The White Plague Part 01

Presenting the transcription feature, Superman! It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman! Yes, it's Superman! Strange visitor from the planet Krypton, who came to earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men.

Superman, who can leap tall buildings at a single bound, race a feeding bullet to its target, then steal in his bare hands, and who disguise this Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper, bikes are never ending battle for truth and justice.

And now to our story. It begins far from the familiar horns of civilization, far from the street cars and telephones and electric lights of this modern age. It begins in the deep snowbound forest of the frozen north, where strong men battle the unhealing elements, so that we may have wood for our ships in our houses,

wood for our tables and our toys. The ring of exploits is sharp and clear, and the lusty cry of timber heralds the crashing to earth of another forest giant. Day in and day out, fair weather and foul, men pour out of logging camps to pit their strength against the mammoth freeze that tower above them, afraid of nothing that lives and breathes,

afraid of nothing but the mysterious legend of the Northwood, the legend of the white plague. Nightfall has come to the barford logging camp on the Big Beaver, the cold whipping tail of a northeast blizzard lashes at the cluster of cabins, but inside the camp office the two two men who are seated at the broad fireplace, find warmth and comfort in the cracking flames.

The older of the two raises his iron gray head. Speak up, Kirsten. What's on your mind? Must be something mighty important to get you out in this kind of weather. It is very important when I have come to say, well, and speak up, you're harmon.