“Thanks.” Duchess started off. After a few paces she stopped and turned back. “McKinley, what’s going to happen to you?”
McKinley barked. “Me? I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? This morning, early, before Redburn went off looking for the wolf, he set up a meeting of the pack. See, I was hiding in some bushes over by Cat Litter Way. I heard Luna tell Star about that meeting. I guess Redburn’s claiming that he’s head dog now.”
“Is he?”
“That’s why he called that meeting for tonight. On Howl Hill. Regular time.”
McKinley barked, “Guess he thought he was going to catch Lupin. Hey, I’m not letting it worry me. Any dog in the pack is free to call a meeting.”
“McKinley . . . well, you don’t need suggestions from me. And I better go. Thanks . . .” The greyhound lifted a paw, then, without waiting for a wag of McKinley’s tail, she raced down the way.
McKinley watched her go, tail drooping. “A pack meeting,” he whimpered. With a shake of his head he turned toward his door and opened it.
It was still morning, but he was exhausted. He had taken care of everything: Lupin, Duchess, the boy. Now he had only a couple of more things to do: go to that meeting Redburn had called and deliver Lupin’s message to the pack.
28
McKinley stood still, enjoying the warmth and familiar smells inside his house.
The female was in the kitchen staring at some pieces of paper and eating.
When McKinley came in, she looked around. “McKinley! You bad dog. You were supposed to stay in all day. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
The man came into the room. He seemed ready to leave. “Look who’s not been here. And filthy, too!”
McKinley, worried by the words bad, stay, and filthy, and wanting to reassure them, drew close to the female, sat up, and put a paw on her lap.
She fondled it—even as she kept it from marking her body covering. “Oh, well,” she said, “he’s probably forgotten what he’s done.”
“Might have been pot roast to us, but it was just food to him.” The man laughed and rubbed McKinley behind his ears.
Happy to have cheered them up, McKinley gave a bark of pleasure, then checked his food bowl. It was full. He ate, then padded down to the pup’s room, leaped onto the sleeping place and, with his head on Jack’s lump of softness, fell asleep.
• • •
A bark from Aspen woke him.
Startled, McKinley opened his eyes. She was standing right next to his sleeping place. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Where’s Lupin?”
“I left her way past the markers. She was limping but heading home. She’s tough, McKinley. She’ll make it. What did you do to keep Redburn away?”
McKinley told how he had tricked the setter and how Jack had saved him from being shot. “And, in the end, Duchess decided to go after Lupin.”
“Good for her!” Aspen barked. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” McKinley suddenly sat up. “Hey, how did you get in here?”
Aspen wagged her tail. “It’s midday. All your people are gone. I let myself in. McKinley, you’re lucky your pup was there.”
“I know.” McKinley flopped down again. “Aspen, Redburn has called a pack meeting.”
“When’s it happening?”
“Tonight. Out on Howl Hill.”
“What’s it about?”
“He thinks he deserves to be head dog.”
“McKinley, the pack would never choose Redburn.”
McKinley rested his head on his front paws. “You know what? Sometimes I wish they would. That way, you’d get your wish.”
“What’s that?”
“Didn’t you tell me I should stop taking care of everyone?”
Aspen sighed. “You better get some more sleep.”
McKinley looked up, licked her nose, and wagged his tail. “I will.” With that, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.
• • •
When he woke, Jack was beside him, lying on his stomach, head propped in his hands.
McKinley, wagging his tail, looked at the boy.
Jack rumpled McKinley’s ears. “Guess what, McKinley? The wolf got away. I went downtown after school. That’s all people are talking about. So if that’s what you were trying to do, you sure did it.”
McKinley gazed at the pup, then licked his face.
Jack laughed. “Just as well, I guess. I have to admit, with all this snow it wouldn’t have been smart for me to have gone off with him. You going to tell me you made the snow happen, too?”
McKinley wagged his tail.
“Hey” said Jack, “you know what? I’m starving. Want something to eat?”
McKinley, watching the pup head for the food place, thought of how much he wanted to thank him for saving his life. But a lick on the face wouldn’t be enough this time.
29
For the rest of the afternoon, McKinley slept. And when, that early evening, his humans gathered to watch the glow box, he was content to curl up and sleep some more.
When McKinley finally woke—fully rested—the house was dark, and the people had all gone to sleep.
He went to a window and looked out, checking the position of the moon. It was time.
He padded into Jack’s room. He leaped onto the soft sleeping place and licked the boy’s face.
Jack, slow to wake, mumbled, “McKinley, you dope, it’s Saturday. I don’t have to go to school.”
McKinley persisted.
“What is it, boy?” Jack asked. “What’s the matter?”
Taking a gentle grip on the pup’s hand, McKinley pulled.
The sleepy boy sat up, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at his small buzz box. “Dang, McKinley! Are you nuts? It’s two o’clock in the morning. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
McKinley gave a soft yelp, wagged his tail, went to the door, then came back to the soft sleeping place.
“What are you trying to tell me, boy? Has something happened? Is there a fire? Is the wolf back? Are Mom and Dad okay?”
McKinley picked up Jack’s shoes and dropped them at the boy’s feet. Then he dragged over the things the pup put on his body.
Jack stared at him. “You want me to get dressed, boy? Is that it?”
McKinley looked up at the pup’s face, wagged his tail vigorously, and whined with impatience.
“Okay, McKinley. But I’m telling you, this better be important. It really better be.”
As soon as Jack was ready, McKinley led him to the front door and then opened it.
“So neat that Mom taught you to do that,” Jack said with a grin.
McKinley wagged his tail, stepped outside, looked back at the boy, and whined.
“Have you gone crazy, McKinley?” Jack said in a hushed voice. “You wanting me to go out in the middle of the night? What is bugging you?”
McKinley growled, frisked away, and looked back.
“Okay, I get it: You want me to come with you.” The pup fetched more body covering as well as something for his head and hands.
As Jack came back outside, he said, “McKinley, you are one weird dog. You just better know what you’re doing.”
McKinley led the pup through the quiet town. The sky was clear, speckled with stars and the bright light of the glowing moon, which cast a glow over everything. The air was cold but calm.
“Hey, McKinley,” Jack said as they walked along. “I forgot to tell you. Guess what happened to Mr. Pycraft?”
McKinley, hearing the word Pycraft, stopped and looked up at his pup.
“My dad told me he didn’t even have a license for his gun. And that dog of his, Duchess, guess what? She ran away again.”
McKinley, understanding Pycraft, gun, and Duchess, studied Jack’s face.
“So we did a good thing, buddy. A good thing!”
McKinley, content with the word good, moved on.
As they continued through town, dogs began to emerge from their houses. Most came alone. But there were pairs and a few trios. There were pups, big-footed and frolicsome, who had to be reminded—sometimes with a nod or a nip—that this was a solemn occasion. There were young dogs, sleek and alert, ears pricked forward, as though ready for anything—even a bit of a fight. There were old dogs, grizzled and watery-eyed, who plodded along slowly, heads bobbing with every step. They were all walking softly in the same direction McKinley and Jack were headed.
When the dogs saw McKinley, some nodded, but there was no attempt at communication. For the most part, eyes were cast down.
McKinley wondered how many of them had heard directly from Redburn.
“McKinley,” Jack asked in a nervous, low voice, “what’s going on? How come all these dogs are out? There must be hundreds. Where are we going?”
McKinley looked reassuringly up at the boy and wagged his tail, but kept quiet.
The procession moved across the river bridge, then passed the place where people rode horses and bulls. It circled around the fields where—in the hot season—the pups hit balls with sticks. Next they passed the building where people with snow-sliders gathered. Finally, they reached the area the dogs called Howl Hill. Here a noisy machine pulled people to the top of the hill, from which they rushed down or jumped in the air on snow-sliders.
As they approached, Jack leaned over and said, “McKinley, that sign says, ‘No Dogs in Ski Areas.’ ”
Paying no attention, McKinley kept going.
Jack, looking around warily at the growing numbers of gathering dogs, stayed close, now and again reaching down and touching McKinley’s head.
When they reached the foot of the hill, McKinley sat down in the midst of the other dogs. Jack, at his side, sat, too. Not long after, Aspen joined them.
“Hey, Aspen,” Jack cried, “how you doing, girl? Hey, McKinley, even your girlfriend’s here.”
McKinley turned, and he and Aspen touched noses.
She whimpered. “What do you think will happen?”
McKinley shook his head.
30
McKinley took in the scene around him: The snowy slope illuminated by moonlight; all of the town’s dogs waiting quietly at the bottom. He saw them steal looks at him. Occasionally a growl erupted, even a snarl. Mostly, however, tails were wagging. There was only an infrequent bark. But ears were tilted forward; tongues lolled from open mouths. Here and there a leg scratched earnestly.
“Are these all the dogs in town, McKinley?” Jack whispered. “Do you guys do this a lot?” he asked.
McKinley, wishing to reassure the pup, simply licked his face. Then he turned back to study the pack again, trying to gauge their mood. He knew them all, could have named each one. There was Gibby. And there was Barkley. Jacque, Brittany, and Hunter were sitting calmly. Star, too. Max, Pepper, Tubbs, and Duke had begun fooling around. Jayvee was scratching her ever-present fleas. Buster was asleep.
But McKinley was also searching the pack for Redburn and his friends, Boots and Jaws. When he caught sight of them, the three were huddled together in the middle of the crowd. But even as McKinley watched, Redburn broke away and started to climb the hill, his two friends staying close to his heels.
Redburn stopped halfway up the hill, faced the dogs below, and sat.
Jack leaned over to McKinley. “That’s Redburn, isn’t it?” he asked. “The Sullivans’ dog. I heard he was hunting the wolf. Is he the dogs’ boss?”
McKinley kept his eyes on the big setter.
Redburn stood. As always, his fur looked perfectly burnished. He held his head high, his tail extended. His leg feathers fluttered gracefully. McKinley had to admit he looked good.
Ears pitched forward, eyes wide open and bright, Redburn pointed his nose at the moon, opened his mouth, and barked. “I, Redburn, hereby call to order a full meeting of the Steamboat pack, as is the right of every dog.”
The mass of dogs arrayed below lifted their heads and returned Redburn’s cry with a chorus of howling, yowling, and baying. “We are here! We are here! We Steamboat dogs are here,” they returned. “Let the meeting begin.”
“McKinley,” Jack whispered nervously, “what’s happening? What are they saying?”
McKinley, with eyes and ears only for Redburn, ignored the pup.
“Steamboat dogs,” the setter went on, “I called this meeting because we all have been placed in serious jeopardy. McKinley allowed a savage wolf to come among us. By doing so he defied our humans’ wishes. McKinley has endangered us by making the humans think of us as uncivilized beasts!
“Steamboat dogs, our humans feed us, shelter us,” Redburn barked excitedly. “In return, we must do what they want. That’s the way we should live. In complete obedience. It’s the civilized way.
“And that’s why I called this meeting. I, Redburn, among all Steamboat dogs, have the greatest trust of the humans. Because they admire me so much, you should make me head dog.”
Boots and Jaws lifted their heads and barked their noisy approval.
In response, other dogs barked and howled. “Answer him, McKinley! Answer Redburn’s charges!”
McKinley, still sitting, looked around. He barked briskly once, twice.
The dogs instantly hushed themselves.
Up on the hill, Redburn tossed his head importantly, but sat down.
“Steamboat dogs,” McKinley began from his place, “Redburn is right: We were visited by a wolf. Lupin is her name. She came down to us from the Zirkel Wilderness. Her mission was to bring dogs back to her home so they could help increase her diminishing wolf pack.
“She may have been a stranger, but Steamboat dogs, she is our kin. These wolves are what we once were. If for no other reason, we owe wolves our respect, our courtesy.
“As for this Lupin, she is more powerful than me. She is so strong that I bowed before her.”
There was an eruption of growls, barks, and whimpers from the dogs.
“See, see!” Redburn barked excitedly. “McKinley bowed before the wolf. He gave away his leadership! I’d never do such a thing. It’s I who should be our leader!”
“But I must also tell you,” McKinley continued, his barks rising above Redburn’s, “that this Lupin was nearly caught by some humans—led by a dog. The humans would have killed this kin of ours if they could. But even though the wolf was wounded, she managed to escape.
“Steamboat dogs, listen to me. There is one dog among us who helped the humans hunt Duchess, an abused dog—as some of you know. Duchess only wanted her freedom. In seeking to free her, Lupin came to be wounded. Shot by a long gun. And when she was bleeding, that same dog tried to hunt her down again. The dog who did all this was—Redburn.”
At the mention of his name, Redburn began to bark furiously. “Steamboat dogs, listen! McKinley gave up his authority. To a stranger. You heard him admit it. By bowing to this wolf he went against what’s best for us! We need stronger leadership.”
Most dogs on the hill began to bark and bay at him, “Traitor. Turncoat! Lapdog! Pet!”
The setter barked more fiercely than ever. “No, you’re not paying attention! I should be the pack leader. I’d never give way to a wolf.”
There was an uproar of barks. Jack reached for McKinley, who glanced at him and saw fear in his eyes.
“Curs!” Redburn snapped at the dogs. “Mutts! Mongrels! Listen to your better!”
At these taunts the dogs, on their feet now, only increased their yowls.
McKinley watched tensely as some of the dogs began to move up the hill. At first Redburn stood his ground and only barked at them furiously. But as more dogs began to close in, he and his friends started to back away.
Suddenly, McKinley stood, his paws braced wide on the snowy ground. His chest seemed to expand with strength. His great tail curved over his broad, black back, the fur of which had risen with tension. Then he opened his mouth wide and exposed his teeth, too, wrinkling his nose to do so. From hi
s chest he let forth a deep, rumbling growl.
Instantly, the other dogs hushed. Those inching up the hill halted. Even Redburn shut his mouth and paid attention.
“Steamboat dogs,” McKinley barked into the deep silence, “I say that Redburn is a dog who does whatever humans tell him instead of honoring the best interests of our pack. Or of any needful dog. Redburn is a leash-licker! A groveler. A slave to every human whim, willing to crawl into the lap of any human who offers to pat him on the head. Yes, Redburn is a dog, but he is without a dog’s dignity.”
The assembled dogs began to growl angrily. “Bad dog!” they yapped at Redburn. “Bad dog! You should be ashamed of yourself. Bad dog!”
Those dogs on the hill began to advance again, snarling and yapping. Others joined them to surround the setter.
While the tumult grew and the dogs edged closer, Redburn seemed to shrink in size. He made an effort to lift his head as if to protest, snapping this way and that. Then, as even more dogs crowded up the hill, he, Jaws, and Boots began to retreat.
The dog closest to Redburn darted forward, growling loudly, teeth bared.
Whimpering, Boots and Jaws bolted, leaving Redburn alone.
“All I am trying to explain . . .” the setter whined.
Another dog darted forward, making clicking sounds with his teeth.
“Steamboat dogs!” McKinley suddenly barked. “Don’t demean yourself by fighting with such a dog. Don’t treat Redburn the way he wished to treat the wolf. He isn’t worth it. Let him go!”
The advancing dogs, their mouths open, tongues lolling, halted in their tracks.
Redburn looked around sheepishly. He was surrounded. Skulking down, he dropped his tail between his legs. Whimpering, he began to slink off the hill. As he descended, the pack made way for him, growling and snapping at him as he passed.
At the bottom of the hill, Redburn turned briefly. For a moment McKinley thought he was about to bark something, but the setter seemed to have second thoughts. With a yelp, he scampered away.