Free Legend of the Ghost Dog by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel Page B

that made me want to laugh too.
    â€œWhen they start lettin’ me pick my grandkids, I expect Quin’ll be the first on my list,” he said to Jack.
    â€œI better be the only one on your list,” Quin said, getting up. She gave Clay a kiss on the cheek, and beamed when he ruffled her hair.
    â€œOkay, troops, let’s dig in,” Joe said.
    A round wooden table near the kitchen had been set for six. Within moments we were all seated and Joe was ladling hot fish stew into each of our bowls as Quin passed around a basket heaped with fat slices of bread.
    â€œWell, Clay, Joe says you know a great deal about dog teams and mushers — I’d really love it if you’d let me interview you,” my father said, covering a piece of bread with what looked like about an inch of butter.
    I looked from Clay to Quin, then back to Clay.
    â€œI’m glad to, though I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I know a little. But the one person that knows more about dogs, and dogs with people, that’s Dorothy Shaktoolik. But I guess she don’t talk to nobody, not these days anyway.”
    â€œClay knows dogs as well as anyone in Alaska. He finished the Iditarod seven times,” Quin said, with obvious pride. “And he placed in the top three twice.”
    â€œWhoa,” Jack said, dropping his spoon with a clatter as his eyes grew huge. “You were in the Iditarod? The huge dog-racing thing?”
    Clay gave Jack a shy smile.
    â€œWell, I guess I was, Jack,” he said. “A long time ago. And that’s a good way to describe it. It sure was a huge dog-racing thing.”
    â€œWhen were you in it? How fast do the dogs go? Do wolves eat any of the mushers? How come they call it the Iditarod?”
    Clay laughed his growly laugh.
    â€œMight as well start with the last question first. Iditarod’s the name of an old mining town. The dog trail went through it, so they started calling it the Iditarod trail. Name stuck.”
    â€œBut how come the mushers race it?” Jack pressed.
    â€œBecause of Balto,” Quin said. Jack gave her a blank look. “What? Everybody knows who Balto is.”
    â€œNo, they don’t,” Jack argued. Which meant that he didn’t.
    â€œBalto was a sled dog,” Dad said. “He was … see, there was a terrible epidemic of diphtheria in Nome. Kind of like the flu, but much, much worse. This was around, what, 1924?”
    â€œ1925,” Joe said.
    â€œRight,” Dad agreed. “And there were no roads into Nome in those days. In the winter, you couldn’t get there by boat because of the ice. Most planes couldn’t fly in those conditions back then. There was a train that went up to Nenana, but that was more than six hundred miles away. Whole families were falling sick — people were dying — and there was no way to get medicine to them. The whole town was frozen in.”
    â€œThen somebody came up with the idea of using the dog teams that did the mail runs,” Clay said. “Back in those days a sled and a good dog team was the only reliable way to get around. That’s how they delivered the mail. So each town along the line got in touch with the others on the telegraph machine, and they arranged for mushers and dogs to be waiting at every town along the mail route. The first team picked up crates of medicine in Nenana, and it went from one team to the next.”
    â€œLike a relay race?” Jack asked.
    Clay pointed at Jack like he’d said something brilliant. “That’s exactly what it was. Those mushers and teams worked day and night to get that medicine through, and they did it. Got it into Nome just six days after loading it up in Nenana. Saved a lot of lives. And the Iditarod follows most of the trail those teams took, to keep their memory alive.”
    â€œBut what about Balto? What did he do?” Jack asked.
    â€œHis team got lost in a blizzard,”