Tango: The Tale of an Island Dog (15 page)

With closed eyes, Augusta bowed her head, greatly relieved that she hadn’t given into temptation and taken the money.

“Well, Pup, it seems I just bought myself a dog.”

Finally, once and for all, Augusta acknowledged how much joy the little dog had brought to her once-lonely life.

“And a thousand-dollar dog deserves a fancier name than Pup.”

Pup shifted his ears forward.

“Oh, and in case you’re wondering, it’s not going to be Caesar.” She shook her head, chuckling. “Caesar and Augusta—can you imagine? What’s wrong with that Jack Tucker? We’d be the laughing stock of the whole village.”

Lying in the hospital, she’d had plenty of time to think. She’d also had time to reread Homer’s
Odyssey.
Jack was right—
her
dog deserved a name. “Pup” wasn’t nearly heroic enough—and didn’t the little dog all but save her life?

Pup continued to stare at her intently. Augusta pictured the great adventurer, Ulysses, walking into the courtyard palace, dressed as a beggar, and Argus, his loyal dog, almost dead with age, recognizing his long-gone master with a glad tail, unable to rise.

“No, I’m not going to give you your new name quite yet. But I will.”

She fluffed Pup’s ears. “When it’s time.”

Under the majestic oak tree in Miss Gustie’s backyard, Beau nibbled on green acorns, the first to have fallen from the tree. The night breeze had a distinct chill, an early warning that summer was coming to an end.

As he waited for Tango, Beau recalled Tawny’s scent, her sweetness, the soft white fur on the underside of her chin. With each passing day, Beau was more eager to join her.

Nagging concerns about his fellow animals in the village, particularly his friend Tango, interrupted Beau’s reverie. Tango hadn’t told Beau right away about his encounter with Nigel Stump. When Beau asked why, Tango reminded Beau that he’d been busy since Augusta came home from the hospital. McKenna was counting on him to keep watch.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Beau had cautioned. “Surely you are not so naive as to think that the cats will simply turn the charm over to you.”

“They want something in exchange. What do you think I should give them?”

“Tango, whatever you offer will not be enough. Don’t be deceived. Others have been—with grave consequences.”

Recently, Beau and some of the animals had successfully banded together to warn others not to accept Nigel Stump’s “invitation” to a “party” at the Pitiful Place. Beau’s allies reported that Old Ada’s deserted house had been silent for three straight nights. Now their leader, Axel, was pressuring not only Nigel, but also the other cats, to “come up with some action.”

Beau shook his head. Where was Tango? Surely Miss Gustie was asleep by now. If the little dog did not appear soon, Beau would head for the freshwater creek to find some crayfish for his supper.

In the distance, waves rumbled as they broke on shore, but above the sound of the sea, a voice called in the night.

“Hey, Rat-Boy!”

Beau’s body tensed.

“Hey, Rat-Boy! Where are you?”

Confident that he smelled a cat from the Pitiful Place, Beau asked, “Who wants to know?”

“It’s me, Nigel Stump.”

With his distinctive three-legged gait, Nigel hobbled out of the shadows, across Miss Gustie’s compost pile.

Suddenly, swoosh! From atop the picket fence, another cat pounced onto the ground, almost landing on Beau’s tail. Beau spun around and snapped at the cat’s ears.

“Take it easy, old boy,” Nigel cautioned. “It’s only Briar.”

“The dog—whose name is Tango, by the way—is not here.”

“Too bad. The mutt seemed pretty anxious to get his silver heart back. We’ve been waiting to hear from him.”

“So you do have the charm,” Beau said.

Nigel chuckled crassly. “Well, about the charm—let’s just say that there’s been a slight change in plans.”

When the copper-eyed Briar snickered, Beau snarled back. The twilight blue cat hunched her back and hissed.

“Let’s not mince words,” said Nigel. “I have a message for the Rat-Boy. See that he gets it.”

“His name is Tango.”

“Like I was saying, if Rat-Boy wants his silver heart, he’s going to have to take it away from Malachi. In a fair fight.”

“What does a big white rat want with a piece of silver?” Beau challenged. “It makes no sense.”

“You see, sweetie,” Briar explained, “Malachi’s been locked up as punishment for vandalizing our hangout, but we proposed a deal. If he takes down Rat-Boy in three rounds, Malachi gets his freedom. If not, Rat-Boy gets the charm, and that nasty, nasty rat gets what he deserves.”

Beau spat in disgust.

“We’re spreading the word,” Briar said. “Anybody who’s anybody is going to be there.”

“What makes you think Tango will agree to such a fight?” Beau asked.

Beau recalled Tango’s fright the night they encountered Malachi for the first time. Tango was no match for a rat who was bent on revenge.

After the hair-raising incident at the lighthouse, Beau had done some checking. He discovered that after Old Ada died, Malachi was the only rat to have survived the purge. The glass and steel-barred cages inside the Pitiful Place were gruesome reminders of the way Malachi and his fellow rodents had suffered. Malachi hated the house. He also hated its current inhabitants.

No, Tango would be mercilessly slaughtered.

“If Rat-Boy wants his heart back, he has no choice.” Briar smirked.

“Where, exactly, is this supposedly fair fight going to take place?”

“The Pitiful Place,” Nigel said. “Come early if you want a ringside seat. In fact, we’ll save you one. You seem to be the only friend the dog has.” Nigel paused. “Oh, but you’d better warn Rat-Boy that Malachi’s been sharpening his teeth on nails. Tell him: Beware the teeth. Beware the tail.”

Where was Malachi imprisoned? Beau wondered.

“I’m so excited,” Briar mewed. “A little dog fighting a big rat. Should be ver-r-ry interesting.”

“I beg to differ,” Beau said. “The fight will not be interesting. Tango is a city dog, domesticated and naive—completely unfamiliar with the ways of the wild. Your so-called entertainment will be over in the blink of an eye.”

Nigel and Briar exchanged worried glances.

“I offer myself as a more equal opponent.”

Briar snickered. “You? You, old fox, are one step away from the grave.”

“Not so fast,” Nigel cautioned Briar.

“I may be old, but size and cunning are on my side,” said Beau.

“The fox could be right,” Nigel said. “Maybe we should check with Axel.”

Suddenly, with a swish of branches and a rustling of leaves, a small, compact animal sprung out of the bushes. Beau’s heart jumped. Briar gasped.

Tango! Teeth bared and fur standing on end!

“I can fight my own battles!” the little dog declared.

“Well, well, well,” Nigel said. “Speak of the devil....”

“Tango, no, listen to me,” Beau implored.

Tango ignored Beau and fixed his eyes on Briar. “So, what’s the deal?”

“Tango, there is no deal,” Beau said.

“If I take down Malachi in three rounds, the charm is mine?”

Tango had overheard the entire exchange! In the old days no animal could have ever come so close without Beau’s knowledge.

“It’s all yours, Ratty-Boy,” Briar answered.

“Tango, just because you killed a small brown wharf rat, do not assume—”

Nigel rudely interrupted. “There’s nothing left to talk about. Malachi versus Rat-Boy. Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night,” agreed Tango.

Beau had lost his taste for acorns.

While Tango watched in silence, Beau paced back and forth. Did the little dog have any idea what his foolhardy act was going to cost him? Tango was no
match for a gigantic, crazed, starved rat. Even if Tango won, would the cats keep their promise? In his heart, Beau knew the answer. Beau also knew that the foolish little dog wouldn’t listen.

Beau’s pacing became more labored. Feeling old and defeated, Beau turned toward Enchanted Candles.

Barely audible, Tango asked in a small voice, “You’re not mad at me, Beau, are you?”

Mad? No, Beau was not mad; Beau was tired. Tired of creatures that could not live in peace. Tired of waiting, waiting, waiting for the Great Sky Spirit to call him Home.

“No, I am not mad. It’s just …” Beau hung his head. “Forgive me, Tango, but to night I cannot endure your hope; I can only endure my own despair.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Beau did not answer. Wearily, he retraced his footsteps back to his foxhole beneath McKenna’s shed, where he would cradle himself in the comforting smell of the sweet red clay.

“What do you mean, Beau?” Tango called into the night. “What do you mean?”

Throughout the next day, villagers would remember, the weather on the south shore of Prince Edward Island had been temperamental. At sunrise, thick mist hovered over the bay. The sea was as still as glass. When the mist cleared, the sun was hot, intermittently covered by bloated clouds. Late in the afternoon, strong winds from the southwest churned the frothy waves.

Tango, too, had been temperamental. Tonight’s fight with Malachi weighed heavily on his mind. Beau was right: Malachi was no small wharf rat, like the kind he’d killed in Augusta’s cellar. And, in truth, ending the brown rat’s life hadn’t felt nearly as heroic as all the humans made it out to be.

But it was too late now.

Spurred on by the desire to get his charm back, Tango plotted his strategy, devising ways to avoid
Malachi’s razor-sharp teeth and whiplike tail. Taking Malachi down, and keeping him down, was no small challenge. But that is exactly what Tango would need to do to win back his silver charm.

Soon the wind doubled in strength. Young trees bent in its path. Brittle branches snapped. By the time the bold red sun dropped out of sight, the winds were nearly gale force. Tourists took to their cars. Villagers closed their windows and awaited the storm.

Augusta, exhausted by sporadic attempts to walk with a three-footed cane, was fast asleep on the sofa. Earlier, Augusta told Tango that she was sick and tired of being impaired. She missed the little things most, like hanging wash on the line, weeding her garden, mowing her lawn.

Now it was time for Tango to go to the Pitiful Place. In case he never saw Augusta again (for fear filled his heart), he tip-toed across the afghan covering her body. He’d never had a chance to say goodbye to Marcellina. He allowed himself a moment to linger, licking the hand that had petted, brushed, bathed, and fed him.

Half-asleep, Augusta opened her eyes. “You know, Pup,” she mumbled. “If I didn’t have you around to keep me company, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Her eyes were clear and deep as tide pools. If Tango dove in, he would drown.

Augusta reached back over her head. “My medicine—now where is that?” She searched the end table with her fingers. “What time is it? Oh, my. Pup—get McKenna for me, will you? Good dog.”

As he’d done so many times since Augusta had fallen down the cellar stairs, Tango ran out to the picket fence. As loudly as he could, Tango barked the bark that told McKenna that Miss Gustie needed something.

“All right, already!” McKenna shouted over the wild, whistling wind. “Tell Miss Gustie to cool her heels! I’m on my way.”

Tango felt a lump in his throat.

McKenna, Beau had told him, was also leaving—in a day or two. Big Bart was driving her back to the North Shore. After both Tango and McKenna were gone—assuming he recaptured his silver heart and Marcellina came for him—who would care for Augusta until her hip healed?

But what could Tango do? He was only a dog.

Tango shook off his concerns, imagining instead the money that Marcellina would shower on Augusta. A lot more than a thousand dollars, he’d bet. With all that money, Augusta could hire people to take care of her: a nurse, a maid, a cook, a driver.

What tugged at Tango’s heart even more was that Augusta was planning to announce his new name tomorrow. Jack Tucker was bringing a bakery cake
to celebrate. McKenna was making an enchanted candle with a base of red sand scooped from the exact spot on the beach where Tango had washed ashore.

Augusta drifted back to sleep. Tango took his leave in silence.

As planned, he met Beau inside his den.

“Beau, can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

Tango told Beau that he was worried about abandoning Augusta.

“I understand. A dog cannot have two masters,” responded Beau. “Nor can you prevent Miss Gustie’s pain. It is too late for that. You have won her heart. She has claimed you as her own. Miss Gustie’s devotion to you is stronger than bonds of silver.”

Tango frowned at the truth of Beau’s words. He had to stay centered; he had a job to do.

As Tango and Beau pressed forward into the bullish night, the wind all but ripped the fur off their backs. The sea was gaining strength, a thunderous swooshing as waves bashed against the shore.

“Please, Tango,” Beau pleaded. “Will you not reconsider? I fear for your safety. These winds are harsh and unforgiving, warning us to turn back.”

“Wait, I’d better warm up.”

Trying his best to brush off the fear the fox’s
words were instilling, Tango stretched his body, flexed his muscles, and ran in a circle to warm up. He snapped his jaw and imagined his teeth sinking into Malachi’s neck.

“Truly, Tango, I do not like the sound of this. The sky is angry.”

“How bad can it be?” Tango questioned.

The one-hinged door to the Pitiful Place swung open. Leftie, the orange cat with the twisted smile, braced the door and motioned with his head for the two canines to come forward.

“I guess we will soon find out,” Beau answered.

Fighting the raging wind, McKenna Skye headed to Miss Gustie’s house. With a drumroll of sustained thunder, the heavens split open. A hurricane lantern swung in McKenna’s hand, but cold pellets of rain instantly doused the flame.