Silver Rain by Lois Peterson Page B

as the others’, his face was just as red and chapped. Freckles ran all the way up his forehead and disappeared under his cap. He scratched his neck and stared back at her. “Seen enough?” he asked.
    â€œI’m looking for my father.” Her voice sounded thin.
    â€œIf he’s here, he prob’ly don’t want to be found,” said the man who had tripped. He picked up a plank from the ground and leaned on it. “And if he’s not here, you’re in the wrong place.” Before Elsie could step away, he reached forward and flipped her hat off her head.
    â€œHey!” She barely managed to grab it before the man did. She grazed her fingers as she pulled it up off the ground, getting a whiff of his dirty body as she did so. She turned her hat around in her hand to straighten it. She smacked it hard against her coat to get the dust off, then pulled it down hard on her head. “That’s mine,” she said, almost to herself.
    The men still stood around her, not speaking.
    Elsie’s chest felt as if it had filled with ice. She knew she would cry if she stayed here much longer, surrounded by these dirty, unfriendly men. She didn’t like the look in their eyes. Or their smiles. And she didn’t like their silence.
    She was just wondering how she was going to get away, when, in the distance, a man walked between the rows of shacks, pulling a dog along on a rope.
    â€œDog Bob!” Elsie took one step to run toward the man. “Hey! That’s my dog!”
    The other hoboes shuffled together to form a wall of smelly tweed and stained raincoats.
    Peering between them, she could see Dog Bob pulling against the rope. “Here, boy!”
    He pulled even harder when he heard her voice. But the man holding him yanked on the rope until Dog Bob’s front legs were off the ground, his legs pedaling the air as if he was riding a bicycle.
    Elsie looked from her dog to the men standing around her. Staring down at her, they eased closer together, not saying anything, making a barrier between Elsie and Dog Bob’s kidnapper. Their hands were in their pockets, their chins tucked down into their chests.
    â€œGive him back.” Elsie’s voice wobbled. “That’s my dog.”
    One of the men leaned forward and stared right into her eyes. “Says who?” He spat. She stepped back as a slimy gob landed on her jacket. She wanted to say, Elsie says. That’s who . That’s what Scoop would have done.
    The hobo who spat was still peering at her. And the others weren’t lifting a finger to help her. She felt very small, and her legs were starting to get shaky. She took one step backward.
    The men took one step toward her.
    As Elsie took another step back, her foot caught on a chunk of stone. She felt her ankle twist as she stumbled to catch her balance.
    The men stepped forward again. Bigger steps this time.
    Elsie could smell smoke and sweat and a stink like rotten potatoes. In a sliver of light between the hoboes, she saw Dog Bob being hauled away by the man. But she felt frozen in place, with a chill creeping down her legs and up into her collar. The Reverend had been right. She shouldn’t have come. With or without Scoop.
    But then she thought of Dog Bob, always running back and forth trying to keep track of everyone. It was her turn now. If she didn’t get Dog Bob back now, he might never come home. And what would she tell Uncle Dannell?
    Elsie longed to be holding her uncle’s meaty hand. She wished Scoop was here, jumping up and down with bright ideas and daring plans. But there was only her, with a bunch of dirty men staring at her, waiting to see what she would do next.
    When a car horn suddenly blared from the road behind her, it was as if someone had poked Elsie with a sharp stick. “I want my dog!” she yelled. She looked into each man’s face and hung onto her jacket lapels with both hands as she tried to make herself