“Mmmhmm. And I must say I’ve never seen a collar like that. Though I don’t see many collars out here in the wild.”

“Actually, it belonged to my dog, Pugsly. He was their king.” Benjamin looked at his three friends. “But he was killed by snakes a few nights ago.”

“Assassinated?! I don’t believe I’ve heard his name before…” Then something clicked. “By snakes? Then it was Farangis who killed your–”

“We’re ready to go now, Malcolm.” Paco didn’t want to give out any more information. “Which way is upstream? Malcolm?”

“Oh! Uh, it’s north.” He pointed his finger up the creek. “That way.”

“Very well, then. Lead on.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Malcolm’s Dam Dilemma

THE SWELLING FROM THE HORNET STINGS finally went down, giving relief to all as they walked through the creek. Roscoe and Clementine bickered, and Benjamin and Paco shared more stories about Pugsly. Malcolm stayed a few close steps in front of them to learn more about this dog and his mysterious collar. While he was trying to hatch a scheme to betray them, he was hearing how goodhearted their king had been. Why are they going to Farangis’s barn? He tried to guess, since Paco wasn’t saying anything else about their mission. He was so lost in thought that he almost walked face first into the pointed sticks of a giant beaver dam, one of many clogging the creek bed.

“Oh my!” Paco said. Large trees, small trees, dead limbs, sticks, and everything a beaver could chew, fell, or carry were stacked as high as Benjamin’s chin.

Roscoe glanced at the top of the cliffs. “Looks like these beavers aren’t finished building yet.” Huge cottonwood trees leaned far over the cliffs, their exposed giant roots sticking out of the creek walls.

“I guess that means we go back up,” Clementine said, looking at the others.

“I agree,” Paco replied. “Sire, do you see anyplace we can climb up?”

Benjamin grabbed a thick root and tugged. “These might be secure enough. I could maybe carry you guys up one at a time.” The overhanging trees creaked loudly as the wind picked up and started to sway the branches.

Roscoe stared at them. “I don’t like the sound of that!”

Snap! Their heads turned back to the beaver dam. On top sat a brown squirrel, his back to them, breaking a stick over his leg. Snap! “Dang! Still not a good one!”

Everyone laughed except Malcolm, whose face was serious. The squirrel picked up another stick, looked it up and down, and sighed. Snap!

“Hello, Billy.”