Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

As Mr. Walker worked, Faye finished her snowshoe and took it into the back of the cabin. She must have gone to the outhouse afterwards, because I felt a breeze as if the back door had opened briefly and then been quietly closed.

The Monopoly game was still in full swing, although Bish had all his property mortgaged and was offering to do chores for people instead of paying rent when he landed on a St. James Place or a North Carolina Avenue chockablock with hotels.

I had been back inside for maybe five minutes when Rick came in. He looked angry, his mouth drawn thinly. He stopped inside the door and looked at Mr. Walker, as if thinking about speaking to him. But the teacher was so involved with the snowshoe that he had not noticed Rick, who came over and stood next to me, watching the board game.

“Did you see Doug after you saw me?” he asked, his voice low.

I sensed trouble, but I couldn’t lie about that. “Yes.”

“Did he go near the tents?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see him go in our tent?”

“No, I just saw him head in that direction. Why?”

“Because there’s fifty cents of mine missing. It was in a pocket of my pack and it’s gone.”

“Maybe you misplaced it,” I suggested.

“I don’t misplace money,” Rick said, and I was sure that was true. He was the orderly, organized type.

“Are you sure Doug took it?”

“You know Doug.”

“Are you going to tell Mr. Walker?” I looked over my shoulder to the snowshoe and the smoking brier.

“I’ll deal with it myself.” He stared at the board game for another moment, seeming to focus on the brightly colored bills in the bank. Then he went outside again.

It wasn’t much later that the screaming started. There was no way of telling who was screaming, it was so high-pitched and terrified. It was also mixed with the fiercest snarling and yelping yet from the dogs.

Everyone froze except Nick, who was out the door instantly. We followed, snowshoes and Monopoly forgotten. The screaming grew louder and more shrill. The snarling intensified. We burst outside in a loose pack and charged down the path to the dogs. Mr. Walker and Bish called for us to stay back, but we were all worked up and excited to find out what was going on. The screaming got worse, and we could hear Nick’s voice, strong and stern. What were we doing, I wondered, rushing pell-mell towards something dangerous and unknown? Unlike the day of the bears, we didn’t even have our paddles to protect us.

We came near the dogs, which had been whipped into a frenzy. At first it looked like they were all still tethered. Then we saw that Chinook and his chain were gone.

We stopped where we were and called out, “Doug! Rick!” The shrieking was still coming from beyond the tents.

Mr. Walker said, “Stay here, boys. Bish, stay with ’em,” and he went further up the trail, cautiously.

We stayed, but kept calling out. To our right, the bushes rustled. Everyone tensed up, prepared to run, but it wasn’t Chinook. It was Doug and Rebecca. They moved clumsily, holding each other and sobbing.

“Where’s Rick?” Bish asked.

Doug waved his arm in the direction Mr. Walker had gone. “There,” was all he could manage. He and Rebecca held each other tightly.

Then Mr. Walker called out, “Bish! Get up here!”

We all went and found Rick about fifty yards along the trail, still screaming, although the dog had stopped biting him. He was on the ground, writhing, torn and bloody. Mr. Walker had wrapped the Breezy All-Weather around him, but it could not cover all the wounds.

Chinook was a short distance away, straining at the chain, snarling and lunging at the boy on the ground. Nick had the chain wrapped twice around the trunk of a tree and held the loose end, like Hercules holding back Cerberus. There was strain in his face, but when he called to us his voice was calm. “Boys, tell Faye to get out here. We need some of her healing salve.”

To be honest, it looked like Rick needed more than salve, but if that was all they had, it would have to do. There was no need to go for Faye. She was there as if she’d been waiting, with bandages and a pottery container filled with thick, floral-smelling goo. Nick looked surprised to see her there so quickly.

When she saw Rick, she let out a wail, then ran to him and began tending his wounds. Her hands moved gently and she whispered words I couldn’t make out.

Nick said something, too, obviously aimed at the dog but spoken while he watched Faye bent over the savaged boy. “Bad,” he said. “Bad.”

Rick whimpered as Faye wrapped bandages around him. His legs, back, both arms, and one side of his face were torn open, and if the light had been better, God knows what of his inner workings we would have seen.

Rick must have passed out eventually, because he made no sound when Mr. Walker picked him up. We were all about to head back to the cabin when Nick said to me, “Bring my flashlight, boy.” It was lying on the ground a few feet from where he stood still holding the end of the chain. Chinook had calmed considerably now, but I was glad that Nick kept a tight grip.