Page 141 of The Reformatory

“Oh no,” Miz Lottie said miserably, and before Gloria could ask what was wrong, she heard the barking. Dogs! The barks were faint, but there was more than one. They might just be excited by the bell, but one bayed so loudly that it could only be a bloodhound.

“Miz Lottie, stay here,” Gloria said. “I’ll drive, but get the truck running.”

“Where… are you going?” Miz Lottie said, barely a whisper. She was in pain, but she would not say so and Gloria did not ask because they only had room for Robbie.

“Down to the creek,” Gloria said. “I have to find him.”

39

5:50 p.m.

Colonel was Haddock’s favorite tracking dog, a bloodhound personally trained since he was a rambunctious pup. Colonel didn’t like to use his teeth the way the German shepherds did—he found runners with his tail wagging like the hunt was a game of hide-and-seek—but it was a forgivable flaw, because Colonel was never wrong. He never gave up. Colonel was the best tracker in the kennel. He knew the bell meant it was time to work, and he’d track all night and through the next day if it meant he’d get his favorite hamburger steak when his job was done.

Colonel came tumbling out of the bed of the dog boys’ truck, loose brown jowls flapping, along with the three German shepherds Haddock had ordered special and two Lab mixes who had better noses than they should. They barked and ran in circles, glad to be free of the kennel.

Jasper, the willowy, ginger-haired dog master who had started as one of the prisoners and graduated to staff, spoke sharply to keep the dogs focused as they barked, eager to run and chase. The three other dog boys who lived in the cottage at the edge of the campus with Jasper were strapping on their overalls and buttoning their shirts like firemen as they jumped from the truck. Jasper clipped Colonel’s leash to his harness and handed it over to Haddock.

“Where was he at, sir?” Jasper said.

Haddock pointed to his window. As embarrassing as it was to admit he’d been careless enough to leave his window unlocked, Haddock had called the dog boys to the hedges where Robert Stephens had hidden while the kitchen burned.

At Haddock’s prompting, Colonel sniffed studiously under the window. Haddock put the empty jar of Vaseline under Colonel’s nose and watched his dog’s nostrils quiver as he caught the scent of the last person who had touched it who wasn’t Haddock himself.

“You got him, boy?” Haddock coaxed. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

Colonel strained on his leash, nose on the ground. If Haddock let him loose, he’d have to search for both Stephens and his dog, since Colonel wouldn’t pay attention to a hurricane, much less Haddock calling after him, once his nose had a scent. Even Haddock’s training couldn’t trump this stubborn dog’s instincts to follow a trail.

Holding tight to Colonel, Haddock gave the closed, empty jar of Vaseline to Jasper for the other dogs. “This is all he left behind,” he said. “No time to go run and fetch his clothes. But this should do. Let ’em smell the window too.”

“What the hell’d he use this for?” Jasper said, wrinkling his freckled nose at the jar.

“Maybe somebody told him dogs couldn’t smell him with that,” Haddock said. “It’s not completely a fool notion, but he didn’t have near enough to cover him.” He pointed to a footprint in the mud beneath the window. “I’ll bet fifty bucks he didn’t put none on his boots.”

Jasper looked bewildered that a Negro boy would have thought so far ahead, but he didn’t know Robert Stephens Jr. Hell, a haint might have taught Stephens the trick. But with any luck, Stephens hadn’t found his way off of the campus yet. He might be hiding in a tree until after dark, when he might believe he could make it out to the road undetected. Haddock hoped this whole ugly event could be put to bed fast. If Jasper or another dog boy found Stephens first, they might see the photos. He might be damned either way.

Right on time, Boone drove back up in his white pickup after his trip to the gun cabinet.

“Colonel’s already on him!” Haddock called to Boone, and Boone grinned before he went to pull out the rifles. The younger dog boys got .22 rifles, but Jasper always hunted with a shotgun. Haddock decided to forgo a shotgun and use the Colt .45 instead: less weight to carry to vex his knee. And he was a good enough shot that he wouldn’t miss the extra accuracy he would get with a rifle. Colonel would get him close enough to Stephens to shoot him in the face.

Haddock noticed that Crutcher was finally returning from his search for Stephens at the dormitory, his sister hurrying beside him. They were both breathless and sweating from rushing. He’d hoped that Crutcher might have thought to bring some of Stephens’s clothing with him from the dorm, but Crutcher was empty-handed. Useless! Crutcher was already shaking his head that he hadn’t seen any sign of Stephens. In the distance, the boys from the cafeteria had followed the commotion to gather and watch the start of the hunt.

“What’s going on?” Crutcher’s sister asked.

“Hunt,” Haddock told her. “We got a runaway.” He only answered to see that uppity bitch squirm. He made a show of checking the rounds in his chamber as loudly as he could before he secured the gun in the back of his pants. Haddock handed Crutcher a leftover .22 rifle while she watched, and Crutcher held it as if he’d never seen a gun despite the requirement that all dorm masters knew how to shoot. The shock on his sister’s face nearly made Haddock smile despite everything. She was hanging a few yards back, far away from the dogs.

“Anything moves, you shoot it,” Haddock said to the dog boys, but he kept his eyes particularly on Crutcher. “If Robert Stephens gets loose, there will be hell to pay. And if anybody shoots one of my dogs, I’ll beat you senseless myself.”

Crutcher’s eyes were wide with horror he could not conceal. He had never been on a hunt, but everyone had a first time. Haddock winked at him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “That rifle’s for hunting rabbits. You probably won’t blow his head off.”

Haddock noticed how Crutcher glanced back at his sister and she was shaking her head at him, mouthing No. Boone patted Crutcher on the back with encouragement and pulled him away from his sister’s eyes, since the man looked so sick. Crutcher held tight to his rifle, not refusing his orders. Haddock didn’t quite trust Crutcher on the hunt, but he needed every hand. A posse of seven with almost as many dogs should be able to collect Stephens just fine.

“All right, let’s move out!” Haddock said. He unwrapped the leash he’d wound around his hand, giving Colonel more room to move, and the dog took off so fast toward the shed that Haddock’s shoulder joint snapped and his feet nearly tangled. When Haddock’s knee flared, he yanked back on the leash to try to slow Colonel down: sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But Haddock was so eager to find Stephens and his photographs that he didn’t care how sore his knee would be. “Good boy, Colonel. Git him!”

The dog boys whooped behind Haddock, adrenaline sizzling between them. Boone drove behind them slowly in the truck in case they needed more speed. The trail took them close to where the burned outbuilding had been thirty years earlier; all traces of it were gone, but Haddock would always know that spot in his sleep. Colonel seemed to know too, avoiding that place. At first, Colonel steered as if to go to the Negro side of the campus, like Crutcher had claimed.

But then Colonel headed straight to the shed. The dogs were barking in a chorus by the time they reached the closed shed door. Colonel’s nose was still pointed down into the grass, but the other dogs were sniffing the air. Haddock pulled the shed door open—Could it be this simple?—but Colonel backed away from the shadowed space, keeping his nose down near the wooden wall planks. He yanked his leash toward a corner of the shed’s exterior, sniffing furiously. The other dogs ran eagerly inside, though, pulling their handlers behind them. Haddock hoped those dogs weren’t just excited for the exercise.

“I don’t think he went in,” Crutcher said as he caught up, out of breath. If not for Colonel’s lack of interest inside the shed, Crutcher’s uneasiness might have made Haddock suspect he was covering for the boy. But Colonel would never lead him astray.