity in a family gathering. We could require that everyone have a swimsuit?"

Mr. Scads bored straight into Mrs. Tussle with his eyes. "How many people, in Nome Alaska, do you think, even own a swimsuit?"

Mrs. Tussle shook her head and shrugged her shoulders and her hands up as high as her chin. "Well I don't know Mr. Scads. Maybe it doesn't need to be a swimsuit, maybe people can cut down their pants and women can wear their husband's pants and a thick shirt."

Mr. Scads looked at Mrs. Tussle coldly, with eyes that asked the obviouse. "You can't be serious?"

Mrs. Tussle shook her head positively yes.

Mr. Scads looked at the Mayor. "Are you seriously listening to this? This is foolish."

George Neil removed the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Mr. Scads. "Well, you haven't come up with any better ideas."

Mr. Scads turned bitterly and grabbed his parka from the back of his chair and began to fumble his arms into the sleeves. "Well I sure am not going to sit around here and listen to how the worshiper of god or Jesus, or whatever, is going to save this town." He finished putting his arms into his parka and began to fumble with the large zipper. Mr. Scads threw his accusing finger at Mrs. Tussle. "Because if I wanted to do that, I would go to church and listen to her speak. But I will tell you something Mayor." His finger moved to the Mayor "It isn't god that will save this town. It will be something big. If the Alaska 500 hadn't been stopped two years back, I'm sure that would save the town." Mr. Scads finished putting on his coat and turned towards the door.

"Wait." George Neil came to his feet and stood behind his desk. "What did you say?"

Mr. Scads turned. "I said, if the Alaska 500 were still around it would sure end this depression."

"That's it." George Neil slapped his hands together with an echoing clap.

Mr. Tussle unlocked his arms from around his chest and leaned forward in his chair.

George Neil moved swiftly when he had an idea in mind, and this idea certainly had him moving. From the flat-bottomed desk drawer he pulled a stub of a pencil and moved, with the looks of it, without using his legs, to a map of the peninsula of Alaska on the wall to the right side of his desk. "Okay, we're here." George Neil put his finger on Nome. "And White Mountain is here." With a slicing motion he drug the pencil across the map from Nome to White Mountain. "Now," George Neil Moved his left hand up to a dot on the map several inches straight north of Nome. "And North Peak Gold mine is here." With an upside down checkmark motion he connected White Mountain, to North Peak, and finally back down to Nome. With a whirl George Neal turned to face his speculative audience. "The Return, of the Alaska, 500." He moved his right hand across the air where an imaginary headline on newsprint would be, speaking each word exceedingly.

From beside Mrs. Tussle, Mr. Tussle slowly stood. "So would there be betting on this race?" Mrs. Tussle turned with a start and threw her delicate hand into her husband's stomach. Mr. Tussle bent over, gave his wife a bitter look, then sat.

George Neil snapped his fingers on his right hand and pointed at Mr. Tussle. "Yes, of course. It will be a boost to the economy, and it will be a boost to general moral in the town."

"Now wait just a minute." Mrs. Tussle stood up. "Gambling and races? The Bible would disgrace on this. We need something without sin."

George Neil looked straight at Mrs. Tussle like he had been listening to everything she had said and taken it all into account. He then turned to the Telegraph Operator who still stood behind his desk. "I want you to start printing up some flyers for the town. Have them say something like …" George Neil snapped his finger in effort to think of something.

"The Return of the Alaska 500." The Telegraph Operator suggested.

"Yes, yes, that's good. We will have it four weeks from tomorrow at sunrise. That should give plenty of time for racers to enter. Now the entry fee will be five hundred dollars. And the grand prize will be one- no two- no, five thousand dollars; that should get racers to enter. Right?"

There was an agreeing nod through the building, everyone except Mrs. Tussle who sat with her arms crossed.

The Telegraph Operator raised his hand up. George Neil pointed at him to speak. "What if there is no sunrise that day?"

"Yes, we will then have it at ten in the morning. Now why aren't you writing this down?"

The Telegraph Operator grabbed for his left chest pocket with his right hand and pulled out a pad of paper and pencil. He began scribbling down notes with speed.

George Neil turned and began to make a pacing motion in front of the map and his audience. "Now we will need to dig up the rule book for the race; I'm sure I have a copy of that in my desk." He pointed towards the desk. "Also we will need to find the Golden Collar for the leader of the winner; I do not know where that has gone. The last time I knew it was around the neck of that husky, Steely, I believe."

Mr. Tussle stood up. "It's in the White-room Bar on the wall near the piano"

Mrs. Tussle turned and hit her husband in the stomach. "That place is full of sin of loose women."

"Would you quit hitting me!" Mr. Tussle sat.

"Now." George Neil turned to the Telegraph Operator in his pacing. "I need you to send the word out. I need it sent out tonight if possible. You make up the message, something catchy, you're good with that. I want it to be seen all over, from Juneau, to Barrow, and all the way over to Dawson. I want this to make it into the papers down south. Now for the gambling." George Neil turned in mid pace. "We will have a board put up in the street right in front of this building. It will have who is in the lead and at what times he last left the checkpoint, updated minute to minute as it is happening"

"Where will we have the banquet, if we have more mushers? We won't have a place big enough to hold them." Mr. Scads asked stepping back towards his chair.

"Well yes, I suppose that woul-"

"-Are we seriously considering this?" Mrs. Tussle stood up. "Gambling and greed? There is no god in this. Our local Reverend Jonathan Frill will frown on this. I will bring him to speak with you about this personally George."

"Yes!" George Neil snapped at Mrs. Tussle. "Bring him, that is a wonderful idea. We can have the banquet in the church."

"No!" Mrs. Tussle shouted. "We will not have the meeting of sin in the church of god."

George paused for her comment, then spoke up as if she hadn't even existed. "Yes, the church would hold at least one hundred and fifty mushers if we put some tables up. We can get the school to donate tables"

Mrs. Tussle stared angrily at George Neil. "Who say's reverend Frill would ever allow you to have this in his church?" She said snobbishly.

"Because." George Neil grinned. "He owes me one in a card game he lost."

"Reverend Frill does not gamble." Mrs. Tussle said heated in the throws of frustration

"Tell that to anyone who frequents the White-room Bar. He's always in there. Most of the time he's upstairs with Lindy, he owes her lots of money." George Neil said matter-of-factly.

"I do not believe it." Mrs. Tussle said turning her nose away.

"So," George Neil set his fat hands on the desk, with the pencil and cigar in his right hand. "We need to get the golden collar, and we need to get the word out."

"Wait." Mrs. Tussle threw up her hand to stop everything. "I want this put to a vote."

"Okay," George stood and raised his right hand. "Everybody for the race idea raise their hand."

Across the room hands flew up. Mrs. Tussle looked around with her arms securely folded in her lap. Everybody but her had their hands raised; even her husband. With a smack across his rib cage Mr. Tussle dropped his hand. When his wife looked away again he raised it meekly.

"Well then it's settled." George grinned. "The race will be four weeks from tomorrow. The Alaska 500 returns. Now we have much planning to do"

A laugh and cheer moved about the cabin so swiftly, and with such force, that the old man who made his way down the street with his empty sled could hear it clearly in the frozen arctic night.