The Good Dog by Avi

began to bark.
    Sullivan turned. “What’s the matter, fella?” McKinley heard him say. “Smell something?”
    Redburn yelped a few times, informing him about McKinley. Sullivan, not understanding, patted the dog on the head, then beckoned Pycraft over. Pycraft pulled something out of a jacket pocket. McKinley recognized it as the leash that had been thrown at him. The man shoved it into Redburn’s face so the setter could smell Duchess’s scent.
    Sullivan cried loudly, “Okay, Redburn, you got us this far. Now find Duchess. Come on, fella! Find her!”
    Redburn, whimpering, swung around to face the woods.
    McKinley could almost see the glint in his eyes but he could not know his thoughts: Redburn had his master’s commands—telling him to go forward after Duchess—ringing in his ears. He also knew that McKinley was in the woods, waiting for him. The question was, what would Redburn do?

12
    â€œC ome on, Redburn,” Sullivan insisted. “Go find Duchess! Do it for me, boy.”
    As McKinley looked on, Redburn lowered his tail and began to bark loudly. “Keep out of my way, McKinley!”
    â€œShut that fool dog up!” Pycraft snapped. “If Duchess is out there, she’ll get scared away.”
    Sullivan, frowning, stepped forward and patted Redburn on the head again. “Easy, boy,” he said. “Just do your thing, big fella. Find Duchess. You’ll get a special treat when you do. Get back on the trail now.”
    Redburn licked the man’s hands. Then he raised his tail and allowed himself a low growl. “McKinley, I know you’re out there.”
    â€œMaybe my gun is scaring him,” Pycraft said. “But like I warned you, there might be snakes up in those woods. I don’t want to mess with them. Give me the willies.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Sullivan assured him. “Seeing the gun lets him know we’re on a hunt. That’s the way I trained him.”
    â€œHe’s sure looking skittish,” Pycraft said.
    McKinley, observing the whole scene, felt disgust.
    â€œGive me the gun,” Sullivan said. Pycraft handed it over. “Come on, fella,” Sullivan urged, waving the gun in front of the setter’s face. “Hunting time.”
    With a snort, Redburn crossed the way, then pranced nervously into the field.
    â€œThat-a-boy,” Sullivan said.
    McKinley, looking on, realized suddenly that Redburn was following his scent. Well, then, he would lead Redburn in the wrong direction, leavinga trail that would lure the setter and the humans away from the boulders—and away from Duchess.
    Not caring if he made any noise, McKinley plunged through the woods. As he went, he brushed up against trees and bushes so his trail would be strong. He was so sure about his trick, he did not even look back.
    He soon reached a place where the foliage was as thick as a wall. And the fog was dense again, too, blanketing all smells.
    Panting, McKinley paused, looked back, and listened intently. He could see nothing of Redburn. Nor could he hear anything from the humans.
    Puzzled by the silence, McKinley edged back the way he had come. Every few steps he halted, lifting his head to listen and sniff.
    Only when he had retraced half of his own trail did he hear sounds. Voices. But they were moving away.
    It was then that McKinley knew it was he who had been fooled. Redburn and the humans werenot following his scent, but the one Duchess had left. And they were heading straight for the boulders.
    Furious with himself, McKinley charged back, crashing through the woods, thinking he would head them off. He was going so fast, he tripped. Tumbling head over heels, he crashed into a stump. Stunned, he stood up on wobbly legs, shook his head clear, and looked around.
    He had come to an area of dense woods. The thick foggy air almost dripped. He listened hard.
    â€œThe dog must be in there,” he heard Sullivan