tucked under his arm.
People even leave somethinâ 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. Iâm thinking of closing my eyes tight in case the dogâs around. If I see his eyes looking at me, theyâll just drive me crazy. I can hear dogs barking when weâre a half mile off fromJudd Traversâs trailer; dogs can pick up the sound of a Jeep that quick.
I get Juddâs mail ready for him. He hasnât got any catalog coming, but heâs got two other magazines thatâll probably warm his heartâ Guns and Ammo and Shooting Times. Why donât he take a magazine about dogs, Iâm thinkingâteach him how to be kind?
All the dogs is chained when we get to his place, so noneâs waiting for us at the box. But Judd is. Heâs got a big old sickle; is cutting weeds along his side of the road.
ââMorninâ,â Dad says as the Jeep pulls up.
Judd straightens his back. His shirtâs all soaked with sweat, and he wears this brown handkerchief tied around his forehead to keep the sweat from running in his eyes.
âHow you doinâ, Ray?â 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 everybodyâs sweat stinks, but seems to me Juddâs sweat stinks worse than anyoneâs. Mean sweat.
âHow come you arenât at work?â Dad says.
âYou think this ainât work?â Judd answers, then laughs. âGot me a week of vacation coming, so I take a day now and then. This Friday Iâm going hunting again. Take the dogs up on the ridge and see if I can get me some rabbit. Possum,maybe. Havenât had me a possum dinner for some time.â
âDogs okay?â Dad asks, and I know heâs asking for me
âLean and mean,â says Judd. âKeep âem half starved, theyâll hunt better.â
âGot to keep âem healthy, though, or you wonât have âem long,â Dad says. I know heâs saying that for me, too.
âLose one, Iâll buy another,â Judd tells him.
I canât help myself. I lean out the window where I can see his face real goodâbig, round face, whiskers on his cheeks and chin where he hasnât shaved his face for five daysâtight little eyes looking down on me beneath his bushy brows.
âThat dog that followed me home the other day,â I say. âHe okay?â
âHeâs learninâ,â Judd says. âDidnât 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.â
My stomach hurts for Shiloh. âThat dog,â I say again. âWhatâs his name?â
Judd just laughs, and his teethâs dark where the tobacco juice oozes through. âHasnât got a name. Never name any of my dogs. Dogs one, two, three, and four is all. When I want âem, Iwhistle; when I donât, I give âem a kick. âGit,â âScram,â âOut,â and âDammitâ; thatâs my dogsâ names.â And he laughs, making the fat on his belly shake.
Iâm so mad I canât see. I know I should shut my mouth, but it goes on talking. âHis nameâs Shiloh,â 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 M arty,â Dad says when weâre around the bend, âsometimes you havenât got the sense to shut up. You canât go tellinâ a man what to call his dog.â
But Iâm mad, too. âBetter than callinâ him âGitâ or