Shiloh Read Online Free

Shiloh
Book: Shiloh Read Online Free
Author: Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
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tucked under his arm.
    People even leave somethin’ in their boxes once in a while for Dad. Mrs. Ellison always leaves a little loaf of banana bread or a cinnamon roll, and Dad saves it to eat with his lunch.
    After we finish Sistersville, we do the Friendly route, but as the Jeep gets up near Shiloh, my heart starts to pound. I’m thinking of closing my eyes tight in case the dog’s around. If I see his eyes looking at me, they’ll just drive me crazy. I can hear dogs barking when we’re a half mile off fromJudd Travers’s trailer; dogs can pick up the sound of a Jeep that quick.
    I get Judd’s mail ready for him. He hasn’t got any catalog coming, but he’s got two other magazines that’ll probably warm his heart— Guns and Ammo and Shooting Times. Why don’t he take a magazine about dogs, I’m thinking—teach him how to be kind?
    All the dogs is chained when we get to his place, so none’s waiting for us at the box. But Judd is. He’s got a big old sickle; is cutting weeds along his side of the road.
    â€œâ€™Mornin’,” Dad says as the Jeep pulls up.
    Judd straightens his back. His shirt’s all soaked with sweat, and he wears this brown handkerchief tied around his forehead to keep the sweat from running in his eyes.
    â€œHow you doin’, Ray?” he says, and comes over to the Jeep with his hand out. I give him his mail, and he even stinks like sweat. I know everybody sweats and everybody’s sweat stinks, but seems to me Judd’s sweat stinks worse than anyone’s. Mean sweat.
    â€œHow come you aren’t at work?” Dad says.
    â€œYou think this ain’t work?” Judd answers, then laughs. “Got me a week of vacation coming, so I take a day now and then. This Friday I’m going hunting again. Take the dogs up on the ridge and see if I can get me some rabbit. Possum,maybe. Haven’t had me a possum dinner for some time.”
    â€œDogs okay?” Dad asks, and I know he’s asking for me
    â€œLean and mean,” says Judd. “Keep ’em half starved, they’ll hunt better.”
    â€œGot to keep ’em healthy, though, or you won’t have ’em long,” Dad says. I know he’s saying that for me, too.
    â€œLose one, I’ll buy another,” Judd tells him.
    I can’t help myself. I lean out the window where I can see his face real good—big, round face, whiskers on his cheeks and chin where he hasn’t shaved his face for five days—tight little eyes looking down on me beneath his bushy brows.
    â€œThat dog that followed me home the other day,” I say. “He okay?”
    â€œHe’s learnin’,” Judd says. “Didn’t give him a ounce of supper that night. Just put him where he could watch the others eat. Teach him not to wander off. Got him back in the shed, right now.”
    My stomach hurts for Shiloh. “That dog,” I say again. “What’s his name?”
    Judd just laughs, and his teeth’s dark where the tobacco juice oozes through. “Hasn’t got a name. Never name any of my dogs. Dogs one, two, three, and four is all. When I want ’em, Iwhistle; when I don’t, I give ’em a kick. ‘Git,’ ‘Scram,’ ‘Out,’ and ‘Dammit’; that’s my dogs’ names.” And he laughs, making the fat on his belly shake.
    I’m so mad I can’t see. I know I should shut my mouth, but it goes on talking. “His name’s Shiloh,” I say.
    Judd looks down at me and spits sideways. Studies me a good long time, then shrugs as the Jeep moves forward again and on along the river.

CHAPTER 4
    â€œ M arty,” Dad says when we’re around the bend, “sometimes you haven’t got the sense to shut up. You can’t go tellin’ a man what to call his dog.”
    But I’m mad, too. “Better than callin’ him ‘Git’ or
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