Look. There’s Corporal Randolph Phinney. A member of the cavalry.”
“Uh-huh, those are good too, but …” I shot Jeeter an apologetic look.
“But what?”
“I bet you anything Mellecker and all the rest of the guys in the class are picking veterans. I’d kind of like to do something different.”
“Well, sure. You don’t want a heehaw like that thinking you copied him.”
I smiled at the thought of Mellecker with donkey ears and a bristly tail swishing at flies. Jeeter always had the best expressions.
He was ready to lead me over to another potential gravesite when I felt the leashes in my front pocket and remembered the dogs. I hadn’t seen them in a while. “Hey,” I said, glancing around. “I wonder where C.B. and Spunky went.”
“Who?”
“The dogs.… Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. I got a job walking Mr. Krasny’s terrier. But lately we’ve been running more than walking.”
Jeeter’s head snapped up. “You let the dogs loose in
here
?”
“Well, I had to. My assignment’s due tomorrow, and Mr. Krasny gets upset if Spunky doesn’t get his walk.…”
I let my voice trail off. Jeeter was spinning around, searching the cemetery with a worried look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Dogs aren’t allowed in here anymore, Linc, especially if they’re not on a leash.”
“But you and Mr. Nicknish always let—”
“Old Nick’s gone. Retired. We got a new boss a few weeks ago, and oh man, he can be ornery as a snake on a stick. Get this. He likes being called Warden instead of Superintendent, and the name sure suits him.” Jeeter glanced over his shoulder again. “So which way do you think those dogs went?”
I stood on my toes, trying to get a look over the hill, back toward Claiborne Street. “Uh, I’m not sure. I didn’t think they’d run off like this. But maybe C.B. found a rabbit or something.”
Jeeter pressed his hand on my shoulder. “Look, Linc, you gotta find them quick and hightail it out of here. I’ll run overto the office and see if I can keep the warden occupied till you’re gone.”
“Okay,” I said with a nervous little gulp. Jeeter wasn’t exactly the anxious type. He would never act this way unless he had a good reason.
“C . B .!” I SQUAWKED as I ran through the graveyard. “Spunk!” I knew the dogs might come if I whistled and called louder, but I didn’t want to bring the warden running too, in case he happened to be nearby.
I slowed down when I got near the gate at the end of my street, hoping that C.B. had led Spunky home for a rest in our yard. But there was no sign of them on the front porch or around back, so I stalked into the graveyard again, past Winslow, Dobbins, York & McNutt.
“C.B.!” I yelled a little louder.
What are you tryin’ to do? Raise the dead?
I heard Winslow croak.
Oh, leave him alone. He’s having a bad day
.
Ew-weeee, is he ever! Those mutts have probably been carted off to the pound by now. He might as well give up and go home
.
“Shut up,” I muttered before McNutt could chime in.
The light was already turning, throwing stretchy shadows of trees and tombstones across the ground. Mr. Krasny would start getting worried soon. What if I had to go back and tell him I had lost Spunky? Another chill shivered through me as I searched the distance and the dark line of forest on the edge of the graveyard. What if the dogs had headed into Hickory Hill Park? The park spanned hundreds of brambly acres and trails. It would take me all night to track them down there.
But with all those rabbits and squirrels waiting to be chased, Hickory Hill was the obvious place to look. So I set off toward the shadowy fringe of trees, calling the dogs in a strained voice as I trotted along through row after row of graves. I was so distracted, checking over my shoulder to make sure the warden wasn’t on my trail, that I almost ran right into it—the columbarium wall, rising up in the dusk. I veered around and
“Uh-huh, those are good too, but …” I shot Jeeter an apologetic look.
“But what?”
“I bet you anything Mellecker and all the rest of the guys in the class are picking veterans. I’d kind of like to do something different.”
“Well, sure. You don’t want a heehaw like that thinking you copied him.”
I smiled at the thought of Mellecker with donkey ears and a bristly tail swishing at flies. Jeeter always had the best expressions.
He was ready to lead me over to another potential gravesite when I felt the leashes in my front pocket and remembered the dogs. I hadn’t seen them in a while. “Hey,” I said, glancing around. “I wonder where C.B. and Spunky went.”
“Who?”
“The dogs.… Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. I got a job walking Mr. Krasny’s terrier. But lately we’ve been running more than walking.”
Jeeter’s head snapped up. “You let the dogs loose in
here
?”
“Well, I had to. My assignment’s due tomorrow, and Mr. Krasny gets upset if Spunky doesn’t get his walk.…”
I let my voice trail off. Jeeter was spinning around, searching the cemetery with a worried look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Dogs aren’t allowed in here anymore, Linc, especially if they’re not on a leash.”
“But you and Mr. Nicknish always let—”
“Old Nick’s gone. Retired. We got a new boss a few weeks ago, and oh man, he can be ornery as a snake on a stick. Get this. He likes being called Warden instead of Superintendent, and the name sure suits him.” Jeeter glanced over his shoulder again. “So which way do you think those dogs went?”
I stood on my toes, trying to get a look over the hill, back toward Claiborne Street. “Uh, I’m not sure. I didn’t think they’d run off like this. But maybe C.B. found a rabbit or something.”
Jeeter pressed his hand on my shoulder. “Look, Linc, you gotta find them quick and hightail it out of here. I’ll run overto the office and see if I can keep the warden occupied till you’re gone.”
“Okay,” I said with a nervous little gulp. Jeeter wasn’t exactly the anxious type. He would never act this way unless he had a good reason.
“C . B .!” I SQUAWKED as I ran through the graveyard. “Spunk!” I knew the dogs might come if I whistled and called louder, but I didn’t want to bring the warden running too, in case he happened to be nearby.
I slowed down when I got near the gate at the end of my street, hoping that C.B. had led Spunky home for a rest in our yard. But there was no sign of them on the front porch or around back, so I stalked into the graveyard again, past Winslow, Dobbins, York & McNutt.
“C.B.!” I yelled a little louder.
What are you tryin’ to do? Raise the dead?
I heard Winslow croak.
Oh, leave him alone. He’s having a bad day
.
Ew-weeee, is he ever! Those mutts have probably been carted off to the pound by now. He might as well give up and go home
.
“Shut up,” I muttered before McNutt could chime in.
The light was already turning, throwing stretchy shadows of trees and tombstones across the ground. Mr. Krasny would start getting worried soon. What if I had to go back and tell him I had lost Spunky? Another chill shivered through me as I searched the distance and the dark line of forest on the edge of the graveyard. What if the dogs had headed into Hickory Hill Park? The park spanned hundreds of brambly acres and trails. It would take me all night to track them down there.
But with all those rabbits and squirrels waiting to be chased, Hickory Hill was the obvious place to look. So I set off toward the shadowy fringe of trees, calling the dogs in a strained voice as I trotted along through row after row of graves. I was so distracted, checking over my shoulder to make sure the warden wasn’t on my trail, that I almost ran right into it—the columbarium wall, rising up in the dusk. I veered around and
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