“Aaaargh,” moaned Nat, “the hairs are growing inside my chest, I’m dying, aaaargh!”

Woody rushed to Nat’s side, pawing at him, making anxious little yipping noises.

“Oh, stop, Nat!” cried Jude. “Poor Woody thinks you’re really in trouble.”

Mick roared with laughter; Apple flicked a dish towel around his ear, making his earrings jangle.

“That dog’s going to make a brilliant companion for you, Nat,” said Mick thoughtfully, when they had finished their supper. “He’s loyal to you already. Let’s see how many words he knows.”

Calling Woody to his side, Nat made him sit, stay, and fetch, and Woody obeyed every time.

“Look at that,” said Jude admiringly. “It’s almost uncanny. It’s like he understands every word you say.”

Nat didn’t notice his grandmother’s odd expression as she watched Woody perform his tasks faultlessly.

It was getting late. Jude rose from her rickety deck chair, declaring that she was tired and going to bed. Nat glanced at his mum with fresh concern. He watched as she walked down the path to the house, her white shirt gradually disappearing into the growing darkness. He drew comfort from the fact that his mum and dad spoke nearly every day on the phone — surely that meant they weren’t getting a divorce or anything? Nat was worried; what would happen if Dad was serious about this circus? Would that mean Nat and his mum would have to move again? Even go abroad? Would his dad be like a fugitive? Would Woody be able to go with them? One thing’s for certain, thought Nat to himself. They can think again if they’re planning on leaving Woody behind!

Apple and Mick got up shortly afterward. It was time to indulge in their favorite Saturday night pastime: Tonight they were going to watch The Outlaw Josey Wales, their second favorite movie — the first being The Good, the Bad and the Ugly — starring their ultimate screen god, Clint Eastwood. Nat went up to bed. He had seen The Outlaw eleven times already.

Before the movie started, in the privacy of the comfy living room, Apple turned to her husband.

“That Alec Tate took you for the fool you are, Mick Smith,” she said, looking stern. “That creature was no more born on his farm than you or I.”

Mick bowed his head in shame.

“Reckon you’re right,” he agreed miserably. “That tattoo on his neck proves it, I guess. But if Woody’s from up there, why is Alec Tate involved?”

“I don’t know,” said Apple, worried. “And I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time livestock escaped from Helleborine Halt!”

Mick shivered. “But you don’t think that Woody is …?”

“You better hope not,” said Apple softly, “because if he is, we’re all in trouble.”

CHAPTER 4
HEAVY GLOW