Read Online Saving Shiloh by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor - Free Book Online Page B

says. “When you think you’ve seen the last of one, not much use for the other.”
    Wonder just how far Judd trusts me; about as far as I trust him, I guess. I talk about somethin’ else: “When do you suppose you’ll get your dogs back?”
    â€œSoon’s I can get around without this cast,” he says. “Doc’s taking it off next Wednesday. I’ll still be hobblin’ around on crutches, but I figure I can at least tend to my dogs.”
    â€œYou know,” I say, “the way I hear it, the happiest dogs make the best hunters.”
    â€œDon’t know about that,” says Judd. “My pa always said to keep ’em lean and mean.”
    Can’t help myself. “Maybe your pa wasn’t always right,” I say.
    Judd pauses, a piece of macaroni on his fork. He looks at me for a minute, then puts the fork to his mouth, don’t say nothing. I figure that don’t get me no points.
    â€œAll I know is what I learn from Doc Collins, that chainin’ up dogs is one of the worst things you can do,” I say.
    â€œWell, that’s just a pity, because I don’t have no money for a fence,” Judd tells me, and takes a big swallow of water, wipes his hand across his mouth, and hunches over his plate again, like his macaroni and beef is a chore he’s got to wade through.
    â€œWhat I come to tell you is that Doc Murphy’s having his garden fence took down this afternoon, wants if off his property by tomorrow. First come, first get. I asked him not to give it to nobody till I’d talked to you.” I pray Jesus this isn’t a true lie, just a social conversation.
    â€œWhat’s the catch?” asks Judd.
    â€œNothin’. He wants to plant grass seed over the post-holes during this warm spell.”
    â€œWell, I got the strength of a ninety-year-old man right now, and Doc knows that. I can’t be fooling with a fence.”
    â€œDad and me can bring it by. Put it up for you.”
    Judd gives this half smile and a “ Huh! Nobody does nothing for free,” he says.
    â€œWe’re not askin’ anything, Judd! Just see a chance to do a little something for those dogs.”
    â€œWhy? They’re not your dogs. You got Shiloh. You got an eye on them, too?”
    â€œNo! What you talkin’ about? We’re just bein’ neighborly, that’s all.”
    â€œWell, my dogs’ll get along fine without you,” says Judd, and goes on eating, and my stomach does a flip-flop.
    I stand up. “If you don’t want it, I know folks who do. What’s the name of that man with all those hunting dogs over in Little—those really fine dogs? He knows they need a place to run, and he’d like that fence, I’ll bet.” I am stretching the truth so far I can almost hear it snap. Don’t even know a man in Little.
    I wait for two . . . three seconds, but Judd don’t say a thing. I push my chair in and head out the door.

Ten
    A ll the way home I am chewin’ myself out. What am I, some kind of fool? Judd Travers don’t care about his dogs any more than I care about mushrooms. Couldn’t get that man to change if you was to hold his feet to the fire.
    And now I feel a rage buildin’ up in my chest that’s almost too much for me to handle. All I am trying in this world to do is make life a little easier for Judd Travers’s dogs, and what do I get? Trouble up one side and down the other. Bet he did kill that man from Bens Run. Judd’s got enough meanness in him to do most anything.
    Right this very minute Doc’s got those men takin’ down his fence. I cross the bridge and can look way down the road, see where one is digging up those posts, and the other is winding up that wire. And tomorrow morning my dad, who don’t even know it yet, is to drive his Jeep over and pick up a whole yard of fence that Judd Travers don’t want in the first