Even though he was a mottled shorthorn, rather than one of the cherished local white-faced breed, she felt perfectly certain that he would take first premium at Hereford. In a few days she would have him begin his leisurely walk to the city with her most trusted drover, moving at just the right speed to maintain his weight and muscle, but still arrive in good time for him to recover from any loss or scratch he might suffer on the journey.

As Callie leaned across the fence to rub his ear, a sudden growling bark made her startle and grab the rail. Hubert turned his big head as a brindled dog charged from out of the foggy lane, roaring and snarling. It stopped, teeth bared, a yard's length from her skirt.

Hubert stamped a hoof, lowering his nose to look through the rail. The dog rushed toward him, snap ping. In the f lash of the moment, Callie threw her basket, sending a shower of bread on the dog's head. It shied off for an instant, then paused, its heavy muzzle turned toward Hubert, its pink lip still lifted in a growl, quivering in every muscle.

"Silly creature!" Callie said in a jolly voice. She stayed on the rail but forced her muscles to relax. "Now what do you suppose you're doing?"

The dog never took its eyes from Hubert. The bull had turned to face the threat, lowering his nostrils almost to the turf, blowing strong gusts of air against the grass. He began to paw the ground.

"What a funny dog!" Callie crooned in a quiet voice. "What a foolish boy. You don't think we mean to hurt you?"

A man's voice called out from the road. The dog pricked its shorn ears and turned. But it did not retreat.

Through the light fog, she saw a stranger hurrying toward them. He called the dog again. This time it obeyed him reluctantly, swinging away and trotting to his side.

"Beg pardon, Miss!" He reached down and grabbed the dog by the collar. "I'll put a rope on him."

Neither man nor dog were from the neighbor hood of Shelford, where Callie knew every domestic creature and a good number of the wild ones too. The stranger wore a heavy overcoat and gaiters with an elegant top hat, a rather odd combination of country and city fashion. As he straightened up from tying the dog, he gave her a nervous smile, his mouth creasing too widely under high cheekbones.

"We'll go along now, Miss!" he said, touching his hat and dragging the dog as it snarled and lunged back toward Hubert.