The Hound of Rowan by Henry H. Neff

brisk and the moon was rising as he came to a path that led to a distant house with lighted windows.
    Suddenly, something large darted from a nearby hedge and loped onto the path in front of him. It was an enormous wolfhound. It paused and glowered at him.
    Max froze. The animal’s heavy face began to flicker and shift—momentarily adopting the unmistakable features of Mrs. Millen, Nigel, Miss Awolowo, and the strange man from the train. The hound padded toward Max, a murderous rumble emanating from its throat as its face became his father’s.
    Max could not move. The hound reared up on its hind legs and placed paws the size of baseball mitts on Max’s shoulders. It looked down at him, its breath a series of hot blasts. Growling, it pressed its forehead hard against his and spoke to him:
    â€œWhat are you about? Answer quick or I’ll gobble you up!”
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    When Max opened his eyes, he saw his father sitting at the foot of his bed. He was smiling, but he looked older and tired. Deep circles lined his eyes.
    â€œYou sleep just like you did as a little boy.”
    Max blinked and propped himself up on his elbows.
    â€œI had a bad dream.”
    â€œOh no!” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels in mock horror. “What about?”
    â€œA big dog,” Max murmured sleepily, pushing his dark hair off his forehead.
    â€œA big dog! Well, did he bite you or did you bite him?”
    â€œNeither,” Max whispered.
    His father patted his foot and stood up.
    â€œWell, just remember—it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”
    Max sank back under the covers and wriggled toward the foot of the bed.
    â€œI know, Dad. You’ve told me a hundred times.”
    â€œSo I have.” Mr. McDaniels chuckled. “Hop in the shower and get ready. Someone from the school is on your flight, and we’re supposed to meet him at the airport by eight.”
    Max groaned as his father whisked the covers off the bed and drew the curtains to reveal a morning sky of peach and pale gold.
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    Nigel was waiting near the check-in, holding up a paper sign that read MCDANIELS and looking rather bored. The Recruiter was dressed neatly in a sport coat but had seen too much sun since his visit with Max. He stopped adjusting his glasses and extended his hand as the McDanielses approached.
    â€œHello there. You must be Mr. McDaniels—I’m Nigel Bristow from Rowan.”
    â€œCall me Scott, Nigel,” said Mr. McDaniels, taking Nigel’s hand. “This is Max, your copilot for the day.”
    â€œHello, Max,” said Nigel brightly, giving a quick wink. “Thanks for coming along. Flying is such a bore without good company. We’re a bit pressed for time, eh? Let’s get you checked in.”
    Once Nigel had taken Max’s duffel and stood in line, Mr. McDaniels gave Max a nudge. “Seems like a nice enough guy,” he said.
    â€œYeah,” said Max, puzzling over why Nigel would be holding up a sign with his name. Given all that had happened, Max thought his name and travel plans would be more of a secret.
    Nigel called over to Max when it was their turn to check in. Max answered the lady’s questions and watched his bag disappear down the conveyor.
    â€œWell, we’re all set,” said Nigel, clutching their tickets. “I’ll leave you a minute to say good-bye to your father,” Nigel said under his breath as the two made their way back to where Mr. McDaniels stood with his hands in his pockets. “I know this sounds cruel, but try to be quick. No tears. It’s important.”
    Nigel said his farewells and promised to look after Max before joining the long line snaking toward security. Remembering what Nigel told him, Max avoided his father’s eyes. He flicked his fingers against his thumbs and looked straight ahead at Mr.