A Dog to Put Down Read online

  Chapter 3 – Strangers Come to Town…

  Harmon thought it was fortunate that he hadn’t grabbed his old revolver before stepping out of his kennel when he saw the county sheriff’s patrol car rolling up his lane. Harmon owned no grudge against Sheriff Miller. Though Harmon’s experience bred in him a deep distrust of the law, Harmon felt no particular angst against Sheriff Miller. Harmon judged that man had always treated him fairly. But Harmon was pleased he had slipped that straight-blade into his pocket instead of a gun. Sheriff Miller would’ve asked to see all the papers required for keeping a gun, and Harmon didn’t have them because he didn’t believe in the authority of any permit. A straight-blade wasn’t too much of a threat. Sheriff Miller wouldn’t raise much stink on account of a blade.

  Harmon made no effort to step from his porch. He wasn’t going to stoop at the side of the sheriff’s car and hold any conversation through a window. He waited to make Sheriff Miller come to him, and that visitor needed to stop and catch a little of his breath after his weight climbed the steps to stand beside Harmon.

  “What happened to your arm? You have an accident with that razor you’ve got in your pocket?”

  “Don’t you mind what happened to my arm,” Harmon snarled.

  Sheriff Miller nodded. “Don’t let word or rumor get out that one of your black dogs did that to your arm. The town’s terrified of those animals as it is. Folks are looking for a reason to put your pack down.”

  “I know how to keep dogs,” Harmon answered, “and anybody thinking they’re going to take my pack away from me can go to hell.”

  “I don’t doubt you know your dogs, but you need someone to tell you what others think of you.”

  Harmon shrugged. “You didn’t come to my kennel to serve as the town’s spokesman.”

  Sheriff Miller nodded. “Strangers have come to town.”

  Harmon’s fingers twitched. Perhaps he should’ve put that revolver in his pocket after all.

  “What kind of strangers?”

  “The kind I know you keep your good eye out for.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Could be trouble,” Harmon rubbed his chin’s whiskers of beard. “But I won’t know until there’s three of them. They always send a third.”

  “I’ll tell the boys to keep an out for more guests.”

  Harmon said nothing more as the sheriff returned to his car. Harmon’s dogs barked loudly in their crates, and Harmon hoped he had trained that pack well if his past came hunting him after so many years. He tensed his left arm and again felt the hurt pull at his stitches. He hated to show any sign of weakness, especially when the sheriff came telling him of strangers. But perhaps he needed to think more for his safety than his pride now that he was older, after the years took from him the speed and power Harmon once depended upon during combat for territory and honor. Perhaps he should take a little of that pain medicine the doctors subscribed him, just a little to take the sting from his joints. Perhaps he couldn’t afford to spend more time rubbing his hands next to the stove.

  Harmon turned to shout into the kennel. “Stop what you’re doing, John. Get Horus, Mango and Po-Po on a leash and get them on the field! We’re going to work our dogs after all!”

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