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Buck, blond and husky, went next. Joseph followed him, feeling a thorn rip his shirt as he wriggled under the hedge. His mother wouldn’t be happy about that, but he dismissed the worry at the sight of the pond that lay like a dark mirror, framed with willows, with a gentle, grassy hill rising on the far side of it.
The boys had no poles, but they’d been here before and had a plan. Buck used his pocketknife to cut three stout willow branches. From an empty Prince Albert tobacco tin, he pulled out three cotton strings, each one tied to a small hook. Turning over a few rocks gave them enough worms to use as bait. Soon, with their makeshift tackle, they were catching fish.
Joseph had often wondered where the yellow perch came from, since they weren’t found in wild streams. Someone in the past must’ve stocked the pond with them. They were too small to have much meat on them, but they were a lot of fun to catch.
Joseph had just landed his third fish when a sound from the direction of the house chilled his blood.
It was the sound of barking dogs—big dogs, and more than one. They were coming closer.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS THE HELLISH BARKING GREW LOUDER, CULLY WAS THE FIRST TOreact. Dropping his pole, he dived for the opening under the hedge with Buck right behind him. Lean and nimble, Cully made a clean getaway. But Buck was slower and bulkier. Halfway through the hole, he snagged the seat of his pants on a thorny branch. Caught fast, he twisted and struggled, blocking the way out and leaving Joseph with nowhere to go.
Joseph was trying to reach his friend when two massive dogs bounded over the crest of the hill. Snarling and growling, they paused on the far side of the pond. Joseph crouched by the hedge, trying not to show the terror he felt. If he were to run, odds were that the dogs would bring him down and tear him to pieces.
Their ugly jaws gleamed with drool as they eyed him like predators sizing up their prey. With heavy bodies and brindled coats, they reminded him of the dogs in an old English painting he’d seen in a book. Mastiffs—the name of the breed sprang unbidden into his mind.
He could hear the rustling sounds of Buck moving under the hedge. Maybe his friend had managed to free himself and would get to safety. But Joseph knew better than to follow. If he were to dive for the opening, the dogs could be on him in an instant, seizing his legs and dragging him backward.
“Good boys.” Standing, he spoke to the dogs in a coaxing tone. “It’s all right. I don’t mean any harm.”
One dog growled. The other dog, hackles bristling, edged closer around the side of the pond. Joseph could sense the tension building in the beasts. Any moment now, those vise-like jaws and ripping teeth could be closing on his flesh. Maybe he should make for the pond. At least in the water, he might have a fighting chance. He braced himself for the sprint and the leap.
A shrill whistle split the stillness. Ears pricking, the dogs wheeled and loped back up the hill. Weak with relief, Joseph was about to drop to the ground and follow Buck, who’d made it through the opening under the hedge, when a rider appeared over the hilltop, flanked by the dogs and mounted on a tall black horse.
Cast in silhouette against the sun, the figure in the saddle was small, almost childlike. Was it a boy, even a girl? But no—as the horse walked closer, changing the angle of the light, Joseph realized he was looking at an elderly woman in riding clothes.
“What are you doing here, boy?” Her age-roughened voice was steely, her posture ramrod straight. In one hand she carried a coiled bullwhip. “I asked you a question,” she snapped. “Answer me.”
Joseph cleared his throat. “I—I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just catching a few fish. I know I’m not supposed to be here. If you’ll let me go, I promise to never come back again.”
For a silent interval that seemed to last forever, she studied him. Her cat-green eyes seemed to look right through his skin. The low sun cast a russet aura over her silver hair.
“What’s your name, boy?” she demanded.
“Joseph, ma’am. Joseph Dollarhide.”
“And your father’s name?”
“Blake Dollarhide, ma’am. And my grandfather—”
“Never mind, I know,” she snapped. “All right, go on back the way you came in. But if I ever see you here again, I’ll set the dogs on you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Joseph’s knees quivered with relief.
“Then get going before I change my mind!” Her voice had taken on a shrill quality. “Go on, you little bastard! Get out of here!”
Joseph dived for the opening under the hedge, wriggled through, and struggled to his feet. His heart was pounding so hard that he could imagine it slamming a hole through his ribs. As he walked back to the horses where his friends were waiting, he felt a lump rising in his throat. Tears stung his eyes. He blinked them away.
“Are you all right?” Buck asked as Joseph mounted his horse. “Did the dogs attack you?”
“No. The dogs were fine. It was just scary.” He nudged the horse to a trot, moving ahead of his companions. He didn’t want them to see his face or ask him any more questions.
No matter how many questions they might ask, he would never tell them the truth—the truth that roiled in his stomach, making him want to be sick.
He had just met his grandmother.
* * *
