Everything happened so quickly the next day. It was as if Scott’s life was rolling on fast-forward on a VCR. He sat in the back of the station wagon with the dogs, wondering suddenly how he arrived so quickly in Billings. It seemed only seconds ago that they turned south on Highway 87 out of Roundup. Now they were on a main street in town, slowing to look at street signs.
“The fairgrounds is just off Rosecrans Drive,” Mr. Hartfield called to him from the front seat.
Scott nodded. The race would begin at the fairgrounds, according to the printout he’d received from Amos. Around the track, then out on the trail that wound south, along the Yellowstone River, and into the meadows before it doubled back and ended at the fairgrounds again. The winner would get a big welcome from the folks in the grandstand, the printout said.
Wonder what everyone else gets, Scott thought. He hoped there would be someone left in the grandstands by the time he came in. No, he couldn’t think like that. No negative vibes today. Just good ones, like where will I put the first-place trophy? He grinned as he got out of the car a few minutes later and began to unload the dogs.
Brad helped Scott fasten the excited dogs to their stake out chains before he said, “I think I’ll just walk around and see if I know anyone. You know.”
“What are you going to do if there is? Just leave without saying anything to your dad?”
“No, I’ll come back and say I’m leaving. And get Bruno.” Brad’s dark eyes looked worried—deep, dark pools of worry. Today, for the first time, he didn’t look as if he wanted to hit somebody. Today, he looked as if somebody could reach out and hurt him.
“But didn’t you make arrangements where you were going to meet her?” Scott knew he would have done that much. “Did she say what time she’d get here?”
“No, not … not exactly.” Brad started to back away.
Suddenly Scott was suspicious. “Then what did she say?” Now he was walking forward as Brad was walking backward. They must look kind of funny to anyone watching, Scott thought.
“Mom never was one to make plans with lots of details,” Brad said. “She always said she liked to leave the details to others.”
“Come on, Brad, I’m not buying that.”
“I’ll be back before I leave.” Then Brad turned and ran, disappearing into the milling groups of people and dogs.
“Where did Brad go?” Howdy asked when Scott returned to their station wagon and dogs.
Scott began to prepare the sled for the race. “I don’t know and I don’t care.” But the surprising thing was, he did care. He knew that Brad was afraid. He could recognize that in him, now that he’d recognized it in himself. He knew how the guy was feeling and Scott remembered. It didn’t feel good to be scared all the time, not even part of the time.
“I’ll be your second man,” Howdy said. He began to lay out the blue nylon harnesses.
“Good for you, kid.” Scott gave him a playful poke in the ribs. “Maybe you can have the job permanently.”
“I’ll tell Brad he’s fired as soon as he comes back.” Howdy cupped his hands to his mouth and blew warmth onto them.
Brad hadn’t returned when the time arrived to move the dogs to the starting line, so Mr. Hartfield helped instead. It took their combined strength to keep the eager dogs from bolting.
Finally Mr. Hartfield had a chance to ask what Scott knew was on his mind. “Do you know where Brad is?”
Scott looked at him, wanting to say what he knew. Right there, on the tip of his tongue, all his words were ready to jump off into space between him and Mr. Hartfield. He wanted to say, your kid is out there looking for his mom, and scared she won’t be there for him, the way he thinks you haven’t been lately. I know how he feels because I felt that way for a while about my folks.
But Scott left the words unspoken, left the words inside his head instead of pushing them out where they’d do some good. Suddenly the time for saying them was gone. He pulled his knit cap over his ears and adjusted his goggles.
“It’s a go,” the starter shouted and the dogs leaped ahead. Scott ran with them, pumping as he held onto the sled, letting them go quickly. Now he gained control of the sled and dogs, slowed them from their killing pace, and they soon began to trot in an easy rhythm. Kaylah cut a straight path the way a good lead dog should.
Finally, Scott dared to jump on the runners as they left the track and moved out of the confines of the grandstand. Here, the wind found him, cut past his face in knifelike slices and slid down his throat like one long icicle. His eyelashes felt like frozen spikes on his cheeks. Carefully he fit his movements to the sled as if dogs and runners were a part of him.
“Go, dogs, go,” Scott shouted. He was high on the feeling of the race, high on running. The sled creaked and whirred over the snow.
Rusty trotted well, keeping up with Chinook and Kaylah without any strain. The dogs were a team, keeping their lines taut against the sled. Their time was not spectacular, but it was a good beginning. Teams needed time to learn about each other; it didn’t happen in just one meet. Chinook and Kaylah had the instinct—they were part of the same family right from the beginning. Rusty was like a stepchild, with two families loving him but having to decide which family to live with. And Bruno had only one family to start out with, then got another one in the bargain. Dogs … kids … we’re a lot alike, Scott thought, smiling.
The trail wound sharply to the left now, then followed the river, frozen solid in its banks. Scott heard a sled behind him, its dogs yapping at his.
“On, bye,” the driver called and Scott moved over, to give him room. The team, a beautifully matched trio of Siberians, moved quickly ahead.
“That’s okay,” Scott called softly, as they watched the sled move out of sight through some bare-branched trees. “Just wait till this time next year. They’ll eat our snow.”
Scott picked up the pace slightly, and the dogs responded. He watched their stride quicken, felt their eagerness through the reins. They ran on in the bright sunshine, and Scott felt great, even though he knew he’d never catch the guy who’d just passed him.
Two more teams passed him before he reached the finish line. Yet it didn’t matter. Scott knew his team had done its best and that was good enough for him. It was a great beginning and he’d proved something. He could enter a race and he could finish it.
Mom stood near the finish line snapping pictures as he slowed the team. Then he stopped at one side of the path to give them a quick checkup. The dogs’ paws looked all right, no cuts or bruises, but maybe for the longer races, he’d get some leather booties. Maybe Michelle would help him cut and sew them.
“I’ve got their buckets of water all ready,” Howdy shouted as he ran to them. Now he grabbed Kaylah’s harness and led the team back to the station wagon, where their stake-out chains were fastened.
“Where’s Brad?” Scott asked. “Didn’t he come back to help you?”
“No, haven’t seen him.” Howdy was all business now as he led Kaylah to his can of water.
Scott looked at Mom and Caroline. Mom shook her head and Caroline shrugged. “Maybe he ran away,” Caroline said.
“Don’t say that.” Scott spoke sharply to her.
“Scott,” Mom said, “is there something we should know about Brad?”
Scott looked at her, then glanced away. She could always tell when he was lying. And then he breathed deeply. There was Brad, walking slowly toward them, hands deep in his jacket pockets. He shook his head only slightly at Scott, before he opened the car door and slid inside.
“There he is, Mom.” Scott pulled off his cap and brushed his damp hair off his forehead.
Mom glanced at Brad in the car, then said, “Let’s pack up quickly. I think we ought to start home right away.”
So did Scott. Something had happened to Brad. Maybe his mom had said no, he couldn’t come and live with her. Or worse, maybe nothing happened. Maybe she hadn’t even shown up. From the look on Brad’s face, it had to be the worst thing of all.
Mr. Hartfield and Howdy started talking the minute the car pulled out of the fairgrounds. “I’ve got a great idea, Dad,” Howdy said. “Let’s get another sled so that next year I can start racing in the one-dog events. Bruno ought to be okay by then.”
“Sounds good, Howdy.” Mr. Hartfield looked at him in the rear view mirror. “What do you think, Scott?”
“He’s Brad’s dog. Why don’t you ask him?”
“Oh, sure, I planned on it. What do you say, Brad?”
“I think Brad is asleep.” Caroline said. She gave him a poke. “Are you asleep, Brad?”
“Not now,” he muttered.
“And here’s another idea.” Mr. Hartfield was really rolling. “We could look around and find another Mal and have a five-dog team. After all, you’re not going to get any smaller, Scott. You’ll need a larger team in a year or two. Amos pointed that out to me. Said you were pretty big already for a twelve-year-old and showed a lot of strength. You could field a bigger team soon.”
“Hey, what about me?” Howdy shouted. “All you ever talk about is Scott.”
Mr. Hartfield got the message. “This does include you, Howdy, and Brad and Caroline, too.”
“Then say so.” Howdy’s eyes were flaming.
Scott wanted to laugh. Howdy was so up front you always knew exactly what was on his mind. Scott leaned against Kaylah’s thick body the rest of the way home, thinking about Brad, and wondering what had happened, wondering if he’d ever know. Right now, Brad didn’t look as if he’d ever tell anybody anything.
Everyone ate a quick supper and turned in early, Brad the earliest of all. Tomorrow, maybe, he’d talk to Scott and Scott would tell him to talk to his dad. Yes, he’d tell Brad that, first thing in the morning. It was time Mr. Hartfield knew how Brad felt about things, especially about his mom and where he wanted to live.
Scott awoke to the smell of pancakes and bacon frying downstairs in the kitchen. It was Sunday morning and Mr. Hartfield was doing his thing, Scott thought. Tradition, he called it. Traditions are a part of every family’s life. Got to have them so you’ll keep the good ones and then start some of your own. That’s what Dad used to say, and now that’s what Mr. Hartfield was doing.
Wait a minute here, Scott thought. I’ve never thought about them together, in one sentence like that before. Never figured that they were alike enough to be in one thought. But they are. Dad and David are a lot alike and it doesn’t bother me at all. There, I called him David in my mind. That doesn’t bother me either.
He dressed and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table with Caroline and Howdy.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Mom smiled. “I was beginning to think you and Brad would never get up.”
Scott looked around. “Is he still sleeping then?”
Mr. Hartfield turned from the stove. “Must be. Haven’t seen him. This stack has your name on it, Scott.” He came to the table balancing three pancakes on a spatula.
“Better save them for Brad,” Scott said. “I ought to feed my dogs first.”
“Good idea.” Mr. Hartfield nodded. “Run upstairs and get him, will you, Howdy?”
Scott grabbed his jacket from a peg by the door. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” Outside, he stretched on the porch, arched his back, circled his shoulders, and shook himself, the way he’d seen the dogs do it. Then he hurried into the barn and down the aisle to the dogs’ stall. The cow and two quarter horses stuck their noses out for a rub as he passed.
Amazing, he thought. We’ve already turned that into a tradition since I got here. Rub a dub, dub. Four noses to rub.
He let the dogs out and began to mix their food, then he stopped. Four noses, but he’d only rubbed three. He dropped the bag of kibble and ran back to Georgia’s stall.
“Georgia,” he yelled. He opened the gate and looked into the empty stall, into each corner, as if she could be hiding under a piece of straw.
Then he heard his name being called. It was Mom, calling him back to the house. He knew what she was going to say, what Mr. Hartfield was going to ask. Do you know where Brad is? And, of course, he knew. He knew, all right.