Legend of the Ghost Dog (2 page)

It happened so fast I just didn't have time to react.

I had followed the old path for a good mile or so, taking my time and stopping often to get my bearings. The sky seemed so huge in Alaska, and the landscape felt far more open and remote than any I'd ever encountered hiking back at home. There was a hard edge to everything here — the sun seemed brighter, the air seemed colder, and the sky was much bluer than what I was used to. I was glad I had packed my camera. I wanted to take pictures of everything. But pictures might not fully show how it
felt
here — how vast, and wild. Wonderful, and a little dangerous.

I had reached a place where the open tundra turned to bushes and shrubs, and beyond that gave way to trees. I wasn't tired, but I had promised to take care of dinner, so I decided it was time to turn around and head back home.

Henry did not agree.

The path branched off into a second, much fainter trail, and Henry was very interested in something that lay in that direction. I wasn't sure what kind of wildlife lived around here, but chances were he'd gotten the scent of a rabbit or a deer.

“Come on, buddy,” I told him, pulling on the leash. “You've got a nice supper waiting for you in your bowl back home, and you won't even have to run and catch it. Let's go.”

Beagles are notoriously stubborn creatures, and Henry was their king. He didn't want to go back. He strained on the leash with his whole body while I pulled back in the opposite direction. It was like being in a tug-of-war with a hippopotamus. My usually devoted dog flat out refused to budge, and I made the mistake of losing my patience.

“We're going now!” I snapped, turning my back on him and taking a few steps.

Henry spun around toward me as I yanked on the leash, then suddenly began wiggling and moving backward. In one slick movement, he managed to slip out of his collar. I fell onto the grass as Henry dashed down the path.

“Henry, no!” I cried, jumping to my feet. This was bad. The few times Henry had gotten loose on hikes back home, he'd taken off for hours before returning. That's just the way
beagles are. But this was not home — this was the wilderness. If Henry got lost here, he might never find his way back. He wasn't even wearing his collar and tags now. He might cross paths with a wolf, or a bear. The thought of losing my dog filled me with panic. I tore down the path after him, shouting his name.

I ran until I was so out of breath I couldn't yell for him any longer. It couldn't have been more than forty degrees out. My lungs stung with the cold and my eyes filled with tears.

“Henry!” I called hoarsely. “Come on, boy!”

The answer was silence, except for the whisper of wind moving through the trees.

The worst thing I could do was keep going forward. I wasn't going to help my dog by getting lost myself. The path ahead went over a small hill. I decided to walk to the top and have a look at the other side — one final attempt to find Henry. But after that I had no choice — I would have to turn back and go home, and trust him to use his sensitive nose to find his way back.

When I reached the top of the rise, I almost cried out with relief. Henry was at the bottom of the hill. I walked slowly and quietly toward him, not wanting him to notice me and dash off again.

But Henry wasn't going anywhere. He was crouched low to the ground, staring intently at something. His body was quivering. What had he found?

I walked carefully toward him, my eyes scanning the ground. When I reached him, he turned suddenly and pressed himself into my leg, whimpering. I knelt down and slipped the collar over his head. He trembled and whined softly, his eyes still firmly fixed on a spot nearby — but all I could see were a few bushes and what appeared to be an old piece of wood.

“What are you looking at, you silly boy?” I asked him, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. “You can't go running off like that. Come on, let's get home. I'll get your supper.”

Henry had lost all of his bullish strength. He meekly followed me back up the hill, his head down and his tail firmly between his legs. As we reached the top I turned to glance back one more time. This time I noticed something — movement in the brush, a glimpse of something sleek and dark as a shadow. Though I couldn't make out what it was, I had the distinct feeling I was being watched. A little shudder ran up my spine, and in one fluid movement the thing was gone, like a sea serpent returning to the depths.

My heart pounding, I retraced my steps back to the main path without any trouble. Henry perked up a little as we made our way back home, but I was still troubled by what I'd seen.

Or what had seen me.

What in the world was back there, staring at me so hard I could feel it? My stomach rumbled, and I realized I was starving, on top of being scared silly.

I'd have to leave the mystery to be investigated some other day.

There was an old Jeep parked in our driveway behind Dad's car.

“Oh, great,” I grumbled to Henry. “Looks like our company is here already.”

But Henry loved company. He'd mostly recovered from his earlier scare and was trotting happily toward the driveway. He paused by the Jeep, gave the wheel a few sniffs, then lifted a leg to leave what my dad calls one of his “free samples” on the tire.

“Henry, how rude! Were you raised in a barn?” I asked him sternly.

Henry gazed up at me, his liquid brown eyes wide. A piece of grass was stuck to the end of his nose. He was the picture of adorable innocence, like he'd just tumbled out of a Disney movie. I bent down and planted a kiss on his soft head.

“Well, buddy, at least
you'll
enjoy the party,” I said. “Let's go in and face the people.”

I heard the sound of voices as soon as I walked in the front door. There was also the smell of something cooking. I unclipped the leash and Henry dashed to the back of the house, where the kitchen, dining room, and living room all shared a single open space around a wood-burning stove. I followed Henry into the room.

“And here's Tee now,” I heard my father say.

Dad was sitting on the couch with a big, cheerful-looking man I presumed was Joe the Research Assistant. Jack was standing at one end of the couch, his hands on his hips. He was staring at Joe like the guy was an alien who had just beamed onto the furniture — one that hadn't yet declared himself a friend or a foe.

“Hi, Tee,” the man said, standing and extending a hand. “I'm Joe. Very glad to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said, shaking his hand. Joe looked about ten years younger than my father, with a shock of red-gold hair and a round, ruddy face. His bright blue eyes were open and friendly. He smiled and nodded, then sat back down without asking me any of the usual Irritating and Predictable Adult Questions — how old are you? what are you studying? how do you like school? Henry approached
Joe and began to energetically lick one of his pant legs, leaving a slimy smear on the fabric. Joe grinned and reached down to scratch my dog between the ears.

I decided Joe was okay.

“He brought chili,” Jack declared. “And brownies!”

I glanced over at the kitchen, which was really just a corner of the living room that had a stove and a sink. Sure enough, there was a huge yellow pot simmering on the stovetop. It smelled great.

“So you're off duty tonight, Tee,” my dad said. “Tee's usually our chef when their mom is away on business — without her, Jack and I would be eating nothing but Pop-Tarts all day.”

“Which would be
awesome
!” Jack declared.

“Chili's great,” I told Joe. “I'll heat up bread and grate some cheese.”

“Thanks, Sweet Tee,” my father said. “Joe, if you want to come look now, I can show you some of the material I've already put together, and a list of what I'm still looking for.”

Jack got up to go with them.

“How come they call it
re
-search? Is that like a do-over?” I heard my little brother asking Joe as I walked to the fridge. “Can you find out if there are flying saucers here?
Can you figure out secrets when people don't want you to? If I want to call the president, can you get his phone number?”

Joe paused in the doorway and looked at me.

“Thanks for the assist, Tee,” he said. “I'll just leave you and Quin to get acquainted at your own speed.”

It was only then that I noticed the girl sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, her nose buried in a book. She had the same red-gold hair as Joe, except hers hung in a long, fat braid over one shoulder. She glanced up at the sound of her name, making brief eye contact with me. As her father left the room, she returned her attention to her book without saying a word. Henry trotted over to her, sat down, and stared at her. Quin calmly turned a page and continued reading.

Okay then.

I didn't need to make small talk, either. I got a brick of cheese out of the fridge and began grating it into a bowl. When I had more than even Jack could consume in one sitting, I pulled a loaf of bread from the bread box and stuck it in the oven to warm. I poked around in the cupboard, eventually finding five bowls of varying sizes and designs, and I placed them on the table.

Quin still hadn't moved. Henry was sitting next to her, watching her quietly. Usually my dog couldn't resist hurling himself on new people, attempting to climb them to examine every available inch with his wet, pink tongue. I had never seen him sit so respectfully next to a stranger. I felt an irritating twinge of jealousy.

I picked up his bowl.

“Henry. Ready for some hoosh?” I asked, using the word for meat stew that the old polar explorers had used. We learned about that when my father wrote a book on the South Pole, and after that
hoosh
became the default world for all of Henry's meals.

Henry's ears pricked up and he gave me an interested look. But he didn't come scampering over as he usually did at the mention of food. Quin turned another page and Henry returned his gaze to her. Shifting the book into one hand, Quin reached over and stroked the beagle's back, her eyes still on the page. Henry's tail wagged wildly at the attention. My twinge of jealousy upgraded itself to a full-blown pang.

I poured Henry's kibble loudly into his bowl, then shook it for added emphasis.

“Henry! Hoosh!”

The magic combination of sight, sound, and the scent of doggy kibble finally spurred my dog to his feet. He trotted
over to me, but when I put his bowl on the floor, he didn't attack it in his customary feeding frenzy.

It was almost unheard of for Henry to lose his appetite. I forgot about Quin and her magical effect on my dog, and knelt down to feel Henry's nose.

“What's wrong, buddy? Don't you want to eat? Are you still upset about before?”

“What happened before?”

Ah. She speaks.

“I don't know — nothing really,” I told Quin. “I took him for a hike to do some exploring. He slipped his leash after about a mile and took off down another trail. When I found him, he was acting weird.”

Quin put her book down.

“Weird how?” she asked.

I hardly knew the answer myself, and it seemed strange to suddenly be having a conversation with the formerly silent Quin. But I was intrigued by the effect she had on Henry. Plus, she lived around here. Maybe she'd know what spooked him so thoroughly.

“He was crouched really low to the ground, and he was shaking and whimpering. He seemed to be staring at something, but I couldn't see anything at all. Just a couple of bushes and part of an old fence.”

Quin watched Henry thoughtfully. He was still ignoring the food, though a few telltale beads of drool had gathered in the corner of his mouth.

Quin put her book down and got to her feet. Henry looked up at her and thumped his tail a few times as she walked over. She knelt next to him, running her hands slowly down his back, her eyes half-closed. I knelt down too. He was my dog, after all.

“He's still shaking a little,” she said. “What trail were you on?”

“I don't know,” I said. “We picked it up right by the house and it headed, well, mostly west, I guess.”

“Sounds like you might have been near Dorothy Creek,” Quin said. “Some miners built cabins there back during the gold rush — they thought there was gold in the creek bed. There are more abandoned mines and cabins around here than anyone really knows. There are stories … there are things out there that would spook any dog.”

“Things?” I asked. “Like animals? I thought maybe it was a snake or something.”

“I'm not talking about other animals,” Quin said.

“Well, then … what?”

She didn't answer.

The sound of my father and Joe laughing boomed from the other room. Henry seemed to be listening to Quin, his head cocked to one side and his eyes on her face.

“It isn't FUNNY!” I heard Jack yell. I knew all of Jack's voices, and I could tell he was genuinely upset about something. Moments later, a door slammed hard. Henry made a tiny, puppylike noise in his throat. Quin's hands were still on his back. She squeezed his haunches gently, and he gazed up at her.

It was everything I could do to stop myself from snapping,
Get off my dog!
I couldn't help it. When it came to Henry, I was definitely the jealous type.

My father appeared in the doorway.

“Tee, Jack's gotten himself in a state about something. Can you go talk to him? He's in his room.”

I stood up with a quiet sigh.

“Sure,” I said.

Quin murmured something to Henry, rubbing one palm in a circle over the base of his spine. He got to his feet, took a step toward his bowl, and began eating his food.

What was this girl, some kind of beagle whisperer?

At least Henry was eating now. That should be the only thing that mattered.

Quin was strange, and aloof, and maybe even rude. But Henry liked her. He was finally eating his dinner. I wanted to dislike Quin, but something wouldn't let me.

I had to figure out how to get her to tell me exactly what she meant. About the kind of thing that could scare my dog, but wasn't a person — wasn't any kind of animal at all.