Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Page 101/122

Once inside the barn, she grabbed the pitchfork and a flashlight and then darted out the barn door, screaming at the top of her lungs. The dogs scattered, leaving Brutus wounded on the ground. Outside the circle of light lay a small form, and a sweep of the flashlight revealed fur with copper highlights. A lump formed in her throat as she recognized Penny. Brandishing the pitchfork with renewed courage, she boldly strode to Brutus. One ear was torn half off and his fur was bloody around the collar. A gash in one leg prevented him from rising, and he whined as she knelt beside him.

“Lay still, Brutus,” she managed through a constricted throat. “I’ll check on Penny.”

Turning on the flashlight, she moved toward the goat. It was dead, its throat torn viciously. A dark form moved at the edge of the tree line and when she shined the flashlight in that direction, the light reflected off more than one pair of eyes. Were they waiting to devour Penny, or were they waiting to finish off Brutus? She slowly retreated and knelt beside Brutus again.

“Come on boy.” She tugged at his collar and he tried in vain to rise. “You’ve got to get up, boy. They’ll kill you if you stay out here.” He was too heavy to carry and the barn was at least a hundred feet away. She tugged at his collar again, but it was useless. If she ran to the house to call for help, the dogs would attack Brutus again. Somehow she had to take him with her . . . and soon. The forms were getting braver, darting out from the trees and then retreating when she flashed the light in that direction.

The wheelbarrow was in the barn, but even if she managed to get there and back, she couldn’t lift Brutus into it. It would be hard enough to get him on his rug once she had him in the barn. That gave her an idea. She backed away slowly, flashing the light on the forms, and then ducked into the barn, grabbing a feed sack she remembered throwing beside the barn door. As she emerged from the barn, one of the forms was nearing the circle of light. She grabbed the pitchfork and poked it in his direction, screaming as she did so. The wild dog ran a few steps toward the trees and then stopped, his head low as he watched her. Better hurry, they were getting braver.