The Good Dog

  After trotting along for a while—staying to one side of Horse Smell Way to avoid cars—McKinley took a turn onto Cow Pen Way. It wound steeply up toward the high wilderness country—Buffalo Pass—a place he rarely visited.

  But before going very far, McKinley turned onto Fox Haven Way, which was so muddy during the wet time after the snow that deep water ditches had been cut along the sides. McKinley stopped at the smallest house in the valley. Only during snow season did people come there. So the area around the cabin was almost entirely free of their smells. That was the reason local dogs used it to leave messages.

  Behind the little house ran a creek. When hot weather came it was one of the best places to take a cooling swim after a ramble.

  McKinley sniffed the trunk of a small aspen tree in front of the cabin. It grew where people stopped their cars. There he found exactly what he’d hoped to find. Duchess had left her mark in the dirt nearby—recently.

  Barking with satisfaction, McKinley put his nose to the ground and trotted across the way, leaped over a ditch, and passed on into a field. He was headed toward the foothills and the woods. Here, thick groves of pine, aspen, and scrub oak grew. The smell of damp earth, moldy leaves, and decaying berries filled the air. Even so, Duchess’s scent was easy to follow.

  McKinley was well into the hills when he stopped in his tracks. He sniffed deeply. An entirely new scent was mixed in with the one Duchess had left. Leaning forward, tail extended tensely, McKinley ransacked his memory of smells. Suddenly, he knew what he was smelling. A wolf. A female wolf. Jack had seen one!

  McKinley pulled back his ears, wrinkled his nose, and hunched his trembling body lower to the ground. Heart thumping, he thrust his nose directly into the wolf’s scent. The smell was somewhat older than Duchess’s, which meant the wolf had been here first. Perhaps she had gone on.

  Tension easing, McKinley stood erect. The stiff black hairs along his back flattened. He lifted his tail. Once again he went forward but—this time—with caution.

  Farther up into the hills—behind an open meadow of low grass—sat a circle of large boulders. During the summer, snakes sometimes gathered there. At first glance the boulders seemed wedged tightly together. But McKinley knew they concealed a cavelike chamber, a perfect den. To get in or out a dog needed only to crawl through a passage tunneled under one boulder. Duchess’s trail led directly to that crevice.

  Drawing closer, McKinley sniffed deeply. The wolf scent had intensified. Then he saw that the hole under the boulder had been enlarged to accommodate an animal bigger than Duchess. But though the wolf’s smell certainly lingered, Duchess’s scent was stronger. McKinley felt convinced that the wolf was no longer near.

  Presenting himself in as friendly a way as possible, he lifted his rump, lowered his forepaws, raised his tail and, with his mouth open and tongue exposed, gave a friendly bark.

  A short, sharp yelp came from among the boulders. The next moment Duchess popped out of the entry passage.

  Smaller and thinner than McKinley, Duchess’s strong, sleek greyhound body was covered with short fur. Her muzzle was long and narrow, her large eyes liquid. Small ears were constantly in motion as they responded warily to the slightest sounds.

  As soon as Duchess crept from the hole, she took up the proper posture for greeting the head dog—ears back, tongue extended, one paw raised. She kept her tail low, wagging it slightly, averting her eyes.

  McKinley, gazing down at Duchess, wagged his tail gently, and approached.

  The two dogs touched noses, then sniffed each other’s bodies to discover where they had been, with whom they had visited. McKinley noted that the wolf’s scent was strong on the greyhound, but decided to keep quiet about it. For now. “Are you all right?” he barked.

  The greyhound did not look directly at McKinley. “Oh, yes, fine.”

  “How long have you been up here?”

  “A few days and nights.”

  “What happened?”

  Duchess sat and glanced shyly at him. “You know me, McKinley, I need to run. To get about. But my human doesn’t want me hanging around other dogs. Thinks I’m too highbred. So he keeps me leashed up all day—all night, too—except when he wants to play.”

  McKinley growled. “At night?”

  “I’m afraid so. He stays up late watching his glow box. McKinley, I may not be the most social of dogs, but I do get lonely. And that doghouse is awful, made of foul-smelling, hard stuff. So I do what he wants. I play.”

  McKinley barked to show his sympathy.

  “The worst of it is, every once in a while Pycraft pulls me into his truck, goes somewhere new, and makes me race against other dogs.”

  McKinley sighed.

  “I’m fast,” Duchess whined. “I know that. Actually, I enjoy racing. Besides, it’s my only real chance to be with other dogs. But when I lose . . .” She looked away.

  McKinley felt a rumble of anger gathering in his throat. “What happens?”

  “Pycraft yells at me. Calls me dumb. Or stupid. Says it in front of other dogs, too. McKinley, I try to win, I do. But, let’s face it, if I’m leashed most of the time I can’t stay in shape. So, I lose. A lot. Right after I lost the last one I took off. Pycraft was so mad, he forgot to leash me right or even shut the yard entryway. It was no big deal to slip out, and . . . well, here I am.”

  “Not the first time.”

  Duchess took on a guilty look. “I suppose I should have checked with you first, but you know how it gets with us dogs and people. They need us. And Pycraft doesn’t have many friends. I get to feeling sorry for him. But, McKinley, really, I’m done with him now.”

  “I’m all for that,” McKinley barked promptly. “But you should know something. Pycraft has put your picture up all over town.”

  The greyhound whimpered. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to hunt you down.”

  Duchess stretched out, resting her chin on her forepaws. “McKinley, I’m not worried about people. But . . .” She looked up. “You don’t think any of our pack would come after me, do you?”

  “Redburn might.”

  Duchess came to her feet and barked.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll assert my authority.”

  “Redburn does anything his people ask him to do.”

  “We’ll see,” McKinley growled. “But don’t forget, I’m head dog.”

  The greyhound whimpered again. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  McKinley looked around, then leaned over. “Listen, Duchess. I heard the man in my family say there’s already snow on the pass. Cold times are coming. Can you survive out here?”

  She did not respond.

  “Well?”

  “McKinley . . . I have a new . . . friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s a . . . wolf. Her name is Lupin. It was she who found me. She’s amazingly strong. Hate to tell you, but I’ve never met anyone—among us dogs—who is so powerful. But she’s kind, McKinley. And smart. You can’t believe all she knows.”

  “Where’s she coming from?”

  “Up north, she told me. The Zirkel Wilderness. She’s on a mission.”

  McKinley tried to conceal his growing worry. “What kind of mission?” He was gazing right at the greyhound.

  Duchess avoided his look. “Her wolf pack has become so small, it’s in danger of disappearing. She’s coming to meet our pack. Get us to join the wolves up there.”

  McKinley growled.

  “McKinley, Lupin says all dogs are descendants of wolves.”

  “A long time ago, yes.”

  “Lupin says it wasn’t that long ago. Anyway, she believes that it’s time we stopped living with people. Time to be independent again, to get back to the wild the way we once lived. That’s what she said. And it’s what I’m thinking of doing.”

  McKinley gazed at her. “Want some advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “For the time being, stay hidden.”

  4


  Among 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.

  5

  Pycraft 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.”