December, 2014

Issue #63

Rogue
by Callie Smith

I don't know what woke me. There was no strange scent or sound, and the night was as quiet as ever. I sensed the flock still huddled in the lower field, and heard their peaceful cud-chewing. Still, something was wrong.

I was on all fours in an instant, and trotting for the trees. If danger lurked, it would be there.

Only then did I hear him coming. Dead leaves crunching, mouth panting— even a master's dull ears could have made that out.

When Bull appeared from the dark woods, I was waiting for him. Spotting me, he halted just outside the trees. The moonlight outlined his stocky build, muscular as the cattle he herded. He didn't look surprised to see me.

"I were wonderin' if you'd show, or if you're as scared as them sheep," he said.

I demanded, "What are you doing here?"

He showed his teeth. "I'm thinkin' I'll finish what I started."

He was referring to the last time we'd met, when he and that hound had near about chewed my hide off. That was the day my master had filed his claim in town. Bull and his master had been there, and when our masters argued, of course we did too. If my master hadn't broken up our fight, I don't think I'd have gotten out in one piece . . . at least, not without sacrificing my honor. Though inwardly cowed by the memory, I tried to sound jaunty. "Fight me alone? That's new."

I shouldn't have egged him on. He stalked toward me. "Maybe I'll chew yer tongue out. Then we'll see who talks pretty."

Resisting the urge to back away, I warned, "Come a step closer and I'll bark. You know what my master will do if he spots you."

"Oh, scary. I'll shiver soon as winter starts." Then he charged.

I was taller than the cattle dog, but not as heavy. And Bull knew how to throw his weight around. I snapped where I could, but couldn't get a firm hold on his tight skin. However, Bull soon clamped his jaws on my neck, his teeth burrowing through my thick fur. His bite was vice-like. I knew he wouldn't let go, even as I desperately struck for his throat. Missed.

The sheep were dully watching us. Only one summoned the courage to bleat, "Help! Murder!" Not very helpful.

I struck again, and this time my fangs snagged something. Though Bull's death bite panged my neck, I ground my own teeth into what I'd caught, determined not to give way . . . even if Bull's teeth met my spine in a few more seconds.

A gunshot pierced the night. At the sound, Bull released his hold, but I kept mine.

He was trying to tug away. Through my teeth, I grunted, "Now who's scared?"

His answer was to jerk so hard my incisors nearly left my mouth. A snap followed, something broke loose, and he was free. And I stood there, holding his leather collar in my jaws.

Over his retreating stub-tail, he snarled, "I'll come back . . . when yer boss ain't around to coddle ya."

My master's running gait sounded behind me, and another shot rang out. But Bull's brindled coat was already lost in the treeshadow.

My master came up beside me. I could see his nightshirt hastily tucked into suspenders, which were hastily tucked into his boots. So much trouble the masters go through, just to go outdoors. He barely looked me over before he raced to the clustered sheep. Following him, I sensed his relief when he saw they weren't harmed. For a moment we stood beside the tiny flock— only eight ewes and a spindly ram. Then Tom looked at me again, and this time he spotted the leather strap I still held between my teeth. Crouching down, he grasped it. I let him take it, and he straightened again, squinting at it in the moonlight. He muttered, "Darn those McKeons!"

"Land sakes, Tom, watch your mouth! Esther's here."

I turned around, as did Tom. Mistress was walking up, her night dress flowing in the breeze. Little Esther trailed behind, clutching Mistress' skirt.

Tom frowned. "Ma, why'd you bring her out here?"

"What could you expect, with all the noise? Did we lose a sheep?"

"No, ma'am."

A moment later she and Esther reached us. Esther, being still a young thing, was barely my head height, and her pale hand reached for my neck. "What happened to Kep?" she cried.

"Esther!" Mistress pulled her back. "Don't. That wolf could have had hydrophobia or some such."

Tom snorted angrily. "Wolf? It wasn't a wolf."

Esther was watching us with worried eyes. "What's hyderphoba?"

"Never you mind, dear," said Mistress.

"I'm telling you, it was no wolf, and it didn't have hydrophobia." Tom brandished Bull's collar. "This was on Nial's dog. Bet he turned him loose out here just to spite us!"

That wasn't true, for I'd caught no scent besides Bull's tonight. Of course, I didn't say so, for it wouldn't do any good. Our speech is too subtle for masters to grasp.

But maybe I didn't need to say anything after all. Mistress gasped, "Surely the McKeons would do no such thing. We're neighbors."

"You heard old McKeon that day, when we filed our claim." Tom began reloading his rifle. "He as good as said we don't belong here."

Mistress seemed uncertain how to reply. But Esther spoke up in her tiny voice, "Ma, was that the day we went to town, and you got me candy, and Mr. McKeon started talking and you told me to cover my ears, and . . . "

"Yes, dear." Mistress cleared her throat. "Sometimes folks forget their manners."

Tom snapped the chamber shut. "I'll say."

Mistress cast him a look, then said, "Well, this place is ours— fair and proper."

Tom just silently bored his eyes into that collar.

In the quiet, Esther said, "Well, if it don't have hyderphoba, can I pet Kep?"

"'Doesn't,' Esther," corrected Mistress. "And yes, you may."

Smiling, Esther ran back to me and stroked my head. When she held out her open hand, I gladly licked it. Esther's hands tasted warm and sweet. Tom's tasted salty— I remembered this from the last time he'd let me lick his palm. That was a good few weeks ago, before we'd settled here and the trouble with the McKeons had started. Since then, he'd only had a mind for giving orders.

Now he sighed and rolled his eyes. I heard him mutter, "Who cares for grammar right now?"

"What was that?" asked Mistress.

"Nothing."

His answer didn't seem to satisfy Mistress. But she didn't say so, only joined Esther, tentatively stroking my ears. I wagged my tail, and couldn't help wishing Tom would scratch my ears too— the way he used to do. She said quietly, "For now, we can keep the sheep penned up beside the shed . . . "

"We shouldn't have to!" Tom burst out. "Someone's got to see that mutt doesn't come back."

"Mind your tone." Mistress drew herself up tall, maybe to remind Tom that although he'd reached her height, he was still a pup. "You may be the only man here, but I'm still your mother."

"But don't you see? I need to to talk to them."

She drew a resigned breath. "Maybe so."

"Then I'll go first thing this morning— soon as chores are over."

"Very well. I'll go with you."

He looked annoyed. "No, Ma. I've got to go myself."

"Mr. McKeon has respect for a lady. I'll soften things for you."

"I don't need you to soften things for me. Besides, someone's got to stay here and keep an eye on the place."

She said slowly, "All right, Tom. But for now, we get the sheep in. Then I'll put turpentine on Kep's cuts."

"All right. And I'll take Kep with me. Show them what their dog did."

I would be going with Tom alone? I wagged my tail harder, for this was good news . . . even though I wasn't looking forward to confronting the McKeon clan. Or Bull.

Tom took the old mule, and I followed at its hocks. No one made a sound. Tom looked too thought-heavy for speech, the mule never spoke unless the subject dealt with grain, and I wasn't about to talk to myself. A half hour and a swift gait brought us to the McKeons' house.

Houses, I should say. All three of them out-sized my master's soddy, easily. The largest building was the barn, and a maze of corrals and catch pens barricaded it. The second house must have been for extra store space, and it overflowed with different bladed plows, foundry tools, and at least two wagons. The smallest house held the McKeons. I knew this because as soon as the hounds lying on the porch challenged Tom and me, the front door started spilling its occupants.

Two rowdy young ones came first, jumping from the porch and shouting like wild things. A tight-faced woman, who I assumed was mistress of the house followed. Descending the stairs, she scolded the young ones and the dogs, while brandishing a cast iron skillet in one hand. Behind her came McKeon himself, wiping grease from his whiskers and onto his trousers. Nial came out the door last. Seeing Tom, he narrowed angry eyes and leaned against one of the porch poles.

Mistress McKeon shook her skillet at the hounds. "Git down! Hush up! Whadoya want?" Her last sentence was directed to Tom.

Tom halted the mule before the porch and dismounted. I took my place at his heel, the way all good shepherds must do. Tom did what all good masters must do, and touched his hat at Mistress McKeon. "Ma'am."

"Yeah. What is it?"

"Woman, I'll do the talkin'," McKeon interposed. "Whadoya want, boy?"

I could sense Tom grow stiffer at these words. But he said sturdily, "I must talk with you . . . "

"Oh, he must talk with us," Nial sneered. Though it was a poor imitation, I could tell he was mimicking Tom.

"Quiet, son," said McKeon.

Nial went quiet, but stuck a derisive tongue into his cheek, still eyeing Tom.

Tom took a deep breath. "It's about your dog. 'Bull' is what you call him, I'm thinking."

"Yer thinkin' right. Well, go on, boy. We ain't got all day."

"Yes, sir, well . . . " Tom looked around him, for a moment seeming off-balance. But then he looked at Nial, and regained his voice. "He was in our sheep last night."

I knew this wasn't true. Bull wasn't after the sheep. He was after me. For the first time, I realized Bull was being accused of something he didn't do. I didn't like the uncertainty it planted inside me.

Mistress McKeon crossed her arms, still holding the skillet, and glared at us. The young ones took advantage of her distraction, and pulled each other's hair. Nial straightened, and his heavy arms looked ready to strangle someone. But McKeon barely blinked. "You sure 'bout that? There's been talk of a panther in these parts. Mighta been a missight."

In reply, Tom produced the collar he'd saved in his pocket, and tossed it lightly to McKeon. As the man caught it, Tom said, "Dead sure, Mr. McKeon. I found this after our dogs tussled." He gestured toward me, indicating my cuts as if I was just another piece of evidence. I tucked my ears back ashamedly, feeling the marks Bull had made on me more sharply.

At the satisfaction in Tom's voice, Mistress McKeon seemed to weigh the consequences of turning her skillet into a projectile. Nial marched from the porch, parking himself beside McKeon, and studied the collar. He spat on the dusty ground. "I say this don't mean a thing."

Tom cocked a scornful eyebrow. "Maybe that's why I'm not talking to you."

Nial grew red-faced. "Well, I'm talkin' to you!"

"Won't you hush?" McKeon said again, and Nial shut his strong jaw. Then McKeon let out a whistle, and Tom started slightly. Another whistle.

A scuffling sound among the corrals, and moment later Bull had planted himself beside McKeon. Bull's beady eyes ground into mine, and I noticed that he was scarcely marked from last night. Perhaps the only part of him I'd managed to tear was his collar.

His thick neck was bare.

Tom nodded smugly toward Bull's collarless scruff. "See there? How'd he manage to lose his collar on our place?"

"Why don't you show some respect fer yer elders, boy!" spoke up Mistress McKeon.

"Want me to run him off, Pa?" Nial suggested hopefully.

Tom glanced around him quickly, maybe trying to locate a favorable escape route or a loose stick he could use for a club. Or both.

Then McKeon cleared his throat, and everyone grew still. "Look here, boy. I don't know how folks do things back east. But this side of Texarkana we mind our own place, and keep our nose outta each other's affairs."

"But—"

"My dog ain't got a mark on 'im, from what I can see. Your dog's plum whooped, and I'd say he tangled with something else."

Tom spoke through his teeth. "Your collar was on my land."

"Yer land." McKeon glowered. "Thanks to you folks squattin' on the best side of the branch, I have to go to extra trouble to see my cattle get water. As for the collar . . . " He tossed it at Tom's boots. "How do I know ya ain't made it to look like mine? Keep it."

"That's absurd. It has your brand . . . "

McKeon repeated flatly, "Keep it. And git off my land."

Everyone waited the longest second I've ever known. I saw Bull twitch a smirking ear at me, and thump his stub of a tail. After that, I didn't mind so much that he was falsely accused.

Finally Tom turned away, leaving the leather strap on the ground and walking stiffly back to the mule. But his hands had barely grasped the saddle before he swung back around.

"If I see your dog on my property again, I'm not waiting for him to down one of my sheep. I'm shooting him on the spot."

Before any of the other McKeons could react, Nial stalked up to Tom until their faces were inches away. Nial was as heavy-built as his dog, and Tom had to look up to hold his gaze.

Nial growled, "Touch my dog, and I'll kill you, Benson."

I gathered myself, just in case Nial decided to act on his threat right then and there. But he didn't, and stood still as Tom slowly turned away and mounted the mule.

As we left the homestead, I could feel them all watching us.

And I could feel Tom's unease. But it wasn't until we'd put a mile between us and the McKeons that Tom showed it on the outside. He breathed a shaky sigh, then said, "It is what it is, Kep."

I looked up at him, surprised. Since we'd moved west, he'd rarely spoken to me but to say, "here," or "away to me."

His hands gripped the reigns much tighter than necessary. "Now it's done, and I can't go back."

The rest of the ride was wordless, and Mistress and Esther greeted us as we reached the shed beside the sod house. Esther slipped me a couple of hot cakes left from breakfast.

And when Mistress asked, "What did Mr. McKeon say, Tom?" he replied quickly, in a voice that had lost its earlier shakiness.

"His dog won't be troubling us anymore."

I didn't understand just what he meant until that night.

The sheep were penned in the makeshift corral beside the shed, and I was lying close by, when I heard the sod house door stealthily open and close. My nose told me that the shadow drifting toward the field belonged to Tom. I followed him to the knoll overlooking the pasture, saw him sit down in the tall grass and lay his rifle across his knees.

I approached Tom cautiously, knowing he might not like that I'd left the flock. But when he spotted me, he didn't scold. When I stood beside him, he even reached out a hand to rub my chest, and I felt a gladness I hadn't known in weeks. But he kept his eyes trained on the treeline— the treeline Bull had disappeared into that morning— and he kept watch over it all night.

This happened the next night, and the next. I knew Tom required more sleep than I did, so I'm not sure how he managed. But whenever I walked my night route, I checked on him. He was always wide awake, eyes stuck on the trees. Once he spoke to me, but I believe he meant the words more for himself.

"He came once, Kep." He gave the empty night an equally empty grin. "He'll come again. Pa used to say all rogue dogs do. It's . . . it's a mathematical certainty." He almost sounded hopeful, as if he wanted Bull to show up. As if he was hunting instead of guarding.

But Bull wasn't rogue, and he wouldn't come again . . . I hoped. For Tom's sake more than for his.

"Tom!"

Tom jerked his head up, and I moved aside as he shoved himself from the corral gate. It was evening, the chores were done, and Mistress was giving Tom news from town. I hadn't listened closely, just watched the sheep as they bedded down inside the rickety fence. But now I watched anxiously as Mistress placed her hands on her hips. "You were nodding off."

"No I wasn't."

"Fine. What was I just talking about?"

He cast about a moment. "Mrs. Meriwether's morning sickness."

"That was almost five minutes ago."

"Well, I was thinking. The Meriwethers aren't all that interesting, you know."

It was a poor lie, and Mistress seemed able to tell. She canted her head at him. "Tom, I saw you go out last night and didn't hear you come back in."

Tom settled sullen eyes on the ground. "You had no call eavesdropping on me."

"I was worried, I'm your mother, and I had every call. Now, what's all this about?"

"I think you know. I'm not letting the McKeons run us off this place."

Her voice sank lower. "The visit didn't go well, did it?"

He shook his head. "I told them their dog was dead if he set foot here again. Mr. McKeon sent me packing, and good riddance 'cause I don't care to see their place again."

Sighing, Mistress said, "I knew I should have gone with you."

He crossed his arms. "Ma, I can take care of this! And I'm doing what Pa would've done, anyways."

"Your father didn't rouse his neighbors,"

"But he never backed down, now, did he?"

She hesitated, just as Esther came running from the soddy. "Ma! It's boiling! What do I do?"

"Just go back in, dear, I'm coming." Mistress sighed again as Esther obeyed. She started toward the soddy, then stopped and turned back to Tom. "I was saying earlier— when you were drifting— that I'm going out tonight. Mrs. Meriwether's close now, and I've made enough bone stock for both her family and us. It might turn out I stay the night— just depends on how she's doing."

"Yes ma'am. I can do fine alone."

"And tell Esther her bedtime story. Make sure you do."

"Yes ma'am."

Her face softened. "You know, sometimes backing down a little is a good thing. You don't have to prove anything, Tom. Not to me, or . . . to anyone else."

He only shrugged, and I watched them both disappear into the soddy.

Just before dark, Mistress took the mule and the cart to the Meriwethers' place a few miles away. And not long after the stars had formed, Tom took his place on the knoll once more. I watched him wearily from beside the corral, then a couple hours later I rose to make my nightly patrol. I didn't go far, just circled the soddy, the shed, then finally wandered to the knoll.

He didn't greet me, and I soon realized why. Still sitting cross-legged, gun over his knees, he cradled his head in his propped up hand, sound asleep. The position didn't look comfortable, so I guessed he hadn't intended to nod off. No. Sleep had just sneaked up on him and caught him unawares. Not about to wake him, I turned back to the shed.

Then I heard it. That clumsy trampling, that careless panting. Bull was coming back.

Barring my teeth, I loped silently to the treeline and met him at the pasture's edge. Like before, he planted himself a few paces away.

I spoke first. "You shouldn't be here."

"Not surprised ya think so, seein' as I licked the stew outta ya the other night. But I didn't have time to clean you up proper."

"I didn't mean that . . . "

"Scared, are ya? Well, that's too bad, 'cause—"

"We don't have time for this!" I broke in, feeling my hackles rising. "Don't you see what you're doing? If we fight, my master will kill you. If he kills you, your master will kill him, and then we'll all be in a mess— don't you see?"

He put his ears back contemptuously. "To bad ya don't fight as good as ya talk."

"My master's on that knoll, and he'll hear us. Take a sniff if you don't believe me."

He tested the air, and his look changed. He sounded less sure when he said, "Maybe you're weak-kneed, but I ain't. I ain't runnin' from your boss again."

"Look . . . why fight me anyway? I would just be a waste of time, because you'd win."

He caught his lip between his teeth. "What?"

I'd struck the right spot. "You'd win, that's what. You've always been better than me, so why try to prove anything?"

"You're beggin' out?"

I swallowed back my sense of honor. What use was it to me, if it brought Tom harm? "Yes. Just go away, please."

He looked me over, confused. Finally he said, "You sheep dogs are well named. More sheep than dog, though."

His insult didn't sink into me this time. Bull was wrong about me, and it was all right if I was the only one that knew it. I watched with satisfaction as he turned away.

As I trotted back to the shed, I felt certain I'd seen the last of him. He was a bully, yes. But he wasn't rogue, so he wouldn't come back . . . 

A sound from the corral. A scuffling, then a stifled bleat. Fear saturated the air.

I raced for the shed as I caught the scent. As the smell of wild things mingled with sheep's blood, I lost all reason. Furious, I reached the corral, then,

"No, Kep! No!" called Tom voice.

Whining with rage, I obeyed my years of training and scuffed to a halt, even though I saw the panther straddling the now dead ewe. I needed to charge. Why wouldn't Tom let me charge?

He was running down the hill, dropping on one knee, aiming. "Move, Kep!"

I backed away. The panther looked up, screamed at us, then jumped into the air as Tom fired. Another shot rang out, then the wildcat dove from the corral, vanishing into the shed's open door.

I bounded after it, but Tom again called me back as he panted to my side. "Why'd he go in there?" he gasped. But he didn't pause as he led the way to the shed.

He'd reloaded by the time we reached the opening. We peered inside. But for a patch of moonlight near the entrance, the place was pitch black. Though I couldn't see the wildcat, my other senses told me where it was. I begged Tom, "I'll kill it! Let me kill it!"

He gave me that vague look masters get when they almost understand us. Then he shook his head. "No . . . no, wait."

He was reaching for my collar, but I couldn't let him hold me back any more. I bounded inside, sensed the panther leap from a haybale, heard it scream in that voice of the wild things. Diving into the moonlight, it bowled me over, fighting in that sickening cat-like way— all at once teeth, claws, and writhing muscle. There wasn't much I could do, but I latched onto its shoulder and tried not to let go.

Tom shouted, and I glimpsed him aim. But no discharge followed. I heard him fuming, "Stupid hunk of metal!" just as the panther left me. I wheeled around, knowing where it was going. But I wasn't able to stop it as it pinned Tom to the ground. I think I yelped, although not a sound came from Tom. Throwing myself onto the panther's back, I wondered if I was too late to help. All I could smell was blood— the panther's, Tom's, and my own. I dug my fangs into the wildcat's sinuous neck, hoping I would deflect its fury.

I did. As it turned on me, I hoped I'd been able to save my master. If not, the least I could do was die too.

A flash of brindled fur, and the slashing teeth left me. Looking up, I saw the panther wrestling just a couple paces away. And what was that compact ball beneath it? It was Bull. Though the cat shredded at his tight hide, Bull hung on to its throat with his signature death grip.

I rose unsteadily, then saw Tom doing the same. Though his arms and shoulders were bloodied, he didn't seem much harmed, and I was relieved to hear him gnashing words— even if they were the kind Mistress wouldn't have approved of. He took up the gun, worked it over hurriedly, then aimed again.

This time the gun didn't misfire. In the stillness that followed, the panther twitched a moment, then lay still.

Tom staggered to the dead panther and shoved it off Bull. Moving it didn't look easy, for the dog still had his teeth buried in its throat. But as I approached, Bull let go and showed his teeth at me. I think he was grinning, but it was hard to tell. His jaws were as bloody as the rest of him, and he wasn't able to get up.

Esther appeared in the doorway. She quavered, "What happened, Tom?"

"Esther!" Tom called sharply, "Go on outta here!"

But she was crying, so Tom ended up having to gentle-talk her before carrying Bull to the soddy. I limped after him, and Esther walked beside me. As the the three entered, I waited at the door. But Tom said, "Come on, Kep," so I disobeyed my training and entered the masters' home.

"Put on some water, Esther," Tom said as he laid Bull beside the kitchen table.

"All right!" Esther seemed glad to do something, and stopped crying.

Tom said, "Gollee, he'll need stitches."

While Tom and Esther rifled Mistress' sewing basket, I went up to Bull. "Why'd you come back?"

He grunted, "I was bent on fightin' something tonight. Might as well be a panther."

Tom and Esther tended Bull until dawn, cleaning the cuts, stitching the bad tears. Bull barely twitched during the whole procedure, and told me proudly that he'd seen worse. But I think he was lying. By the time they finished, Bull was too spent to do anything other than sleep. He'd earned it.

Just as Tom rocked back on his heels and sighed, "Not pretty, but it is what it is," hooves clattered outside.

We all looked up. Before Tom could push himself off the floor, Esther had opened the door. A foreboding sense made me rush outside ahead of everyone else.

I had to swerve to miss the horse's hooves, and she snorted with irritation. As the horse stopped before the soddy door, one of the McKeon hounds trotted past.

McKeon.

I looked up at the horse's rider. Nial scowled down at me, then jumped to the ground and stalked to the door. He called, "Benson!"

His scowl turned to confusion when Tom stepped into the doorway. I took my place at my master's heel, then felt Tom's fingers rustle my ear. Despite the tense atmosphere, I flopped my tail on the threshold.

Nial asked, "What've ya been doing?" He then shook himself. "And where's my dog?"

Tom knit obstinate eyebrows. "What makes you think he's here?"

Nial nodded at the hound, which had flopped down beside the horse. "Followed the trail."

"If your dog is here, what do you think he came for? To bid us all 'good morning'?"

I wondered what Tom was doing. If he wanted to make Nial sock him, he seemed dangerously close to getting his way.

Nial was huffing, "If you didn't look beat up already, I'd . . . " when Esther appeared in the doorway. In a milder voice, he said, "I want to know where my dog is, all right?"

Then Tom's back lost some of its stiffness. He said, "Your dog's all right, but . . . you'd best come inside."

It took only a few minutes to show him Bull, then to hash out the whole story while sitting at the table. As Tom spoke, Nial darted incredulous eyes from Bull to Tom. But he never once touched Bull, and by the end of the account he asked, "You sure it happened thataway?"

Tom bristled. "I didn't hurt your dog. If you don't believe me, the dead cat's in the barn and the dead ewe's in the corral. You'd have seen them already if you'd ridden a little farther."

I noticed Nial looked a little sick. "It ain't that. It's just . . . "

"What?"

"It weren't natural for a wild thing to hole itself up inside a barn like that panther did." He hesitated as his words settled into the room. Sensing his rising horror, I caught his drift, and my scruff stood on end at the very notion. Nial cast an awkward look at Esther, then a worried look at Tom's cuts. "You don't figure . . . ?"

Esther broke in, "What?"

"Nothin' kid," Nial said hurriedly.

"You weren't saying 'nothing.' You were talking about the panther Tom shot."

Nial shifted uncomfortably, but Tom said, "Esther, remember how to make porridge?"

"Yes. Ma taught me."

"Why don't you . . . do that."

"All right!"

As Esther tended the stove at the other end of the room, Tom said in a low voice, "I looked at that panther really hard. It wasn't mad. I think my first shot grazed its head, momentarily confusing it, making it seek shelter in the nearest place it could find. I've heard of such things."

Nial's forehead wrinkled. "Yer sayin' ya winged it, then it got addled."

"Right. Addled."

Relief took over Nial's face.

Then Tom sighed. "Truth is . . . it would have finished either me or Kep, if not for your dog. I don't know what he was doing on our land, but I'm glad he was here. I'm in your debt."

"You ain't beholden. That's just the way things panned out." Nail shrugged. "Maybe I see where you were coming from the other day, and maybe I got too fired up. But I figured you for a pink-skinned Eastern feller . . . what's more, you got a highfalutin' way of talkin' what rubs me the wrong way."

"Oh." Tom's brow furrowed. But then he smiled thinly. "Yeah. Guess I ought to work on that."

"Stay here long enough, and it'll file down."

"Porridge is boiling, and soon it'll be ready!" Esther called from the stove, where she stirred the pot.

Nial stood up. "I'll help ya burn the panther and the . . . er, sheep it killed."

Tom stood too, heavily. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Then I'll be takin' my dog on back."

"You know . . . you can stay for breakfast. Just porridge, but it's not so bad."

Esther protested, "'Not so bad?'"

At her shrill voice, Nial suddenly grinned. "Porridge'll be jest fine, kid."

As the two filed from the soddy, I followed. But Bull's faint growl halted me, and I turned back around. He didn't raise his head or open his eyes as he said, "You sure can't fight worth anything."

I wagged my tail.