The Good Dog (3 page)

McKinley gazed at her. “Want some advice?”

“Sure.”

“For the time being, stay hidden.”

A
mong the members of McKinley's pack there were occasional arguments about wolves, debates over whether dogs were truly related to them. Some of the fancy ones, like Yophie, the Hungarian puli, or Tao, the Japanese Akita, denied it angrily, claiming they never would, or could, have anything in common with such beasts. They were purebloods, they said. Thoroughbreds.

But other dogs—usually small ones like Tubbs—rather liked the idea that they were descended from wolves.

For most of the pack, however, wolves were the subject of only idle interest.

But Duchess's news about this Lupin was very disturbing for McKinley. He considered himself a strong dog, yet to deal with a powerful wolf . . . his tail drooped at the thought.

He decided not go back to town. Instead, he spent most of the day roaming Strawberry Park, hoping to pick up some hint of the wolf's whereabouts. The last thing he needed was to be caught by surprise. He also wanted to be nearby in case Redburn showed up.

But McKinley found no trace, not a whiff. This Lupin is very clever, he thought.

•  •  •

It was late afternoon when McKinley returned to town. Moving briskly, alert to car traffic, he paused now and again to smell the various messages that had been left along the way. Here, Ripley had passed through. There, Hank. Montana had come from across the Yampa River. Plus a
few others. All in all it was the usual mix of markings from pack members. Nothing important. McKinley hurried on. He had decided he would go right to Redburn and make sure he left Duchess alone.

He had just come in sight of Redburn's house when he heard Jack calling, “Hey, McKinley! Hey, big boy. Over here!”

McKinley stopped and looked around. The pup was on his bike at the corner.

“Come on, fella,” he called again.

Noting the boy's backpack, McKinley guessed he was just getting home.

“Hey, McKinley, we're going on an adventure!” Jack cried. He slapped his leg a few times.

Understanding the gesture as one of impatience, McKinley whimpered. Here he was, on really important pack business, when his pup shows up. He would have to put off dealing with Redburn. Then again, maybe the boy just wanted to say hello.

“Come on, McKinley. Good boy! Come here!”

McKinley bounded forward. Reaching Jack, he jumped up, tail wagging.

“Way to go, McKinley!” the boy said happily. “Guess what we're going to do?”

McKinley sat down and looked up, expectant.
Going.
He knew that word.

“Mr. Pycraft lost his dog again. She's called Duchess. There are these posters up all over town. He's offering
two hundred bucks
reward to anyone who finds her!”

McKinley picked up the words
lost
and
finds
, as well as the names
Duchess
and
Pycraft.
Trying to make sense of it all, he studied the boy's excited face closely.

“McKinley,” Jack went on, “do you know all the camping gear I could get with that kind of money? A one-person tent. A sleeping bag. If I decide to track that wolf—and had the right stuff—I'd really be able to stay with him.”

At the words
track
and
wolf
and
stay,
McKinley barked. It was becoming clear to him that the boy was planning something to do with the wolf as well as with Pycraft. It was the word
stay
that
didn't make sense. Whenever the humans said that to him, he was not supposed to move.

“So, guess what?” Jack said. “You and I are going looking for Duchess. And we're going to find her.”

Looking. Find. Duchess. Going.
This time McKinley made the connection. Jack wanted to track down Duchess. Just like the Sullivans!

Intent on keeping the boy home, McKinley stood up on his hind legs and placed his paws on the boy's shoulder. They were just about the same height.

“I knew you'd understand!” Jack cried. He gave McKinley a hug. “Come on. Let's find that dog!”

Frustrated, McKinley dropped back down, and invited the boy to play by bending down over his forepaws, opening his mouth wide, putting his tail up, and barking twice.

Jack frowned. “Come on, McKinley, I don't want to play.” He checked his arm. “It's getting late. We need to give you a whiff of Duchess's scent so you can follow it.”

He began to peddle away. “Come on, McKinley!” he yelled. “I need to leave my books home first.”

McKinley stood his ground. Then he thought he had better go along. At least he could lead the pup away from Duchess.

With a bark, he began to follow.

•  •  •

“Wait here,” Jack called as he brought his bike to a skidding halt in front of the house. He rushed inside.

As McKinley sat, waiting, mouth open, tongue lolling, his friend Aspen pushed through the bushes.

McKinley stood up to greet her, and the two dogs sniffed each other all over, wagging tails slowly.

Aspen detected the greyhound's scent on McKinley's coat. “Where'd you find Duchess?”

“Up in Strawberry Park. Same place she went before.”

Aspen whimpered. “And I suppose you've promised to help her.”

“Aspen, Duchess has been mistreated.”

“I heard a rumor that Redburn will be tracking her down.”

“Looks like it,” McKinley growled.

Jack came bounding out of the house. McKinley looked around. In one hand the pup held some human biscuits, which he was stuffing into his mouth. In his other hand he had two large dog biscuits.

“Come on, McKinley,” Jack called. “Let's go.”

Aspen barked at McKinley. “Now what?”

“The pup wants to find Duchess, too.”

“Are you serious?”

“Afraid so.”

“But. . . why?”

“Not sure. He wants me to help him.”

“Will you?”

“I'll lead him somewhere else.”

“Always getting involved.”

“What's that mean?”

“You watch out for everyone but yourself.”

“Here you go, McKinley,” Jack called, offering him a biscuit.

McKinley snapped up both.

“McKinley!” the boy cried. “You greedy cow!”

McKinley dropped one of the biscuits at Aspen's feet before swallowing the other in a gulp.

Aspen moved away without taking it up.

McKinley whined. “What's the matter?”

As the retriever retreated into the bushes she looked back over her shoulder. “When you're not so busy taking care of everyone, I'll let you know.”

Disappointed, McKinley stood looking after her. Then he turned. Jack was already pedaling furiously down the way. “Come on, boy!” he was yelling.

With a sigh of frustration, McKinley loped after him.

P
ycraft lived on the corner of Elk Scat Way and Raccoon Way.

Next to the house, closed off by a wire fence, was a hard-packed dirt area. In it stood two poles linked by a cable with a leash that dangled from it to the ground. Usually, Duchess was snapped onto this leash so that she could run back and forth—but little more.

There were toys scattered about, as well as rough sticks for Duchess to chew.

Next to the farther pole, and up against the rear fence, was a doghouse—like a tiny human pup's
playhouse. It had a door that could be swung open. Before this door stood two dented tin food bowls.

McKinley observed it all with disgust.

“This is Mr. Pycraft's house,” the pup explained as if McKinley didn't know. “I'm going to see if he'll let us into the yard so you can get a whiff of Duchess's scent. That would help you a lot, wouldn't it?”

Not sure what was about to happen, McKinley sat on the sidewalk while Jack went up to the house and knocked on the door. The boy turned to smile at him.

Feeling tense, McKinley yawned.

The house door opened, and Pycraft came out. He was a short, fat man with a sour smell about him. He also smelled of the stuff that people burned in their mouths, an odor McKinley detested.

When the man appeared, McKinley could not restrain himself from standing, wrinkling his nose, and curling his lips back from his teeth. His tail bristled.

“What do you want, kid?” the man asked. “If you're selling school junk, I'm not interested.”

“Mr. Pycraft, sir, my name is Jack Kostof. I live a couple of blocks over—”

“Kostof, eh?” the man said. He was looking past the boy at McKinley. “I guess I know your dad. A tree hugger.”

“Yes, sir, but I was wondering—”

“That your dog over there?”

Jack looked back over his shoulder. “McKinley? Yes, sir, that's him.”

“He looks mean. He part wolf?”

“He's a malamute.”

“You should keep him on a leash.”

“Don't worry about McKinley, Mr. Pycraft. He's very obedient. And friendly. Wouldn't harm anyone.”

The man was glaring at him. McKinley lifted his head and gave a howl of territorial claim.

“What's bugging him?” Pycraft asked.

“I don't know,” Jack said.

“Kid, if you want to talk, make your dog shut up.”

“McKinley!” Jack cried. “Be quiet, boy!”

McKinley suppressed the howl, but glowered at the man.

“That's better,” Pycraft said. “Now, what's up, kid? I don't have all day.”

“It's those posters, sir. About your missing dog.”

“Oh, yeah, Duchess. I've had a few calls. Not that anyone has found her.”

“I'm sure we can,” Jack went on. “McKinley's a great tracker. Only I was wondering, do you have something that belongs to your dog so McKinley could sniff it? You know, so he could know Duchess's scent.”

McKinley watched Pycraft glance at the pup. “Not a bad idea, kid,” the man said. “You're smarter than most. Bring the dog in here.” He hesitated. “But you're going to have to leash him. I don't think he likes me and I don't mess with dogs.”

“I don't have a leash.”

“Don't worry. I do.”

“Okay.”

Pycraft went into the house and closed the door behind him.

“McKinley” Jack called. “Come here, boy. Come on! I'm going to put a leash on you for just a minute.”

Leash
was a word McKinley knew, and did not like. Determined to go no nearer to that man or his house, he stood his ground.

“Come on, boy,” Jack pleaded. “Good boy. Do it for me.”

McKinley lowered his head, wrinkled his nose again, and flattened his ears. A growl rumbled in his chest.

The door opened, and Pycraft reappeared. In one hand was a heavy chain leash. In the other hand was a rifle. He set the gun against the wall.

McKinley growled. The few times he had been near guns when they went off had been very frightening. Partly it was the noise. But he knew well the harm they caused. Moreover, he sensed that humans were nervous about them, too. “Why'd you bring the gun?” Jack asked, alarmed.

Mr. Pycraft laughed. “Just to show that dog of
yours—if he's got any brains—not to fool with me. Now, bring him over here,” he commanded.

Jack hesitated. Then he called, “McKinley. “Come on! Good boy!”

Refusing to budge, McKinley whimpered.

Jack asked for the leash. The man handed it over. Leash in hand, Jack approached McKinley. “What's the matter, boy?” he asked. “Come on. This is for me. No one's going to hurt you.”

McKinley took a step back.

Pycraft snorted. “See,” he snapped. “Just when you think you can control a dog, it turns on you. I know dogs, kid, and that's a nasty one you got there. Look at him, ready to attack. A dog like that, he's a menace to the whole town. I'm telling you, he's got a lot of wolf in him.”

The
wolf
word, again. Whimpering, McKinley gazed at the pup's puzzled eyes, trying to make him understand the danger of this man.

“Okay, fella,” Jack said softly. “I won't make you wear it.” McKinley watched the boy give the leash back to Pycraft. “He won't do it, sir. I know
McKinley. Once he makes up his mind, no way I can make him.”

“I could teach him,” Pycraft sneered.

Jack said, “Is there something you could bring out for him to smell, something that belonged to your dog?”

“Sure,” Pycraft said. “This!” He flung the leash at McKinley, who saw immediately that it would miss him. With a heavy clunk it landed at his feet.

“Dumb dog,” Pycraft snapped. “I could have knocked him out silly. Serve him right.”

Jack ran to the sidewalk, picked the leash up, and passed it under McKinley's nose. “Smell this, boy. Come on, McKinley,” he whispered. “I really need to get that camping gear.”

McKinley took a couple of loud sniffs. Duchess's smell was strong on the chain links.

“Good boy!” Jack said, and brought the leash back to Pycraft.

The man took it. “Okay, kid. Go look for Duchess, but if your dog hurts my dog, your folks are going to hear about it.”

He turned and disappeared into his house, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jack came back to McKinley. “Boy, you sure don't like that guy, do you?”

McKinley, feeling more relaxed now, wagged his tail slightly.

“But you don't have to like him to find his dog, right? Come on now, McKinley, don't let me down. Find Duchess!”

M
cKinley gazed up at Jack, whined, and lifted his paw.

The boy squatted down before him. “You know Duchess's smell now, big guy,” he said. “I know you do. So come on, put your nose to the ground and find her. For me, okay?”

McKinley lay down, resting his head on his forepaws. Strawberry Park was the one place he would not go.