John Saul - Nathaniel

As Michael began putting the breakfast plates on the table, Janet thought over what her mother-in-law had just said. It did make sense. Still, there was a faint twinge at the feeling that by leaving her belongings behind, she would be shedding still another piece of her old life. But she quickly shook off her misgivings. After all, she had made up her mind to start all over again in Prairie Bend.

The sun was high in the sky as Michael carried the pail of garbage around the corner of the barn. The pigs, milling around in their pen, immediately began grunting and snorting in anticipation of their midmorning snack. Michael climbed the sturdy metal bars of the small enclosure, using only one, hand to haul himself up, while he clutched the bucket with his free hand. The pigs clustered around, snuffling at the toes of his sneakers, shoving each other aside in their eagerness to be first at the trough. Finally, when he was perched on the top rail, Michael grinned down at the churning animals.

"Okay," he said. "Here it comes!" He upended the bucket, and the garbage cascaded into the feeding trough. A boar, the largest of the herd, immediately shouldered his way between two sows, one of which promptly nipped him on the ear. The boar squealed in surprise and quickly backed off. The sight of the immense hog giving way to the smaller female struck Michael as funny, and he began to laugh, shouting encouragement to the big pig. "Come on, don't let her get it all. Get in there and fight for it!"

The hog, as if sensing that he was being mocked, suddenly turned toward Michael, his small eyes gleaming. Then, with a speed Michael wouldn't have believed possible from such a clumsy-looking animal, he reared up, grabbed Michael's foot in his mouth, and gave a quick jerk.

Michael tumbled into the pigpen, and his laughter turned to a sudden scream of fright.

The boar backed off for a moment, his front hoof scraping at the ground as his beady eyes fixed upon Michael. Then, grunting angrily, he hurled himself forward.

Michael rolled aside at the last minute and tried to get to his feet, but stumbled over a second pig. Suddenly the whole herd seemed to be on the move, their sharp hooves digging into the ground as they jockeyed for position, half of them attempting to get to the trough, the other half more interested in Michael.

"Help!" Michael screamed. "Someone help me!"

Janet heard Michael's scream and raced out of the kitchen just as Amos emerged from the barn. "What's happened?" she yelled as she dashed across the yard.

"The pigs," Amos shouted back. "He must have fallen into the pigpen." Then he disappeared around the corner of the barn.

By the time Janet reached the hog enclosure, Amos was already using a long pole to poke at the furious animals. "Get up," he yelled to Michael. "Get on your feet boy, or they'll trample you. Get up!"

Suddenly, from around the far corner of the barn, a black dog the size of a large shepherd hurtled into sight, charging straight for the pigpen. With one leap, it was over the top rail, and then it was in the midst of the pigs, snarling and barking, snapping first at one of the sows, then turning its attention to the big boar. The boar, surprised at the sudden attack at its flank, backed off for a moment, giving Michael a chance to scramble to his feet. A moment later, Amos had lifted him up and over the top rail of the enclosure.

As soon as Michael was out of the pigpen, the dog abandoned the fight and leaped out of the pen. A moment later he was next to Michael, who was clinging to his mother, sobbing with fright.

"They were going to kill me," he cried. "They were going to trample me!" The dog, as if trying to comfort the terrified child, licked at his face, his tail wagging. Suddenly one of Michael's arms left his mother to curl around the dog's neck, hugging him close.

Janet stared down at the animal. "Where'd he come from?" she asked. "Whose is he?"

Amos frowned, sure he'd never seen the dog before. If he had, he'd have remembered it. It stood two and a half feet high at the shoulder, with a broad, deep chest and heavily muscled legs. Its coat, coal black without so much as a trace of white markings, was thick, and its eyes, alert and intelligent, seemed to fix on him with a mixture of equal parts of suspicion and hostility. "Don't know," he admitted.

Michael, who had been more frightened than hurt by the pigs, hugged the dog closer. "I bet he followed me home last night," he said. Then he gazed up at his mother. "He saved my life, Mom. Can I keep him? Please?"

Janet felt dazed by what had happened, but when she had assured herself that Michael was, indeed, unhurt, she turned her attention to the dog. The animal seemed to regard her with quizzical eyes, as if awaiting her decision. "I don't know," she said at last. "He must belong to someone," she went on, though she had already seen that the dog wore no collar.

"But what if he doesn't?" Michael asked. "What if he's only a stray? Then can I keep him?"

"We'll see," Janet temporized. "Right now, though, I want you to go in and get yourself cleaned up."

Michael was about to argue, but when he saw the look in his grandfather's eyes, he changed his mind. "All right," he agreed. He started toward the house, and the big dog followed close at his heels. When Michael disappeared into the kitchen, the dog sat by the back porch.

"What do you think?" Janet asked Amos.

Amos shrugged. "I don't know. Never seen him before. But if he's still around when we get back tonight, I don't suppose there's any harm in keeping him."

A moment later, Amos wasn't so sure. As he passed the dog on his way into the house, it lifted its big head and laid back its ears. A snarl rumbled up from the depths of its throat.

Janet and Michael stared in awe at the little farm, barely able to recognize it even though it was not yet noon and the work had been under way for only three hours. Already the weeds had been cleared from the front yard; people swarmed over the house with scrapers, removing the last traces of paint from the weathered siding, and in the backyard, yet another crew was busy piling brush and weeds onto a smoldering bonfire. Still more people were at work on the barn.

The driveway, barely passable yesterday, had been scraped, and now a backhoe was working, digging drainage trenches along the shoulders of the road. Buck Shields, manipulating its controls with expert ease, brought the machine to a halt and jumped to the ground. "Want to try it?" he asked Michael. Michael immediately climbed up the caterpillar tread of the hoe and perched on its steel seat.

"What do I do?"

"Hold on," his uncle replied, climbing up to stand behind Michael, his work-coarsened hands covering Michael's own softer ones. "It's real easy. This lever brings the hoe up and puts it down, and this one moves it back and forth. See?" He demonstrated the hoe's operation, and another foot was added to the drainage ditch. "We can do about three or four feet at a time, then we have to move the whole thing forward. Try it."

Michael moved one of the levers, and the hoe plunged deep into the earth. "Easy," Buck cautioned. "We want a trench, not a pit." He eased the lever back, and the hoe responded. "Now try moving the dirt to the side, and dumping it." Michael hesitated, chose a lever, and pulled. The claw of the hoe dropped downward and the earth was deposited back into the trench.

"I'm messing it up," Michael said by way of apologizing.

"Maybe we better start you out with the tractor and work up to this. Why don't you see if you can lend a hand out back?"

Michael scrambled down and disappeared around the corner of the house, while Janet walked slowly along next to Anna as she wheeled her chair up the drive. At the foot of the porch steps, the old woman came to a halt and stared silently up at the house.