Chapter 11

SILAS VARNER LOOKED AROUND at the noise made by four humming quad runners motoring up his gravel-covered drive. He stopped hammering a nail into the loose frame on the doorway he was repairing and waited.

He watched as the four Last Chance Detectives pulled up their vehicles and shut off the engines. While the other three kids remained with the quads, Mike took Jake from the luggage rack and led him on a leash into the yard. “Mr. Varner,” the boy said quietly.

“Fowler,” the old prospector muttered. Then, slipping off his work gloves and advancing to meet Mike in the yard, the desert rat continued, “Guess I shouldn’t be so quick to run you off my land this time. Smitty just left. He told me how you were responsible for getting my gold back. Thanks.”

Relieved that this was going better than he had feared, Mike said, “You’re welcome, sir.” Then he passed Jake’s leash across to the man and added, “And here’s the rest of what belongs to you. I apologize for taking Jake like I did. I realize now that it wasn’t right.”

“Apology accepted,” Varner said, scratching the white stubble of his chin.

“He’s gotten real used to eating every day, and—”

“I know how to keep him,” Silas interrupted gruffly.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed with resignation. The boy knelt beside the dog. “Bye, Jake,” he said, ruffling the animal’s fur. “You be good. I’ll never forget you.”

The leader of the Last Chance Detectives turned to leave. His quick about-face let him see Winnie brushing away a tear, but no one else noticed.

Then just as Mike mounted his quad, there was a frantic barking, and Jake bounced up alongside, putting his paws on the gas tank. “No, Jake,” Mike scolded. “You gotta stay here with Mr. Varner.”

Then Mike noticed that Jake was no longer wearing the leash that had been attached to his collar. The boy looked toward Silas for an explanation. Was it possible? Was that really the thin line of a smile stretching across the prospector’s face?

“Remember,” Varner instructed with mock sternness, “he’s got used to eatin’ every day.”

A wave of confusion and hope broke over Mike and the others. “You mean . . . ?”

“Now, go on,” the miner demanded. “Better get out of here before I change my mind.”

“Yeah!” Ben exulted.

“All right, Jake!” Winnie shouted.

“Thanks, Mr. Varner,” Mike said. “Thanks . . . thanks a lot.”

The old desert rat nodded slowly, then added, “Maybe ol’ Jake can help you track down your dad someday.”

Mike beamed. “I bet he can!” he exclaimed.

The gang strapped on their helmets and revved up their engines in triumph. They rode away, Jake running and barking excitedly after them.

An enormous grin covered the features of the old prospector, who watched until they were completely out of sight.