The Good Dog (11 page)

“Scoot, McKinley,” she said, shaking her sleeve free. “I don't want to play.”

McKinley trotted to the food place door and barked.

“McKinley!” Gil cried. “Be quiet. I'm trying to watch the news.”

Discouraged, McKinley came back into the room, lay down, closed his eyes, and sighed. There were times—and this was one of them—he wished the responsibility for the pup wasn't just his.

Gradually another idea came. McKinley knew it meant trouble—but it should keep the boy from going and allow
him
to help Lupin. If that made him a bad dog, so be it. It had to be done.

•  •  •

When McKinley woke, the glow box was dark. The room was cooler, quiet. He lifted his head and listened. No one was moving about. He could hear the gentle breathing of sleep in the house.

He stood and stretched. In the food place he took a few nibbles of the dried biscuit bits left in his bowl, and followed that up with a lap of water.

Down the hall he saw only a faint light by the door to Jack's water room.

Trotting over to his sleeping place, McKinley rested his chin on the cloth covering. Yes, the pup was asleep.

Silently, McKinley went to the clothing box. With a forepaw, he slid the door open. The backpack lay on the floor. McKinley gripped one of the straps in his teeth and began to chew. The strap tasted awful, and it was tough, but soon he had bitten it into two pieces. He started working on another strap.

The pup stirred and suddenly sat up. “McKinley?” he called. “That you?”

McKinley got up and went to the sleeping place.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked in a sleepy voice.

McKinley licked the pup's face.

“Good boy,” Jack murmured, and gave him a hug. Then he flopped down and fell asleep again.

McKinley went back to the backpack and continued his work.

As soon as the last strap was chewed, McKinley checked on the pup. Still sleeping.

Satisfied, McKinley quit the room and crept to the front door of the house. Standing on his hind legs, he gripped the doorknob in his mouth, twisted, and pulled. Then he slipped through the opening and stepped outside. The air was sharp and tangy. The sky held no moon. And snow was falling steadily.

M
cKinley wagged his tail with joy. The snow would cover all scents, making it hard for anyone to track Lupin.

Moving at a quick trot, he set off for Pine Smell Way and Redburn's house. Once there he stopped, studying the place. All was dark.

Lifting his head, he let loose a long, drawn-out howl, proclaiming that this was his territory and that he, McKinley, was head dog. Within moments, from all over the neighborhood, there came a satisfying response of howls, barks, and yelps. He could be sure Redburn heard that, too.

Even so, McKinley kept his eyes on the Sullivans' house. Within moments Redburn's face appeared behind a window, fogging the glass with his breath.

Lifting his leg against the Sullivans' gatepost, McKinley peed. No way that Redburn could miss this message.

As the snow continued to thicken, McKinley headed for Pycraft's house. Duchess needed to know what had happened to Lupin.

•  •  •

McKinley peered through the fence into Pycraft's yard. It appeared deserted, but there was enough light from the house for him to see the cable and leash system. The doghouse door was ajar, and the leash ran right into it. Duchess had to be there.

McKinley examined the fence. He blinked and cocked his head. The entry way was open. Drawing closer, he gave it a little shove. Though McKinley knew he could go on through, he held back. His ears flicked. He growled. Despite the snow, the
whole area smelled of Pycraft. The stink made McKinley edgy.

He looked toward the house. Dimly, he could see the light of a flickering glow box. It meant nothing. Sometimes—McKinley didn't understand why—people left the boxes glowing all the time.

Then, for a moment, he was sure he heard the sound of another dog behind him, in the dark somewhere. He thought of Redburn. The snow should hide me, he thought. But it can hide someone else, too. He swung around. The snow worked against him. He could see or smell nothing.

Yawning with nervousness, McKinley pawed the snow and allowed himself a high-pitched growl. He made up his mind to enter the yard.

Stepping with care over one of Duchess's play sticks, McKinley trotted in, then stopped, ears up, listening. Nothing to alarm him.

He glanced back over his shoulder to make certain he could—if necessary—escape through the entryway.

When he reached the doghouse, he stuck his head
past the door. The air inside was close and damp, but full of Duchess's scent. He gave a quick, sharp bark.

“McKinley?” came the startled response. “That you?”

“It's me, all right.” McKinley backed away from the door.

There was a clank as the leash banged the doghouse. Duchess crept out. “How did you get in here?” “The entry way was open.”

Duchess whimpered. “Be careful, McKinley. Pycraft may be careless, but he's mean. And he's around.”

“I can take care of myself,” McKinley growled.

“Why did you come?”

McKinley gazed into Duchess's eyes. “I promised you I'd help Lupin, didn't I? And I did. Aspen and I. But Lupin was wounded. We cleaned her wound and got her food. She's doing fine, now.”

“Did she go back to the wilderness?”

McKinley shook his head. “She's too weak to travel. We've got her hidden.”

“McKinley,” Duchess whined, “the humans are
going to hunt for her this morning. Did you know that?”

“Yes. Who told you?”

“Redburn came around.”

McKinley snorted.

“He spoke to me through the back fence. Said he was the new head dog. That he beat you in a fair fight. Is that true?”

“No.”

“I'm really glad to hear that. Redburn was saying I should learn to make the best of my situation. That the humans were in charge of things. That it could be worse. But, McKinley, it's Lupin I'm worried about. Can you stop the hunt?”

“I'm going to try. Now listen, we've got to hurry. Do you want your collar off?”

“Oh, McKinley, could you? It's new.” Duchess nodded toward Pycraft's house. “He bought it just yesterday.”

McKinley growled. “I'll see what I can do.”

Duchess lowered her head so he could get his teeth into the collar.

“McKinley . . . ,” Duchess said.

“What?”

“You're a good dog. Thank you.” Shivering in the cold, snowy air, she held as still as she could.

McKinley kept chewing. “Almost . . . a little . . . more. There! Give a shake.”

Duchess shook her head. What remained of the collar fell away, dangling from the leash.

McKinley wagged his tail hard. “Come on,” he barked. “Let's get out of here.” He turned and froze in his tracks.

At the fence, a human was watching. “What's going on here?” came an angry voice.

“McKinley!” Duchess yelped. “It's Pycraft.”

McKinley stood tall, wrinkling his nose, curling back his lips, growling.

“You again,” Pycraft shouted. “What do you think you're doing?”

Baring his teeth, McKinley began to bark furiously. “Duchess! Make a bolt for it. I'll keep him busy.” He advanced on the fat man, snarling.

“Steal my dog, will you!” Pycraft screamed. He
kept looking around for Duchess, who cowered off to one side. The man took a clumsy step in through the entryway, arms held wide, trying to catch her.

McKinley charged forward. Pycraft, thinking he was under attack, whirled around.

McKinley backed up.

“You stupid, meddling dog!” Pycraft spat, turning on him. “I'll teach you . . .”

“Now's your chance, Duchess!” McKinley barked. “Run for it!”

As Pycraft lunged, McKinley sidestepped and Duchess raced for the entryway.

The man staggered, saw the greyhound heading out, turned, and made a grab at her. He was too late. Duchess shot out of the yard.

McKinley, knowing it was now his time to escape, dashed forward. Pycraft spun around. Half lunging, half falling, he slammed the entryway closing shut, then latched it.

He roared at McKinley, “Let my dog go, will you?” He searched the yard and snatched up one
of Duchess's play sticks. Then he moved toward McKinley, waving it in the air.

Heart pounding, McKinley snarled and snapped furiously, but backed away, wanting to stay out of reach.

As Pycraft advanced step by step, McKinley kept retreating.

The man hurled the stick.

It whipped passed McKinley's nose—almost hitting him. Recoiling sharply, he tripped over his own legs. It was then that Pycraft lunged again, using both hands to shove him into the doghouse.

McKinley felt swallowed up by darkness. Panicked, he twisted about, only to have the door of the doghouse slam shut in his face.

He was caught.

M
cKinley butted his head against the door. It would not budge. He scratched at it, first with one paw, then the other. It refused to give. He threw his full weight against the door. It buckled but remained firmly closed.

Furious at his predicament, McKinley howled. The sound echoed so loudly, it hurt his ears. And there was no answering call.

Shivering from fear, he smashed at the door again. Nothing gave.

Panting with exhaustion, he flopped down, rear legs tucked tightly in, front legs squashed, head
bent, all at uncomfortable angles. The doghouse was much too small for him.

For a while the night was silent except for his breathing and the steady hiss of falling snow. Thinking he heard a rattle, he lifted his head, cocked his ears, and listened.

“McKinley!” came a distant bark.

“Aspen? Is that you?”

“I'm outside, at this stupid fence. But I can't get in. Where are you?”

“I'm trapped here,” McKinley yowled. “In the doghouse.”

“I'll try to get help.”

“Aspen!”

Too late. There was no answer.

McKinley whined plaintively. If Pycraft chose to leave in the morning, there was nothing McKinley could do to stop the hunt. Or get free. At least Duchess got away, he thought. Maybe she would warn Lupin, tell her how he'd been caught.

Then McKinley remembered. He had never told the greyhound where Lupin was hiding. Besides,
the snow would have covered their tracks. And, because they had come along the creek out of the hills, there would be no scent to follow. Just as he had wanted—but now, everything was all wrong.

I must be patient, McKinley thought even as he groaned with impatience. It occurred to him that if the snow kept up all night, the hunt for the wolf might be called off. But, no, people in town were used to snow. They would still go after Lupin.

Maybe the wolf was right: Better if the dogs ran off to the wilderness.

Trapped in his discomfort, McKinley thought of the pup's sleeping place. How wonderfully soft it was. And there was warmth and a feeling of safety in that house, too. He sighed. He wished he was there now. Did that mean he
was
—as Lupin claimed—a slave to humans? Or was living with them a better life?

McKinley closed his eyes. Growling and whimpering, he fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamed he was out in the open, that he was being chased. Sometimes it was Jack who was chasing him. Then
Lupin. Then Redburn. Once it was himself. Each time when he looked back, his pursuer seemed to change.

As he dreamed, his legs churned, he barked, he growled, but he did not waken.

•  •  •

“McKinley?”

McKinley lifted his head. Faint light outlined the doghouse doorway. It must be dawn. He listened.

“McKinley? Are you in there?” It was a human's voice. Jack's voice.

McKinley barked. A low woof answered him. Aspen was there, too.

The door to the doghouse swung open. The pup's face appeared.

“McKinley!” Jack called. “What are you doing in there, boy? Come on out here!”

Wagging his tail so hard, it banged against the side of the doghouse, McKinley scrambled into a yard deep enough in snow to reach his belly. And it was still coming down.

The boy was dressed in thick clothing, hat,
gloves, and boots. By his side stood Aspen, her face powdered with snow. She was growling with pleasure, tail wagging wildly.

McKinley leaped up on the pup, barking with joy. The boy pushed him away. “I'm really furious at you, McKinley. You wrecked my backpack. Now I can't go after the wolf. You're really a
bad
dog.”

McKinley, hearing the words
backpack
and
bad
spoken so sharply, hung his head.

“And how did you get in this doghouse?” the boy demanded. “Did Mr. Pycraft put you in there? Did he? What's happening?”

McKinley barked.

Aspen chimed in with a bark of her own.

McKinley turned to her. “How'd you know I was here?”

“I saw the whole thing.”

“You did? Did they start out for Lupin?”

“I think so. Pycraft isn't here. But it's still early.”

“Come on, McKinley,” the boy insisted. “You can't play with Aspen. We have to get home. I bet you forget you're supposed to be grounded today.
And what are you going to do about my backpack?” He reached for McKinley's collar.

McKinley jumped back and looked up at the boy, wishing he could tell him why he'd chewed the backpack and what he still had to do. But he knew Jack wouldn't understand. Instead, wagging his tail, and with quick, short bursts, he bounded through the snow and out of the yard, Aspen by his side.

“McKinley,” Jack cried. “Come back! Where you going, you bad dog?”

McKinley paused briefly to look over his shoulder. The pup was high-stepping through the snow, trying to keep up.