Banjo

by Graham Salisbury

  “Put him down, then,” Mr. Brodie said. “More humane than a cage, anyway.”

  Danny started to fight back, but nothing came out. It was all too insane. Yesterday Banjo was running squirrels off and following him around as he did his chores. And now…

  Danny knelt and pulled Banjo close. “No,” he whispered. “No.”

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  Dad turned to Mr. Brodie. “I have to agree with Danny. This dog won’t do well caged up waiting to die. We’ll take him to the vet and have him euthanized in the next day or two, if that’s okay with you, Harmon.”

  Mr. Brodie nodded. “That’ll be fine, Ray.”

  “Well, then,” the sheriff said. He shook hands with the two men and left. The Brodies climbed into their truck and followed the sheriff out.

  Dad turned to Danny. “You should’ve told me the minute I got home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I guess this explains the gunshots you and Tyrell heard in the middle of the night.”

  Danny studied the dirt.

  Inside the house, Dad called the vet down in Redmond. “Two days, Danny. Be sure you keep him tied up till then. We can be with him when they do it.”

  “This is wrong, Dad. Wrong! Banjo’s no sheep killer. You know that.”

  “Thought I did. But it seems that’s not the case.” He sighed. “We don’t have a choice. I’d expect the same of Harmon if it were the other way around.”

  “But kill him? Why can’t I can find him a home or give him to somebody?”

  “Not up to me, son.”

  “Why?”

  “Harmon’s pressed charges. The law will take him, and unless we want to hire a lawyer and try to fight it, he’ll probably be put down.”

  “Then let’s hire a lawyer.”

  Dad shook his head. “Be a waste of money we don’t have.”

  “But—”

  “That’s my decision, Danny. Nothing more to it.”

  Banjo settled down in the dirt, looking up at them, his wet tongue jiggling as he panted in the heat.

  Danny’s chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. “Let me have one more week with him, Dad, just one more week. Call the vet and change it.”

  “Don’t prolong it. It will only hurt you more.”

  “I don’t care. I just want one more week!”

  Maybe he could find a way to make the whole thing disappear. Find someone to take Banjo in. Then he’d just tell Dad and Mr. Brodie that Banjo ran away or something. He probably couldn’t find him a home anywhere around here, though. He’d have to tell people why he was giving Banjo up, and that would kill the deal with everyone he knew.

  Maybe Ricky would take him. His family didn’t own livestock.

  But they lived near people who did.

  Dad put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “We agreed to two days, and we have to stick with that.”

  Danny spurted, “No!”

  “Danny—”

  “I’ll do it myself.”

  Silence.

  Dad studied him. “You’d shoot him?”

  “Y…yes.”

  Danny turned away, wondering where those awful words had come from.

  11

  When Tyrell drove home from work, Danny ran out to meet him. He could barely stand still. “I found Banjo!” he said before Tyrell even got out of the truck.

  “Where was he?”

  “The cave in the gully. Billy Brodie shot him. That’s what the shots we heard were all about. They said—”

  “Whoa, slow down. Billy Brodie shot Banjo?”

  “He could’ve killed him, Tyrell.”

  “But why?”

  “Mr. Brodie said Banjo was attacking their sheep with a pack of wild dogs. He came blazing over to ask me what I was going to do about it. Just after Dad left this morning. I didn’t know what to say. But he wanted Banjo put down.”

  Danny told Tyrell how the sheriff and Dad and Mr. Brodie stood around talking about how and when to get it done. “Dad told Mr. Brodie we’d have Banjo put down in two days.”

  “What? That’s crazy.” Tyrell got out and slammed the door.

  Danny glanced toward the house. He had to talk fast.

  “Dad made a deal with Mr. Brodie. You know he doesn’t go back on his word.”

  Tyrell nodded.

  Danny paused. Just say it. “I told Dad I’d shoot him myself.”

  Tyrell stopped and gaped at him.

  “There’s no way any of this is going to happen,” Danny added. “Banjo’s innocent. I know it and you do, too. In all the time we’ve had him he hasn’t even chased a barn cat.”

  “We don’t have any barn cats.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Tyrell crossed his arms. “So, Banjo is…where?”

  “In the hay shed, tied up.”

  They stood a moment.

  “Banjo didn’t do it, Tyrell.”

  “Problem is,” Tyrell said, “Billy and Ben can say anything they want. It’s their word against nobody’s.”

  “Do you think Spike can take Banjo?” Danny asked. Spike worked with Tyrell at his job. “I know he likes dogs, and he’s not a rancher.”

  “I can ask, but he’ll say no.”

  “Why?”

  “His wife is still broken up about losing their dog, Grouch.”

  “Ask anyway, okay? If I don’t find him a home, he’ll die.”

  Tyrell nodded.

  “All I know is nobody’s killing my dog.”

  “I’ll ask everyone I know,” Tyrell said. “But that’s not a whole lot of people who aren’t from around here.” He tapped Danny’s back. “C’mon, man. I’m starving.”

  12

  FRIDAY

  On the morning after Mr. Brodie and the sheriff had come to Danny’s place, Meg Harris headed out to see Amigo with a soft halter tucked into her back pocket, out of sight. Amigo would notice. He saw everything. She knew she wouldn’t get it on him, but she wanted him to see it so he wouldn’t be scared of it later.

  He was waiting for her at the gate. First time he’d ever done that. “Well, look at you. Missing me?”

  Then she got it. “Ah, you want to see Molly again.”

  Meg approached slowly. “I’ll bring her out, but not right now.”

  Amigo eyed her, his head high and alert.

  “You’re looking very handsome,” she said.

  The nicks and scars were gone now. His coat was no longer dull, and his ribs had filled out. As soon as Amigo trusted her enough to get close, and stay close, she could brush the tangles out of his mane and tail.

  When she opened the gate to enter the pen, he whinnied and took off, tail high.

  For weeks now, Meg had been giving him feed in a large tin pan she placed on the ground in the pen, just enough to fill him up. She’d fill the pan and walk away, and Amigo would trot over and nose it up.

  When he got hungry again, Meg would be there to give him just a little more. She hoped that this would help him see that a human wasn’t something to move away from, but toward.

  Now, Amigo was circling the pen.

  Meg walked in and closed the gate.

  Amigo snorted and tossed his head, bulging eye watching her. It took some courage to ignore him, but ignoring him was what raised his curiosity. Even harder was turning her back on him. But she had to trust that he would do her no harm.

  Slowly he ventured closer to see what she was up to.

  Each time Meg moved away, Amigo followed.

  She hummed as she walked, ignoring him. She could hear him behind her, coming close, then circling away and returning.

  When, in a while, he came
up behind her and nudged her with his muzzle, Meg froze and covered her mouth with her hand…then smiled.

  13

  That same morning, Tyrell drove Danny into the country west of their ranch. Banjo sat on Danny’s lap, nose out the window and ears flapping in the wind.

  The night before, Danny had called every kid he knew from school, begging them to take Banjo. But none of them could, or would. Ricky wanted to take him, but when his dad asked why Danny was giving his dog away, Ricky had to tell him.

  “Sorry, Danny,” Ricky said. “My dad won’t risk it. I called three other guys I know, and their parents said the same thing. Can’t you find him a home in Bend? Or better, somewhere they don’t have livestock, like Eugene or Portland?”

  “Don’t have time. And I don’t know anyone there.”

  “You really told your dad you’d shoot your own dog?”

  Danny closed his eyes. “I had to think of something.”

  “Oh, man…now what?

  When Danny didn’t answer, Ricky said, “Don’t tell me you’re really going to shoot him.”

  “Worse.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  Danny told him.

  “I don’t think I could do that,” Ricky said.

  “Maybe I can’t, either.”

  Now, as Tyrell drove out into the country, Danny’s thoughts were like barbed wire in his brain. He shut his eyes and tugged his hat down low, trying hard not to think about the Winchester in the window rack behind him.

  He looked in the side-view mirror, but it was cracked and pointing toward the sky. Danny reached out and tried to adjust it.

  “Broken,” Tyrell said. “I need to get a new one.”

  “What’d you do to it?”

  “Some idiot hit it with a baseball bat, or something. While I was at work. Got five more cars, too.” He shook his head. “Fools everywhere.”

  Danny pulled Banjo closer. “Did you ask Spike?”

  Tyrell nodded. “He said his wife isn’t ready for another dog.”

  Danny closed his eyes and threw his head back.

  “Don’t think about it,” Tyrell said. “It’ll drive you nuts.”

  “Already has.”

  They drove in silence, country fence posts slipping by. Danny slapped the seat. “Come on, Tyrell, we have to know someone who can take him.”

  “Not a chance. Maybe Portland, but who do we know there? We don’t even have time to put an ad in the paper. Where exactly are we going, anyway?”

  “Camp Sherman, I guess.”

  “What’s out there?”

  “Forest.”

  Tyrell turned to look at Danny. “We ain’t seen nothing but forest. Why out there?”

  “It’s faraway forest.”

  Minutes later they were beyond Sisters, heading toward the mountain pass. The sun was straight up and hot.

  “I don’t know about this,” Tyrell said. “I mean, is it more humane to euthanize him or turn him loose? He’s a pet. He doesn’t know how to live in the wild.”

  Danny looked out his window.

  Tyrell turned the radio on.

  “All I know is nobody’s killing Banjo.” Danny turned the radio off. Music was wrong at a time like this.

  Tyrell looked at him, then back at the road.

  When they reached the turnoff for Camp Sherman, they headed to where the Metolius River ran cold and clear. They pulled up and parked in front of Camp Sherman’s one store, a shoebox among the giant ponderosa pines.

  Danny opened the door.

  Banjo started to jump out with him, but Danny held him back.

  “Stay.”

  Banjo sat. He’d always been a good dog.

  Just outside the store, two men wearing baseball caps sat on a bench with their arms crossed over their large bellies. “Ask them if they want a dog,” Danny said, low.

  “You go on in,” Tyrell said, and sat on the bench with the two men. “Either of you gents want a dog?”

  Inside, Danny bought two bottles of water and a packet of beef jerky, then went out and nodded to Tyrell.

  Tyrell stood. “Nice talking with ya.”

  They got back in the truck and followed the road downriver.

  “Well?” Danny asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Did they even consider it?”

  “For about a second.”

  Danny closed his eyes, his chest tight.

  Three miles later they parked in a dirt pullout near the river.

  The dry air smelled like mint.

  Danny let Banjo out. “Go on and run a bit.”

  He tossed Tyrell a bottle of water and jammed the other one and the jerky into his back pockets.

  Moments later Banjo came loping out of the brush. Danny knelt and scratched his ears, which Banjo liked, his eyes closing to slits.

  Danny hugged him for a long time, then got up and reached into the truck for the rifle.

  They headed downriver.

  Soon they crossed a bridge and angled into the trees on the other side, looking for a place where campers or fishermen or hikers would not go.

  Tyrell trailed Danny. “You know where you’re going?”

  “No.”

  “We could get lost in here.”

  “Long as we can hear the river, we’re good.”

  They kept the river within earshot, though the sound grew weaker. When they stopped, Banjo was somewhere deep in the woods.

  Tyrell sat and leaned against a tree. “Why’d you tell Dad you were going to put Banjo down when you knew that would never happen?”

  “To keep him alive.”

  Tyrell snorted. “Now, there’s irony for you.”

  Danny sat and laid the rifle in the pine needles. They waited in the eerie silence of motionless trees. When Banjo finally came back, he lay down next to them, tongue out, panting.

  Danny’s head started to throb.

  He looked at the rifle. “This is the worst day of my life.”

  Tyrell tossed a rock into the thick trees. “Just do it and let’s go home.”

  Danny reached over and put a hand on Banjo’s head. “I’m sorry, Banjo…I…I…”

  There were no words.

  Banjo’s ears perked forward, his eyes bright.

  Danny ripped open the packet of jerky with his teeth and held out a piece.

  Banjo snapped it up and started gnawing on it.

  “That’s not going to help us do what we came here to do,” Tyrell said. When Danny didn’t answer, Tyrell closed his eyes. “Time to get serious.”

  Danny rubbed his temples. How long could he put it off? He took the bottle of water and poured some into his cupped hand. Banjo lapped it up.

  Please, God, help me, because I can’t do this by myself.

  He gave Banjo more water, then hugged him so tight Banjo yelped. Danny let up but couldn’t let go. He buried his head in Banjo’s black and white fur.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

  Tyrell pushed himself up, grabbed the Winchester, raised it to his cheek, and aimed.

  14

  After her amazing morning with Amigo, Meg took Molly out for a ride in the forest. “Let’s go find us a place where the only thing you can hear is the breeze, what do you say, Molly-girl?”

  Heading out into wild country settled her mind. The riding felt easy, as if land and animal joined up to remind her that life was much more than it seemed when you were around people.

  People.

  Like Dex, who’d shoot at a cat.

  What was it that made him so thoughtless?

  She rode through the old pines, following a trail toward the mountains. The freedom she felt out here nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  Tears?

 
; Where were these feelings coming from?

  In her mind she heard an old Hank Williams song.

  I’m so lonesome I could cry.

  Loneliness?

  Maybe.

  Why was that? Maybe she was just too weird for most people. How many thirteen-year-olds had the notion that they could talk to horses? And what about birds? How could she ever explain the feeling of sitting perfectly still overlooking a river, wondering what it would be like to fly, to be a hawk or an eagle, hanging in the air on barely moving wings?

  Meg rode into a field of wildflowers at the base of the mountains.

  She wiped her eyes. Maybe it was Amigo and the way he was starting to trust her. Maybe it was just relief at having that 4-H demonstration over!

  She missed Josie. She’d understand. But she and her family had gone to Alaska on vacation right after the demonstration. They were on a boat. Meg couldn’t even call her.

  But Meg still had her brothers. She smiled, thinking of them sitting like fence posts at her demonstration. Not every girl had brothers who showed up like that.

  Jacob, a state-ranked quarterback, would be a senior at Sisters High. He was her favorite brother. Of course she liked Jeremy, too, just not in the same way. Jacob was the one who always watched out for her.

  On the field, he was as savage as the other guys. He was nearly ten inches taller than she was. But inside, where the real Jacob lived, he was calm and kind-hearted.

  Meg pulled up and took a sip from her canteen. She leaned over and ran her hand down Molly’s warm neck. “Doing okay, girl?”

  Molly turned an ear and bent low to rip up a hank of dry grass.

  Then she raised her head, both ears cocked forward.

  Meg was instantly alert.

  Black bears, cougars, and rattlesnakes were often seen in this country. But Molly wasn’t displaying the fear that a bear or cougar would inspire.

  “What is it, Mol? Something out there?”

  Meg turned to listen.

  Only the wind combing through the trees.

  But Molly, her ears still pinned forward, hadn’t moved a twitch.

  Someone, or something, was out there.

  15

  Tyrell fired, the bullet thwacking through the trees. He fired again, aiming high, shouldering past Danny toward Banjo.