SPIKE

A million thoughts seemed to race through my mind. "But how can you tell this guy's Buck Clements?" I asked.

"Because I know that coward, and I seen him get that scar when a wine bottle was busted over his skull. He's the worse soldier that ever was. His C.O. was a brave soldier. Some real good guys died cuz of that coward." Black Jack's voice rose even louder. "The Army's still lookin' for Buck Clements. They'll shoot him or hang him when they find him." I looked quickly at Pop and Buck, worrying that they could hear Black Jack, but they just stood there, staring out of the boxcar door, not paying us any mind.

A whistle sounded. The car shook and squeaked, and the train moved along the rails, real slow at first, then picked up speed to about twenty miles an hour, slower than before, maybe because we were passing through a built up area. Pop and Buck squatted down a few feet from the car door, talking to each other. I couldn't hear any words they said because the rattling and creaking drowned out their voices. Pop looked real serious, his mouth moving, holding Buck's arm all the while. Buck listened to something Pop said, then nodded his head a couple of times. They both stood and walked toward us. Pop showed us that scary smile, and Buck, smirking all the while, acted friendly, too. When they got about five feet from us, Black Jack jumped up and grabbed the handle of his knife.

"Hey," Pop said real quick, holding up his hand, "take it easy, we ain't looking for trouble. We just want to talk."

"What you wanna talk about?" Black Jack asked, still clutching his knife.

"We want to talk about THIS!" When Pop shouted "this," he dove for Black Jack's legs, and Buck leaped forward and grabbed Black Jack around the middle, wrestling him to the floor. Before I had time to think of what was going on, Pop jumped up and grabbed the knife from Black Jack's belt, then back-pedaled real fast, holding the blade out in front of him, making jabbing motions with it. Black Jack rolled on the floor, cursing and hollering with Buck on top of him.

Preview 2

I rushed toward the open door. "Spike! Spike!" I screamed. I was about to jump from the train, but Black Jack, who’d broken loose from Buck, grabbed my arm and jerked me back so hard that I stumbled and went sprawling to the floor on my stomach. "Stay where you are, yuh damn fool," he yelled, then swung around to confront Pop and Buck. But he was too late. The two drifters, taking advantage of Black Jack's distraction, rushed forward and crashed into him. Black Jack cursed and coughed as the three bodies rolled across the floor of the car. I jumped to my feet, my mind in a whirl, wanting to help Black Jack, but unable to recover from the shock of losing Spike in such a horrible way.

By the time my thoughts straightened out, Buck had hauled Black Jack to his feet, with Pop holding the knife to his back. I made a move in their direction, but stopped in my tracks when Pop shouted a warning at me. "Stay away kid, unless you want your black friend carved into little pieces." Pop dug the knife into Black Jack, who winced but didn't say anything. His eyes looked like saucers, not scared, just mad. "Get movin', black boy, you're gonna join up with that damn dog." Pop jabbed the knife again. Black Jack edged toward the open door, with Pop close behind, poking at him. He stood, staring out of the car, gripping the edge of the door for a few seconds, then turned suddenly, about to put up a fight. But Buck, who had crept up next to Pop, gave Black Jack a violent push, and out the boxcar door he went. The squeaking and rumbling of the moving train drowned out anything Black Jack might have yelled.

Buck started toward me, his lips drawn up, looking real mean. I stood there trembling, thinking my turn had come be thrown from the car, when Pop held up both hands. "Leave the kid alone," he ordered. "We ain't got no quarrel with him."

Preview 3

"Is he going to be all right?"

Mama’s voice.

Where was I? Who was she talking to?

My eyes popped open. Mama knelt down beside me, her anxious face close to mine. I must have passed out because I was back in the house, stretched out on the floor of the living room. How did I get here?

"He’ll be right as rain in a couple of days, Mrs. Donegan," a man’s voice said. "He swallered a bit of smoke. But the leg ain’t broken. Just a nasty gash. I cleaned it up good."

"Do you think we should take him to Dr. Billings?" Mama asked.

"No need to do that," he said. "Be wastin’ yer money. Bin ‘round dogs long enuff to tell he ain’t bad off. Them sheep dogs are tough."

"Well, thanks for carrying him here, Ben," Mama said. "It was lucky you came along when you did."

"Well, I hear screamin’ and barkin’ from my shack, and run over. Janna’s sittin’ in the creek sort of in a daze. Carol’s holdin’ the dog’s head out of the water, cryin’ to beat the band, and sobbin’ that he saved her and yer little gal from the fire." He paused, then asked how Janna was doing.

"Oh, thank God, she’s all right, too," Mama said, her voice kind of jerky. "Just scared and dirty. She’s in her room, resting after a hot bath." Janna’s mom stroked my neck. "We owe a lot to this wonderful animal." She stood and walked Ben to the front door, and they went outside where they kept on chatting.