The Good Dog (7 page)

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.

B
y 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 restraining 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!”

M
cKinley 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.

“What do you think you're doing?” Pycraft demanded. “Not trying to escape again, were you? You're not going back to that wolf. He's a goner. Trying to steal you away. Not a chance. Now, come on, I'll feed you inside. That-a-girl. Here we go.”

McKinley heard the man's steps recede, and a
door slam. He sniffed, then edged forward and peeked into the yard. No one was in sight.

Anxiously, McKinley dragged himself forward to the far side of the fence. Once there he shook his body free of leaves and dirt, then scampered away to safety.

After he'd turned down a couple of ways he stopped and tried to make sense of what he had heard Pycraft say. He was certain of the
wolf
word. There was anger in the man's voice, too. When humans were angry they did things. McKinley knew them well enough to know that when they did not like a dog, they sent him away or killed him. If Lupin hasn't gone, he thought, they will try to get rid of her, too. Or kill her.

McKinley wondered if Pycraft himself would do it. No, not alone. Not the type. With other humans, he thought. That would be good. The more people there were, the easier they would be to sniff out and avoid.

But still, he had to learn their plans. How, though?

Pycraft was the important one, but dealing with him was tricky. The man knew McKinley and would make instant trouble. It would be smarter to get another dog to go find the humans. Dogs could pretty much go where they wanted around Steamboat Springs. He'd find someone.

As for Lupin herself, he had promised Duchess he would try to help her. Perhaps she had already headed back to the wilderness up north? If it started snowing, all the better. Her tracks would be covered. But what if she was seriously wounded, and could not go? Snow wouldn't hide the scent of blood. Maybe she needed help just to stay alive.

Finally, there was Duchess. There had to be a way to free her for good.

As McKinley trotted on toward home, he let out a bark of frustration. With so much to do he found himself thinking again about what life would be like without people. The idea was becoming more and more tempting.

As he turned the corner onto Toward the Park Way, he halted. Waiting in the middle of the way, in front of Jack's house, was Redburn.

The big setter was standing tall, ears forward, nose wrinkled, bristling tail up. His lips were curled back, exposing his teeth. Here was the challenge McKinley had been warned to expect.

He stood quietly, body slightly sloped forward, front feet braced as he took in the situation. Feeling a surge of anger, McKinley lifted his head and let out a long howl, proclaiming to all who could hear him that this territory was his. Even as he howled, he once more remembered Lupin's cry and wished his was as strong.

Redburn did not flinch. He lifted his head and returned a howl as loud as McKinley's. He was not only challenging McKinley, he was calling on all the dogs in the pack to witness it.

With a low growl, McKinley began to move slowly toward Redburn.

“You're finished, McKinley,” the setter barked without giving way. “No one wants you as head
dog anymore. Step aside and submit, or we can fight it out right now.”

McKinley took a deep breath. Might as well fight now, he thought. “I know what I want,” he growled, and moved forward again.

“I'm ready,” Redburn returned with a snarl.

Just then McKinley saw Aspen burst through the bushes. As soon as she took in what was happening, her tail drooped. She began to bark rapidly.

“Shut up!” Redburn snapped at her. “This is between McKinley and me. We don't need anyone else.”

Aspen looked toward McKinley. He gave a curt nod. She closed her mouth.

The next moment Boots and Jaws came galloping down the way, barking with excitement. “A fight! A fight!” As soon as they saw McKinley and Redburn, they skidded to a stop.

“Redburn!” McKinley growled. “I'll give you a chance to go now. Either you do or I'll send you away with your tail between your legs.”

“I don't think so,” Redburn returned. “And
when I become head dog you'll go to the bottom of the pack, where you can lick my paws.”

From the other side of the way Tubbs suddenly appeared. “Hey,” he barked, looking from McKinley to Redburn. “What are you guys doing?”

“Keep out of the way, runt-foot,” Redburn growled.

“Oh . . . yeah, sure,” Tubbs whimpered. Hastily, he backed up, tail drooping, eyes lowered.

McKinley leaned forward on the tips of his claws. The hair along his back and his erect tail bristled. Teeth exposed, he looked at Redburn coldly, trying to decide exactly where to attack. He was close enough to feel the setter's breath.

A loud noise erupted behind him—the sound of a truck—followed by the long beep of an auto horn.

“McKinley!” came a shout. It was the female, Sarah. “McKinley, what do you think you're doing?” she cried.

Reluctantly, Redburn broke off the challenge. Growling, “Lucky you,” he backed away from McKinley.

But McKinley lunged forward, only to feel himself held back by Sarah's strong hands on his collar.