The Good Dog

by Avi

  McKinley lifted his head and sniffed the air. A slight breeze rippled in from the north but bore no hint of either Duchess or Lupin. Perhaps they were gone. That would be good. He could easily take care of Redburn.

  He sniffed again. The weather was changing.

  McKinley was still pondering what to do when he caught the sound of human voices. People were coming down Fox Haven Way. Though he could neither smell nor see who it was, every instinct told him it was Sullivan and Redburn. And Pycraft. There was little choice: He had to act as if Duchess was still up in the boulders.

  Repressing a bark, he bounded across the way that ran before the little house, sprinted over the field, and plunged up into the woods. As soon as he was under cover he halted and looked back. Sure enough, Redburn, his nose down, tail wagging, was sniffing his way toward the house. Sullivan was right there with him. Walking a short way behind was Pycraft, his rifle in his hands. It was as long and thin as he was short and fat.

  Seeing the gun, McKinley wrinkled his nose and growled with anger. Were they going to shoot Duchess?

  As the humans talked, McKinley kept his eyes on Redburn. It took only seconds before the setter discovered McKinley’s fresh mark.

  Redburn looked across the field to the woods and began to bark.

  Sullivan turned. “What’s the matter, fella?” McKinley heard him say. “Smell something?”

  Redburn yelped a few times, informing him about McKinley. Sullivan, not understanding, patted the dog on the head, then beckoned Pycraft over. Pycraft pulled something out of a jacket pocket. McKinley recognized it as the leash that had been thrown at him. The man shoved it into Redburn’s face so the setter could smell Duchess’s scent.

  Sullivan cried loudly, “Okay, Redburn, you got us this far. Now find Duchess. Come on, fella! Find her!”

  Redburn, whimpering, swung around to face the woods.

  McKinley could almost see the glint in his eyes but he could not know his thoughts: Redburn had his master’s commands—telling him to go forward after Duchess—ringing in his ears. He also knew that McKinley was in the woods, waiting for him. The question was, what would Redburn do?

  12

  “Come on, Redburn,” Sullivan insisted. “Go find Duchess! Do it for me, boy.”

  As McKinley looked on, Redburn lowered his tail and began to bark loudly. “Keep out of my way, McKinley!”

  “Shut that fool dog up!” Pycraft snapped. “If Duchess is out there, she’ll get scared away.”

  Sullivan, frowning, stepped forward and patted Redburn on the head again. “Easy, boy,” he said. “Just do your thing, big fella. Find Duchess. You’ll get a special treat when you do. Get back on the trail now.”

  Redburn licked the man’s hands. Then he raised his tail and allowed himself a low growl. “McKinley, I know you’re out there.”

  “Maybe my gun is scaring him,” Pycraft said. “But like I warned you, there might be snakes up in those woods. I don’t want to mess with them. Give me the willies.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sullivan assured him. “Seeing the gun lets him know we’re on a hunt. That’s the way I trained him.”

  “He’s sure looking skittish,” Pycraft said.

  McKinley, observing the whole scene, felt disgust.

  “Give me the gun,” Sullivan said. Pycraft handed it over. “Come on, fella,” Sullivan urged, waving the gun in front of the setter’s face. “Hunting time.”

  With a snort, Redburn crossed the way, then pranced nervously into the field.

  “That-a-boy,” Sullivan said.

  McKinley, looking on, realized suddenly that Redburn was following his scent. Well, then, he would lead Redburn in the wrong direction, leaving a trail that would lure the setter and the humans away from the boulders—and away from Duchess.

  Not caring if he made any noise, McKinley plunged through the woods. As he went, he brushed up against trees and bushes so his trail would be strong. He was so sure about his trick, he did not even look back.

  He soon reached a place where the foliage was as thick as a wall. And the fog was dense again, too, blanketing all smells.

  Panting, McKinley paused, looked back, and listened intently. He could see nothing of Redburn. Nor could he hear anything from the humans.

  Puzzled by the silence, McKinley edged back the way he had come. Every few steps he halted, lifting his head to listen and sniff.

  Only when he had retraced half of his own trail did he hear sounds. Voices. But they were moving away.

  It was then that McKinley knew it was he who had been fooled. Redburn and the humans were not following his scent, but the one Duchess had left. And they were heading straight for the boulders.

  Furious with himself, McKinley charged back, crashing through the woods, thinking he would head them off. He was going so fast, he tripped. Tumbling head over heels, he crashed into a stump. Stunned, he stood up on wobbly legs, shook his head clear, and looked around.

  He had come to an area of dense woods. The thick foggy air almost dripped. He listened hard.

  “The dog must be in there,” he heard Sullivan say.

  It was only a whisper, but enough to make McKinley realize he’d come down too far. Heart thumping, he crept back through the thick foliage. Gradually, he began to pick up the scent. The two men, as well as Redburn, were between him and the boulders.

  McKinley decided to hold back, then startle them so Duchess could escape. For the greatest surprise he would come at them from behind.

  He lifted his nose to catch the direction of the wind. Not that the humans could detect his approach, but Redburn would. Being downwind of the setter would help conceal him. Crawling, McKinley stole forward.

  “Bet you anything Duchess is right in among those boulders,” Pycraft said. “Come on, Duchess, you stupid dog. Get on out. You hear me?”

  Drawing closer, McKinley sighted the boulders. Pycraft was standing on one side of the open space, Duchess’s leash in hand. Sullivan was on the other side, holding the long gun. Between the two was Redburn. The setter had his tail stuck straight behind him, one paw lifted, head extended forward. He was pointing right at the boulders.

  “Keep the rifle handy,” Pycraft warned. “Remember what I told you about snakes. If they’re going to be anywhere, it’ll be by those rocks.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sullivan said. “I’m ready.”

  “Come on, Duchess,” Pycraft crooned.

  To McKinley it was a sickening sound.

  “Time to get on home, baby. Got some good food for you, girl.” Pycraft stretched his other hand out. There was a dog biscuit in it.

  McKinley, watching intently, was not sure when to rush forward. Perhaps Duchess would not stir and there would be no need. Surely the greyhound knew that the men were there, and that they could not go in after her.

  Suddenly Redburn cringed, lowered himself, and let out a high-pitched whine. He looked around at Sullivan.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Pycraft cried.

  “I don’t know.”

  McKinley knew immediately. The dog must have detected Lupin’s presence. But was it just the wolf’s scent, or was she actually close?

  Pycraft was edging forward. “I know you’re in there, Duchess sweetie,” he coaxed. “Come on, baby. Come to Papa.”

  Duchess poked her face out of the entry hole. Her big eyes shifted from Pycraft to Redburn, then to Sullivan. When she saw the long gun, she cowered and whimpered.

  Pycraft moved closer. Squatting, he stretched out the hand holding the biscuit. He kept the leash in his other hand, behind his back.

  McKinley was sure Duchess would know about the leash. Why was she still moving forward?

  “Here you go, girl,” Pycraft coaxed, showing the biscuit. “You got to be hungry. I know you are. Here. It’s your favorite kind. Bacon flavored.”

  Duchess, you fool! McKinley worried. What are you doing? Get back into the boulders!

  But Duchess, tail tucked low, continued to sli
nk from her hiding place. Now she was in the open. McKinley heard her whimper, and saw her look anxiously at Sullivan.

  “That-a-girl,” Pycraft kept saying. He dropped the leash to the ground and reached out toward his dog. Duchess, her body low, crept toward him.

  Redburn, meanwhile, was edging away. One paw was partly raised, his tongue was out, his tail down but wagging slightly.

  Sullivan turned to his dog. “What’s the matter, big boy?” he demanded. “You did your job. What’s getting at you?”

  McKinley was now sure that Lupin was nearby and drawing closer. But from what direction?

  Pycraft was just about to grab Duchess when a gray blur exploded from the boulder entryway. The instant the wolf hit the ground, she rushed at Pycraft. The human went sprawling onto his back, arms spread wide.

  Lupin, mouth wide, teeth exposed, straddled him, snarling. “Leave Duchess alone!” she barked.

  An astonished McKinley just stared.

  “Help! Help!” Pycraft screamed. “Get him off of me!”

  Redburn, far from helping, skittered away, tail tucked between his legs.

  Sullivan raised the long gun and aimed it right at Lupin.

  At that moment McKinley reared up from the bushes where he had been hiding, tore into the clearing, and leaped at Sullivan. Even as he struck the man, the gun fired.

  McKinley heard a high-pitched yelp from Lupin as she rolled away from Pycraft’s body.

  Sullivan, reeling from the impact of McKinley’s forepaws, fell to his knees, dropping the gun.

  McKinley whirled. “Duchess!” he barked. “Lupin! Run!”

  The greyhound, terrified, seemed to be standing on her toes. McKinley clamped his teeth onto the gun. At the same time a bleeding Lupin struggled to her feet and bolted behind the boulders.

  Pycraft lunged forward on his knees, grabbing hold of Duchess by a rear leg. Yapping with pain, the greyhound tried to pull free.

  “It’s a wolf!” Pycraft cried, holding fast to Duchess. “Get him, Sullivan! Get the wolf!”

  Sullivan snatched at the gun, but McKinley, snarling and growling, hung on fiercely.

  With a yank, Sullivan pulled the gun from McKinley’s teeth and ran behind the rocks. He was shouting, “Redburn! Get after him, boy. Go!”

  Following his master’s orders, a frightened Redburn began to creep forward.

  McKinley jumped at the setter, knocking him down. Then he thrust his snout close to one of the dog’s silky ears. “Go after that wolf and you’ll never get back home!”

  Redburn, eyes rolled up, did not move.

  “Get the wolf!” Pycraft screamed. “Get him!” He held Duchess tightly with two arms now.

  McKinley heard two shots from the boulders. With a frightened howl, he spun about and plunged down the hill as fast as he could run.

  13

  By the time McKinley let himself into his house he was no longer afraid, just exhausted. And his mouth hurt from clamping onto Pycraft’s gun.

  He sniffed the air. No one was home. Relieved, he returned to the front yard and flopped down. Still panting, he gave himself over to worry.

  He had failed miserably. Duchess had been captured by Pycraft. Lupin had been wounded. And there were those extra, frightening shots from Sullivan. For all he knew, the wolf had been killed. And for what reason? Because Duchess wanted to be free. McKinley sighed. If Lupin was hurt—or killed—was it his fault? Oh, why did humans think they owned dogs?

  The thought was very painful. If Lupin was alive, perhaps he should run off with her to the wilderness. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like. Visions of dark woods, cold nights, and sleeting snow filled his mind.

  He had barely begun to doze when he heard a bark. “McKinley, what happened?”

  He lifted his head. Aspen was standing close by, ears pitched forward, tail wagging slowly.

  McKinley growled.

  “That bad?”

  McKinley rested his head on his front paws. “What do you smell?”

  “Redburn. Some humans, but I don’t know who. Something else. The wolf, perhaps? And . . . and gunpowder. Do I have it right?”

  McKinley closed his eyes. “It was really awful.”

  “McKinley, every dog in town knows about the wolf. A few said they actually met her.”

  McKinley rolled his eyes at Aspen. “What are they saying?”

  “It’s a bit of a jumble. They seem to know Duchess was caught. And that Lupin was involved. That the wolf is trying to recruit dogs to her pack and . . .” She hesitated.

  “Go on.”

  “They’re excited. And worried. Asking about you, too. Wondering what you’re doing. Some of the dogs believe you bungled everything, and . . .”

  “And what?”

  “Redburn beat you out.”

  McKinley growled again. “I suppose he’s the one behind that story. This is what happened.” He gave her the truth as he knew it.

  When he was done, Aspen sighed. “Want some water? My outside bowl is full.”

  McKinley heaved himself up and followed his friend through the bushes to the back of her house. Though the water was a bit stale to his taste, he lapped it up. It soothed his mouth.

  Aspen whimpered, “Now what are you going to do?”

  “I need to see if I can get to Duchess. Hard to know what to do if I’m not even sure what happened.”

  “McKinley, have you considered doing nothing?”

  Without even a look at her, McKinley began to trot off.

  Aspen barked. “McKinley!”

  He looked back.

  “Be careful,” she whined. “The dogs are upset. I bet the humans are, too. That wolf is making everyone nervous.”

  McKinley gave a sharp, single bark but continued on.

  • • •

  He was halfway to Elk Scat Way when he noticed two dogs standing by the wayside. One of them was a large poodle named Boots. The other was a Schnauzer-bulldog mix famous for his large, furry jowls. His owners, much to the dog’s embarrassment, called him Jaws.

  McKinley paused. The dogs were not reacting normally, offering respect to him as head dog. Boots cocked her ears and lifted her tail mockingly. Jaws even began to yip.

  McKinley knew that if it came to a fight he would have no trouble with either of them, one at a time, or both together. All the same, he made a quick decision to trot on by.

  “Hey, McKinley,” Jaws barked, “you still head dog?”

  McKinley refused to look back. But he knew that if they even asked such a question, it meant things were going to be different for a while—or forever.

  When Pycraft’s fence came into view, McKinley halted. He lifted his nose. Duchess’s scent was strong, but she was nowhere in sight. For all McKinley knew she was trapped in the man’s house. He followed the fence line sniffing the dirt. At the front corner he looked up and saw Duchess’s leash dangling from its cable and running right into the doghouse.

  McKinley trotted forward a few more paces, then paused. The doghouse, he realized, stood against the rear fence. If he could get behind that, he might be able to communicate directly with Duchess.

  He ran back the way he had come, turned sharply at the next corner, and moved up Raccoon Way until he was behind the fence. There were some low, thick pine bushes crowding it. Slinking down on his belly, pulling himself ahead with his forepaws, and kicking with his rear legs, he was able to slither forward along the base of the fence.

  It was not, he began thinking, a smart place to be. He could go forward, but a fast turnaround—in case he had to retreat—would be difficult. Still, he had to try reaching Duchess.

  Once behind the doghouse he gave two short, low barks. “Duchess! It’s me, McKinley. Can you hear me?” When there was no response he tried again, louder.

  From inside the doghouse came a muffled “McKinley, that you?”

  “It’s me, all right. You okay?”

  Duchess crept out into the open. Pulling at her restra
ining leash—doubled now—she slipped behind the doghouse. She lay down opposite McKinley, pushing her dry nose through the wires.

  McKinley gave her nose a lick. “You hurt?”

  Duchess whimpered. “Just miserable.”

  “Keep your voice down,” McKinley growled. “And be calm. I’ll find a way to get you out.”

  “McKinley,” Duchess moaned, “they shot Lupin.”

  “How bad is she?”

  I’m not sure.

  “Did she start back north?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is . . . is she going to live?”

  “I don’t know that, either.”

  “Duchess, I tried to help.”

  “I know you did,” the greyhound whimpered. “See, I was supposed to lure Pycraft away so Lupin could run off and hide. It was her idea. But. . . but when I saw the long gun in that man’s hand I got scared and messed things up. McKinley, what’s going to happen to me? Or to Lupin? And you, too, McKinley. All the way home, Redburn was bragging that he was going to be head dog.”

  McKinley growled.

  “Says he has the right to challenge you now. Does he?”

  McKinley lifted his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just trying to find a way to get you free.”

  “McKinley . . .”

  “What?”

  “Promise me something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Find Lupin. I never thought it would be possible, but she needs help.”

  “Will she accept it from me?”

  “I . . . don’t know. But promise you’ll try to find her.”

  “The weather’s changing. Could be snow.”

  “Please try.”

  “Okay. Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

  Duchess sighed. “Thank you. It’s just that I was so . . .” She started up, scrambled to her feet. “McKinley, Pycraft just came out of his house!”

  14

  McKinley could not see Pycraft, but he could smell him. He barely suppressed a growl.

  “You dumb dog,” the fat man shouted at Duchess. “Come on out from behind there.”

  McKinley heard the greyhound whimper.