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«Hey you guys, you remember Mr. Baker?» Peter called, as he looked through their mail. «He sent us a letter!» «Oh yeah, that guy who wanted us to star in his play on Manhattan, whose backer backed out? Cool! What does he say?» exclaimed Micky, vaulting over and hanging upside down from the bannister. «He... he tells us that he made some money off that play we were going to be in, that he wouldn't have gotten if we hadn't resigned. And he remembers us as such good sports that he wants to share it with us! Look, the money's right here in the envelope!» «We can't accept that,» Mike said. «I don't think we have much choice, fellows,» Davy piped up. «The money's here and there's no return address.»
That night Mike laid awake thinking. The job as the leader of the group had fallen to him ever since they met and decided to form a band. And now that they suddenly had some extra cash, it should of course be used for the best for the band. But how excactly should they spend it? They had had a good streak lately, and had gotten more gigs than they used to. People seemed to like them. Mike wondered if people elsewhere would react to them as favorably as the Californian crowd were doing nowadays. With those thoughts in his head, he drifted off to sleep.
Next morning they sat down for a meeting, Mr. Schneider also in attendance, and discussed how to spend the money. Mike banged the table with his gavel. «So, what should we buy with the money from Mr. Baker? Any ideas?» he asked. «I think we should go someplace new, somewhere we haven't been before» Davy spoke up. «I mean, I like that we've been having more success lately, but travelling would be good for us anyway. And that way we can see if people elsewhere like our music.» Mike looked at him, a bit stunned to hear his idea put into words by one of the other guys. But then again, they were usually on the same page, especially Davy and him. «I agree with you,» he said. «So if you, Micky and Peter, don't have any objections, we'll use the money for travelling. But where should we go?»
Each Monkee got lost in fantasies for a couple of minutes. Davy dreamt about bikini-clad girls on the beach, Micky about taming wild animals in the jungle, Peter about fluffy puppies and Mike about fame and fortune. As they shook their dreams off, Mike said: «I think we should start by going down to the travelling agency and see just where this money can get us.» They all nodded and muttered words of agreement, and Micky yelled «To the Monkeemobile!»
At the same time a big, burly man with a beard, sunglasses and a hat was looking for the travelling agency downtown. He had an old-looking, handwritten map in his pocket, and was constantly looking over his shoulder as if he was afraid of being followed.
Having parked their car, The Monkees entered the travelling agency and checked the prices. «Oh, look guys! Special offer today, one way tickets to that new airport Beaver Creek in Yukon, Canada!» said Micky. «Yeah, we can just about afford four tickets at that price. We'll take it.» Davy decided. Seeing Mike's fleeting look of worry, he nudged the guitarist in the side. «Don't worry, man. We'll play gigs there and earn money for the return ticket.»
As The Monkees pocketed their tickets and were on their way out, the man with the sunglasses came barreling in, almost knocking Peter over in his haste. «Give me a ticket to Beaver Creek in Canada» he said in a heavy, Russian accent. «I'm sorry, sir, those young men over there got our last tickets on sale, but there are full price tickets still left.» said the woman behind the counter. The big man hissed and fretted, but finally bought a ticket, complaining that he now couldn't afford to bring any extra luggage. «You know, you could apologize, mister! You pushed our friend over here!» Davy said. «Don't worry about it, Davy, I'm sure he didn't mean to. And I'm really fine.» Peter said.
Mike smiled to himself. Davy was a little hotheaded, but he was always ready to stand up on behalf on his friends. Taking a closer look at the pushy man, Mike was sure he had seen him before. «Do we know you, mister?» he asked, frowning. The man pulled his hat further down over his forehead. «No, no, never seen your group before. I must go, I have somewhere to be. Somewhere important. Yes.»
The Monkees went home to pack. Due to their tickets being on discount and including extra luggage, they could afford to bring all their musical equipment. «Hey guys,» Mike said. «If that man had never seen us before, how come he knew we were a group?»
.......
At the airport The Monkees were unaware that they were being watched by that same man, now hidden behind a large newspaper. Had they seen him without the disguise, they would have recognized him as Boris, the Russian spy they had encountered a few months ago. He had been let off with a warning as the authorities understood that it was Madame, his partner in crime, who had planned it all. He now was in possession of a map that said where to dig gold in Yukon, Canada, and was loaded down with showels and pickaxes. He spotted the band's musical equipment, unguarded. Since he couldn't afford the extra luggage payment, he snuck over there and hid his digging equipment among the boy's instruments. «I'll dig lots of gold for you, Madame,» he whispered shyly as he retreated behind a large potted plant so the boys wouldn't see him. He didn't want them calling attention to him, even though he was technically a law abiding citizen for the moment. A few minutes later, airport staff loaded it all onto a trolley and brought it to the airplane.
On the airplane, Peter poked Micky in the side. «Hey, Micky, why is that man over there reading his newspaper upside down?» he asked. Micky looked over. «Don't worry about it, Big Peter, probably just some crazy psychopath, who wants world domination or something.» «Oh!» Peter said, smiling. «That's all right then.»
As the boys left the airport on arrival, they were met by a flurry of hard snow and freezing temperatures. «Jeepers, it's cold,» Micky said, through chattering teeth. «Where are we going to stay? This is way more deserted than I thought. Are there any motels at all?»
Boris had put on a new disguise as he peeked around the corner. He wanted The Monkees out of the way so he could go through their instruments and retrieve his equipment. On the street in front of him, he saw a dog sled with the dogs still attached, apparently waiting for their owner to come back from a quick errand, and he had an idea.
Micky was the first to spot the dogs. «Aaaw, what cute dogs,» he exclaimed. «Look at them, you guys!» «Why did the dog cross the road?» Peter asked Davy, surprising him a little. «To get to the barking lot! Ahahahaaaa.» «Oh, brother!» Davy murmured rubbing his forehead. «What? Did you think that pun was... pawful?» Micky asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Mike and Davy shared a long suffering glance in silence.
Micky simply couldn't resist doing his werewolf impression for the dogs. «I have to do it, you guys! They're like my kin or something! AROOOOOOOO! »The husky in front came forward to the end of her chain, head cocked quizzically. Mike and Davy tensed, prepared to pull Micky back, even if the dogs were tied to the sled. Then she raised her muzzle and howled back at Micky, whose mouth dropped open in awe.
«Gee, these dogs are great,» Micky blurted out. «Wouldn't it be lots of fun to go on a dog sled ride?» «Yeah, but we can't afford it, it probably costs lots of money.» Mike said, patting Micky's shoulder. «Leave them alone now, Mick.» At that cue Boris jumped out from his hiding place. «Hello, there! I'm the owner of these dogs. If you will go right this minute, you can go on a ride for free,» he said. «You just leave your luggage right here with me, that's good boys! Actually I think there are only supposed to be three people allowed per sled, but since you are very short» (he got an angry look from Davy) «I think the dogs can take you all. Get on!»
Whooping eagerly, the boys crowded on to the sled as the man untied the dogs from the post they were tied to. The leader dog looked back at them, seeming to huff in annoyance that they weren't moving. With an eager bark she jumped and pulled at the tug line. The sled moved marginally.
Loosening the brake with a jerk, the stranger bellowed «Mush!» and they were off, jostling each other. «Wait, sir, aren't you coming with? Or can't you at least teach us how to steer!» Micky yelled as the sled sped out into the wilderness. «Never mind steering, how about stopping!» Mike hollered. «Can we jump off?» asked Davy, sending Mike a worried glance. «No, there are lots of sharp, icy patches around the track here, better not risk it.» Mike answered, clinging on for dear life.
«I'm cold!» Peter said. «Wonder when we'll get to the barking lot!»
.......
As the dogs slowed to a trot and finally stopped, the boys climbed out of the sled. «Where are we?» Micky asked, turning in a circle. Feeling their sled was light, the dogs took off again, with Davy hightailing it after them. As fast a runner as he was, he was no match for the dogs in the progressively deep snow.
«How on earth do we get them back?» Mike shouted. At a loss for what to do, Micky howled like a werewolf again to see if the dogs would turn back, and to his surprise they did. Only he inadvertently set off an avalanche! There was no time to call out a warning to Davy, and they heard him scream as the masses of snow almost buried him. Thankfully the avalanche was only a small one, so they never lost sight of him, but it was more than scary enough. The Englishman was almost frozen when they finally managed to dig him out.
«Now, this is the moment when the cavalry usually rides up,» Micky said, holding onto Davy as if to assure himself he was all right. For a moment Mike almost looked around, then he shook his head. Micky was always cracking jokes when he was scared.
The dogs were back anyway, whether it was because of Mickys howl, or because they were concerned about these new people being all alone in the wilderness, Mike didn't know. «Good dogs,» Peter said, once he had made sure Davy was basically all right. «I'll make a fire, so we can get warm. Warmer at least.» It was growing darker by the minute, so a fire was a good idea for more than warmth, Mike thought.
As Peter gathered wood and found a book of matches in the sled, Mike rubbed Davy's cold hands vigourously, as Micky pounded the shorter man's back like he was one of his drums. The color slowly returned to Davy's face and he started talking in stuttering little whispers. Mike only caught a few words, amidst the teeth chattering but managed to piece together «ow» and «cold» and «oh my god» and finally «you're gonna chip my nails, what the *cuckoo*, Mike!»
Micky let out a snort at that. «Seems like he'll be okay. You don't wanna mess with his nails, buddy.» Mike ignored him and gave Davy a piercing glance. «Sure you're okay, Tiny?» he said. «Yeah, I'm just cold and shaken up, not really hurt. Don't worry!» Davy said, patting Mike's shoulder. «Well, I can feel you still shaking,» Micky blurted out. «Christ, I was so scared!» «I know man, he scared us all,» Mike said gruffly. «I'm right here fellas, quit talking over my head,» Davy protested. «Not that you make it easy with the short jokes or anything», the drummer quipped. Mike just shook his head. He had been just as terrified as the others when he had seen the avalanche swallow his friend up, but he couldn't let the others dwell on those gruesome thoughts of how badly it could have gone.
«We need some shelter. Can we build a lean-to or something?» Mike asked noone in particular. Somewhat to his surprise, Peter answered straight away. «I know how to build an igloo. I don't have a knife, though, but maybe we can carve out blocks of hard-packed snow with those drumsticks Micky still has in his back pocket.» «That would take way too long, both we and the dogs will starve and freeze, said Mike sceptically «No, no, I was a boy scout, you know, Michael» Peter said. «It'll take a couple of hours, or not much more.»
«Come on, Micky, cool it! Davy'll be fine,» Mike reassured the drummer, seeing that Micky was still worked up. «So, Big Peter, if you know how to build an igloo, better do it, so we'll have shelter tonight.»
Peter finished the igloo sawed out with Micky's drumsticks and they used the reindeer pelts from the sled to bed down. «There are some rations for the dogs on the sled, but the rest of us'll have to go to sleep hungry tonight» Davy said softly in Mike's ear. «Don't let the other guys worry about it, we'll think of something to eat tomorrow.» .
«Somebody will come looking for us in the morning, I guess. Those dogs must be valuable,» Mike said. «Maybe somebody should stand guard. There could be polar bears or something!» Micky suggested. «Or we could try send a message out, somehow?» «Yeah we could send a message with the meese,» Peter said. «Meese!? What... what is this meese!» said Mike. «Well there they are, on the other side of the river. A flock of meese. If more than one goose is called geese, I don't know why it should be different for the meese!» «Oh Peter!» the other three groaned in unison.
«You know, there was something totally familiar about that guy earlier. Something in what he said, but I just can't put my finger on it.» Davy said almost to himself as they settled down to sleep
Mike laid closest to the entrance, keeping an eye on the fire. The igloo wasn't freezing cold, but he still felt the need to look after his bandmates. As he laid there, he thought about his relationship with them all. He and Davy were both Capricorns, and probably the most level headed persons in the group. Micky was the most reckless of them all, Mike knew. He wasn't exactly careless, which meant he would never do anything to endanger his friends, but when it came to his own well being and safety, Mike wasn't so sure. Above all, he was a happy goofball. Peter, on the other hand, was all naive and gullible, the sweetest guy to ever exist, but with a deep knowledge about nature Mike wasn't sure if came from his time in the Boy Scouts, or from some deep source in Peter's core.
And then there was Davy, the smallest of them all, but with a sense of rightness and a courage that was many times his size. Being short, he was used to having to prove himself with his fists, and Mike knew his grandfather had given him some training as a boxer back in England. Mike had only seen Davy in a fist fight once, but the much bigger guy who had punched Peter in the face, wrongly accusing him of staring at his girlfriend, was laid out cold in five seconds flat. Davy would always have his back, no matter what, and the same was true for Mike. Their friendship was a two-way street.
The guitarist finally dozed off, while thinking about streets with blooming roses and white picket fences, despite his efforts to stay awake and keep watch. The next morning, the boys were awakened by loud cries of «Hello!» and a cacaphony of barks and howls. The dog owner, a stout man in his fourties, had borrowed another sled to look for them, and he was furious. «Dog thieves! Steal my dogs, would you?» Then he turned to his canine friends and suddenly got a lot happier when he saw that they were all right.
«Now look, mister. There's no reason to get up-tight. We were tricked by somebody that said he owned them and that we could take them for a ride! We never meant to steal your dogs!» Mike shouted to be heard over the general commotion. The man looked the boys over, and seemed to decide they were telling the truth. «Is that so? What are your names, boys?» «We're a group, sir. We're "The Monkees",» Davy said, shaking the man's hand. The dog owner smiled in a friendly way. «I'm William Coats, call me Will if you like. I own these dogs and the only hotel in Beaver Creek. I'll take you back to town. Oh, and good job with that igloo, boys. In Canada, we only have two seasons, winter and July, so it's good to see you had the skills to make a shelter.»
«The dogs ran away from us before, but I howled at them like this and they returned!», Micky said, treating the world to an example of his werewolf skills again. «Whoah» he then exclaimed as he was bowled over by the yapping dogs. «What do you call a large dog that meditates? Aware wolf!» Peter murmured in Davy's ear, causing the shorter man to give him an exasperated glare.
«My dogs are very friendly,» Will told them. «The only thing they enjoy more than pulling the sled is getting petted. Now get up, so they don't slobber all over you, and lets get back to town. I need to get some sleep, I was kept awake by these strange scratching noises in the basement all night.»
Letting Micky ride on the sled with him, he took the boys back to town. Having thanked the older man profusely, the boys ran over to where their instruments were left last night. But they weren't there! «They're gone!» the boys exclaimed in synchronised stereo.
«Now what do we do? We can't afford to buy return tickets unless we play a gig for money, and we can't play without instruments!» Micky shouted in despair. Davy patted him on the back and looked over at Mike. The guitarist looked back towards where the man was putting his dogs into the kennel. «Maybe we could help Will find out what those noises were that kept him awake last night? I'm not saying he should pay us for that of course, but he might let us stay at the hotel for free if we help out, so we can use all our money towards return tickets.» Hurrying after Will down the street, the boys soon told him that they basically were stranded in a strange place with very little money, and asked if they could work for him.
The dog owners' eyes twinkled. «Well, I could really use four young men to work as night watchmen in my hotel. Maybe you can find out what those noises I heard from the basement last night were too? I can't pay you a lot, but you'll get room and board, so you'll have a place to stay. My apartment is on the ground floor, and only one of the hotel's guest rooms are occupied, so we won't crowd each other.»
At Will's hotel The Monkees took a look in the basement first thing. It was a rough basement with a dirt floor. Somebody had been digging in the floor, it was plain to see. «Ooh, I'm scared,» Peter cried. «What if there's a gold digger's ghost who has been here?» «Come on, cheer up, Big Peter. There are no such thing as ghosts, shotgun.» Mike said. «Tell you what, we'll set up a trap for whoever it is that was digging down here.»
After hoisting a net up to the roof, the guys hid in different corners of the basement and waited for dark. Aside from an occasional whimper from Peter's corner, and a whispered «Shh, there are no ghosts» from one of the other corners, there was total quiet. Until the cellar stair started creaking ominously. A big man snuck down the stairs, and as he walked towards the center of the room, a net suddenly dropped on his head. The man lost his flashlight, and the room was immediately plunged back into darkness.
The Monkees all jumped out of their corners, and tried to subdue the intruder, but he put up such a fight, even with three of the boys clinging to him, Davy actually dangling from the stranger's shoulders, that it was just no good. Finally Mike exclaimed «I think I know who we're dealing with here. Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy!» Feeling his way to the man's ear he grabbed and twisted it at the same time Will came running down the stairs in his pajamas, hitting the light switch in passing. «Boris!!!» all four Monkees exclaimed!
And indeed it was Boris. After the shock of getting caught in the act wore off, he freely told his five listeners, for Will was very much interested, about getting let off with a warning, how he missed Madame, and about the nice gentleman he met in an alley, who had sold him the map. «Sorry, man, that there map is obviously fake.» Mike said gently. He would never forget the time Peter was tricked the same way with a treasure map. «He assured me it was real,» Boris told them. «I called the facility where Madame is, and told her I had a map over gold mines in Yukon. Madame told me to go and dig up gold, then to come and get her when I was rich, so we could go to Argentina together. But now I will never meet Madame again, and I'll never get rich!» Boris broke down and cried.
Will, the dog sled owner, cleared his throat and said. «There really is no harm done here. Just tell the boys where you hid their instruments and you're free to go. I won't call the police. And if you want to earn some money, you should get a job. I could use someone to help with the dogs and do odd jobs around here.»
«That doesn't make any sense at all! He basically stole your dogs!» Micky yelled. «Yeah, well, we have a saying here in Canada: Bois tordu fait feu droit. The American equivalent would be something like crooked logs make straight fires.» Will said. «I think Boris here deserves a shot at an honest life, and I think he would be much happier with that kind of life than he is now. I'll tell you what, Boris, you write a letter to Madame and tell her to come visit you here in Canada when she gets out of prison. If she doesn't like dogs, I'm sure she'll find something else to do.» Will continued. «Canada is nice!» Boris said nodding solemnly.
«You should go get your instruments, boys, and I'll get my pals to notify our little town that there's a group here from America to play for them. Tomorrow night, say?» Will said.
The Monkees went up to Boris' room to get their instruments, happy that things seemed to work out, and the next night they gave a concert to a lively crowd. Boris joined them on stage for the encore, introduced as Bear from the former duo known as Honey and the Bear, and got a standing ovation.
«Well, we didn't make much money, but we did manage to play at a new location at least, and we have enough cash to pay for tickets home.» Mike said. «I'm homesick.» Peter voiced. «Mr. Schneider is probably having parties without us, and Mr. Babbit might try to let the apartment to somebody else if we stay away much longer.» Micky interjected. «It's been a gas, but let's go home now!» Davy summed it up.
«Not bad for four long haired weirdos, huh, Canada?» Micky asked nobody in particular as they got on the airplane. «You know,» he continued, «I'm going to miss those dogs, it really is too bad Mr. Babbit doesn't allow animals in our apartment. Hey Davy, what do you call a frozen dog?» Davy glanced at him sceptically. «A pupsicle!!!»
Davy rolled his eyes and groaned as the drummer laughed heartily. Peter playfully punched his arm and exclaimed «Your life sure is ruff!», earning another exasperated eye roll, and joined in the laughter. Mike patted the Englishman on the back and chuckled. «There's just no stopping them, is there?» «No,» admitted Davy, letting the older man steer him towards their seats. «But we wouldn't have it any other way, would we?»
«Dead right, we wouldn't,» Mike smiled, ruffling Peter and Micky's hair as he sat down.