The Eyes of the Dragon(78)

She went to Ben and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Don't feel so bad," she said. "We've done all we could do."

"Have we?" he asked. "I wonder." He paused, and sighed deeply. He had taken off his knitted cap and his golden hair gleamed mellowly in the dull afternoon light. "I'm sorry, Naomi. I don't mean to snap at you. You and your dogs have done wonders. It's just that I feel we're very far from where we could give any real aid. I feel helpless."

She looked at him, sighed, and nodded.

"Well," he said, "let's go in. Maybe there'll be some sign of what we're to do next. We'll at least be out of the blow when it comes."

There were no clues inside. It was just a big, drafty, empty farmhouse that had been quit in a hurry. Ben prowled restlessly from room to room and found nothing at all. After an hour, he collapsed unhappily beside Naomi in the sitting room... in the very chair where Anders Peyna had sat when he listened to Dennis's incredible story.

"If only there was a way to track him," Ben said.

He looked up to see her staring at him, her eyes bright and round and full of excitement.

"There might be!" she said. "If the snow holds off-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Frisky!" she cried. "Don't you see? Frisky can track him! She has the keenest nose of any dog I've ever known!"

"The scent would be days old," he said, shaking his head. "Even the greatest tracking dog that ever lived could not..."

"Frisky may be the greatest tracking dog that ever lived," Naomi replied, laughing. "And tracking in winter's not like tracking in summer, Ben Staad. In summer, trace dies quickly... it rots, my Da' says, and there are a hundred other traces to cover the one the dog seeks. Not just of other people and other animals, but of grasses and warm winds, even the smells that come on running water. But in the winter, trace lasts. If we had something that belonged to this Dennis... something that carried his scent..."

"What about the rest of your team?" Ben asked.

"I should open the shed over there"-she pointed at it-"and leave my bedroll in it. If I show them where it is and then free them, they'll be able to forage for their own food-rabbits and such-and they'll also know where to come for shelter."

"They won't follow us?"

"Not if they're told not to."

"You can do that?" He looked at her with some awe.

"No," Naomi said matter-of-factly. "I don't speak Dog. Nor does Frisky speak Human, but she understands it. If I tell Frisky, she'll tell the others. They'll hunt what they need, but they won't range far enough to lose the scent of my bedroll, not with the storm coming. And when it starts, they'll go to shelter. It won't matter if their bellies are hungry or full."

"And if we had something that belonged to this boy Dennis, you really believe Frisky could track him?"

"Aye."

Ben looked at her long and thoughtfully. Dennis had left this farm on Tuesday; it was now Sunday. He didn't believe any scent could last that long. But there was something in the house which would bear Dennis's scent, and perhaps even a fool's errand would be better than only sitting here. It was the pointless sitting more than anything else that grated on him, the hours ahead when things of grave importance might be happening elsewhere, while they sat and twiddled their thumbs here. Under other circumstances, the possibility of being snowbound with a girl as beautiful as Naomi would have delighted him, but not while a kingdom might be won and lost twenty miles to the east... and his best friend might be living or dying with only that confounded butler to help him.

"Well?" she asked eagerly. "What do you think?"

"I think it's crazy," he said, "but worth a try."

She grinned. "Do we have something with his scent strong upon it?"

"We do," he said, getting up. "Bring your dog in, Naomi, and lead her upstairs. To the attic."

98

Although most humans don't know it, scents are like colors to dogs. Faint scents have faint colors, like pastels washed out by time. Clear scents have clear colors. Some dogs have weak noses, and they read scents the way humans with poor eyes see colors, believing this delicate blue may actually be a gray, or that dark brown may actually be a black. Frisky's nose, on the other hand, was like the eyesight of a man with the gaze of a hawk, and the scent in the attic where Dennis had slept was very strong and very clear (it may have helped that Dennis had been some days without a bath). Frisky sniffed the hay, then sniffed the blanket THE GIRL held for her. She scented Arlen upon it, but disregarded the scent; it was weaker, and not at all the scent she had found on the hay. Arlen's smell was lemony and tired, and Frisky knew at once that it was the smell of an old man. Dennis's smell was more exciting and vital. To Frisky's nose, it was the electric blue of a summer lightning stroke.

She barked to show that she knew this smell and had put it safely away in her library of scents.

"All right, good girl," THE TALL-BOY said. "Can you follow it.

"She'll follow it," THE GIRL said confidently. "Let's g0."

"It'll be dark in an hour."

"That's SO," THE GIRL said, and then grinned. When THE GIRL grinned that way, Frisky thought her heart might just burst with love of her. "But it isn't her eyes that we want, is it?"