The Quilt Walk by Sandra Dallas Page B

sir.” Ma had told me to be polite to Mr. Bonner and not to talk back to him. We didn’t want to rile him for fear he’d turn on us—or Mrs. Bonner. But he made me angry, because I knew Barebones wasn’t a wild dog. He’d been somebody’s pet, because when I told him to stay or to sit, he minded me. And he knew how to play fetch. When I threw a stick, he brought it back. Barebones learned his name right off, and came whenever I called him, although I didn’t have to do that very often because he stuck by my side.
    “I believe Will was right. He will be good protection for Emmy Blue,” Ma admitted after a few days.
    “Ugly as he is, nobody will want to mess with him,” Pa said, as he winked at me. We both knew that Ma had grown as fond of Barebones as we had. She fixed extra biscuits and pancakes every day to feed him, and after Pa shot an antelope, she put aside the bones for my dog.
    Barebones followed me when I wandered away from the wagon train to search for buffalo chips. There were few trees on the prairie, so we couldn’t use wood for our campfire. Sometimes we’d find a stick or a broken branch that we picked up along the trail, but now we had to burn buffalo chips, the huge circles of buffalo dung that dotted the prairie. They made a good fire and burned white hot. At first, Ma had refused to use them, but she’d learned that she didn’t have any choice. It was either buffalo chips or no fire at all. Pa already knew that, so before we left Quincy, he’d packed a huge grain sack for collecting them.
    It was my job to gather the chips. Joey collected them for his family, too. Each morning, we took our sacks and searched the prairie for the dung. The chips were good fuel, but they burned quickly, so we needed to gather all we could find. We looked for dried chips, because they burned better and were lighter weight. Barebones came with us. He thought we were playing and picked up sticks for me to throw to him.
    “Let me toss one,” Joey said.
    “Sure.” I threw the stick to him, and Joey flung it as far as he could, but Barebones brought it back to me. He knew he was my dog.
    “I wish I had a dog,” Joey said. “I had one at home, but Mama wouldn’t let me take him. I bet when we get to Denver, Papa will find a dog for me.”
    “You can come and visit us, and I’ll let you play with Barebones.”
    “I’d like that.”
    We’d hunted for buffalo chips all morning. The sacks were heavy and our hands were dirty with the powdery dust. “We have enough,” I told Joey. Then I spotted a chip that was so dry it was white. “One more,” I said, dragging my sack to where the chip lay on a pile of rocks. I tossed a rock at the dung circle to see the white dust rise. Just as I did, I heard a noise like pebbles rattling in a tin cup. When I looked to see what it was, I spotted a rattlesnake coiled in the rocks, its tail shaking and making a warning sound. The snake raised its head, and its long red tongue flickered back and forth. I looked into its black eyes and froze in place with my arm out toward the buffalo chip.
    I knew I should jump back, but I was held by the snake’s stare. I tried to call Joey, tried to tell him to throw a stone at the snake or shake a stick at it to divert its attention. But my voice wouldn’t work.
    The snake, its tail shaking furiously, kept its gaze on me as its awful head moved slowly toward my arm. It was as if it knew I couldn’t get away and was playing with me. Then just as it got close enough to strike, I saw a dark shape fly past me and grip the neck of the snake in its teeth. Barebones shook the snake back and forth, back and forth, the rattler flapping and twisting, until at last it was still, and Barebones dropped it into the dirt.
    Joey ran over to me. “Barebones saved your life,” he said. He found a stick and poked the rattler, but it didn’t move.
    I looked at my arm, still stretched out, and slowly lowered it. Then I hugged Barebones for all I was