“Oh, don’t be sore, boy.” Cavanaugh roared with laughter. “If you’d taken the beating I took tonight from Hall’s gang of toughs, you’d have been grouchy, too. And no more of that ‘Mister Cavanaugh’ stuff. Just call me ‘Red.’ We’re pals.”
“Are we?”
“Sure we are. We’ll both get rich out of this. And even better, we’ll do the Indian Agency and the whole Navajo nation in the eye. If they accept my bids—and they’ll have to, because they’re higher than those of anyone else—we’ll get those leases for a half, or even a third, of what’d they’d sell for next month when the policy change is announced.”
In his hiding place under the trailer floor, Sandy was boiling with fury. Momentarily he had forgotten all about being a dog. The Dobermans sensed the difference instantly. Perhaps they caught a subtle change in his body odor. His anger was making him perspire despite the cold.
The lead dog barked sharply and scrambled to its feet. The others followed suit. Sandy tried to croon reassurance to them, but failed. They were becoming thoroughly aroused and making an awful racket. He had to get out of there—and quickly—before Cavanaugh came to investigate.
He scrambled from under the trailer and sprinted for the jeep. The dogs broke into full cry now, and streaked after him. This was a human! And an enemy human too! They were out to make him pay dearly for his deceit.
The trailer door banged open as the bedlam rose. Moments later, a spotlight picked up the running boy and the dogs that leaped and snapped at his bare heels.
“Stop, thief!” Cavanaugh yelled. “Stop or I’ll fire!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Showdown
At that moment, Sandy tripped over a branch, flung up his arms as he fell headlong. The rifle bullet meant for his head merely creased him instead, from shoulder to elbow.