The Wild by Christopher Golden

. You’re starved and underfed, but you’re strong. Jack. That your name? Be seeing you, Jack. See, I don’t shoot people who might be useful to me.” He glanced sidelong at the skinny kid, and his laughter halted so quickly that it did not even leave an echo. “This piece of dog dung, however…” He lifted his gun and pressed it against the boy’s throat.
    Jack knew that he didn’t have a chance in hell. They were at least six feet away, and he’d have to cover that distance in the same time that the man’s finger had to squeeze half an inch against the trigger. But figuring the odds had never stopped him before. And he knew that there was no other choice.
    As he launched himself at the short man—a man about to shoot a kid for not handing over a mangy mutt—something roared, and the pistol fired.
    The boy dropped. The shot missed him, and a splintered hole appeared in the side of the Yukon Hotel where the bullet had struck. The dog shook and growled as it bit into the man’s forearm, lifted entirely from the ground as the shooter stepped back, dropped his gun, and fell onto his rump.
    Then Jack was there, his momentum forcing both man and dog down into the mud. Dutch let go and withdrew, teeth bared and bloodied, but he obviously knew who the enemy was here. He never took his eyes from the short man, watching as Jack punched him several times in the jaw and nose. When the man lifted his left hand to strike back, Jack clasped the bitten right arm in both of his and twisted. He felt the sickening wetness of warm blood there, and the man bared his teeth in unconscious imitation of the dog. He tried his best not to scream—Jack saw that, and it impressed him—but then pain became too much, and he let the cry loose.
    Something fell on Jack’s back and drove him down on top of the skinny man. Archie. But he was not there for long.
    â€œUp ya get!” Merritt said, and Jack rolled in time to see Archie flung once again against the side of the hotel.
    The boy had picked up the skinny man’s gun.
    â€œSteady now, kid,” Merritt said.
    â€œMy name’s Hal,” the boy said. “I hate it when people call me kid.”
    Jack chuckled as he stood. He’s scared witless , he thought, but he was still impressed by Hal’s composure. The gun was heavy, but the boy’s hands barely shook at all. And Jack shared his detestation of being referred to as a kid.
    â€œGoing to shoot them?” Jack asked the boy. Merritt glanced at him sharply, and he saw Archie stiffen where he lay against the building. But Jack was confident that he knew Hal’s capabilities. He might think himself grown-up and brave, he might even think himself strong. But he was no killer.
    He handed the gun to Jack, who in turn passed it to Merritt.
    â€œYou have no idea who you’re messin’ with here,” the thin man said. He stood, holding his injured arm across his chest. Dutch advanced on him and growled again, edging forward so that the man backed up against the wall next to Archie.
    â€œA big dumb mule,” Jack said, pointing at Archie; then he aimed his finger at the thin man. “And what comes out of a mule’s backside.”
    Hal giggled; Merritt sighed. Jack knew what his friend was thinking. Less than an hour in Dawson City, and already they’d made two enemies. Well…they wouldn’t be here for long. And it was yet another reason to head on as soon as they could.
    â€œFunny kid,” the thin man said.
    â€œCome on, William,” Archie said.
    Jack gave a small nod. At least the big guy knew when to admit defeat.
    â€œBe seeing you,” William said.
    â€œSure thing, Billy,” Jack said. “Go get that arm seen to. Looking at the dog’s teeth, here, I’ll bet he’s been eating all sorts of tasty treats from off the street.”
    William glanced down at the dog, which growled again. Then he