“We shoots animals like that ‘un!” shouted the blond boy. “Then we hangs ‘em up by the legs for ten days, before we chops ‘em up and feeds ‘em to the pigs. You wanna keep it out of my way, or that’s what’ll happen to your dog!”

Spiteful laughter followed as Nat walked back to the car.

“Who was he?” asked Jude indignantly.

“Take no notice of him,” said Mick. “That snotty little so-and-so is the landlord’s son, Teddy Davis. He’s a wrong ‘un. I’ve had to have a few words with him in the past; that might be why he picked on you.”

“Nat, are you OK?” asked Jude, concerned.

“Can we just go?” pleaded Nat. “Let’s get him back into the car.”

But Woody planted his lanky legs firmly into the dusty ground and refused to move any nearer to the car. Nat, the pukey smell still haunting his nostrils, wasn’t sorry; if Woody wouldn’t travel by car, then they would walk the rest of the way home. Still uncomfortably aware that Teddy Davis and his gang were sneering from their corner, Nat and Woody jogged past the inn out onto the main Temple Gurney road, keen to leave Temple Cross behind them.

Nat wondered if it would be all right to let Woody off the leash. He didn’t fancy chasing after him in this heat if the dog got it into his head to leg it back to Temple Cross, but he decided to take a chance. He knelt down and untied the string from the battered old collar Tate had given them.

“Don’t do a runner, will you?” he asked the dog anxiously, then instantly felt stupid. He’d have had a right shock if the dog had answered him! Nat thought again about the strange vision he’d had at Tate’s farm. Had Woody really been trying to show him what would happen if they didn’t take him away? He grinned to himself, feeling slightly embarrassed at even thinking such a thing. As if! Maybe he was coming down with heatstroke; anything else would be way too weird. Nevertheless, the image of the big, pale dog, hog-tied and drowned, had been enough to make up Nat’s mind. He felt as though he really had saved Woody’s life by taking him away from the horrible farmer.

And that was good, wasn’t it? But something else nagged at Nat’s brain. A saying, or an old proverb. Something like: “If you save a life, you become responsible for it.” That bothered him a bit.

But as they walked through the leafy lanes toward Temple Gurney, he felt considerably cheered up. Woody had completely lost the depressed, downtrodden look he’d had at the farm. Free of the piece of string, he loped along, making weird little chuffing noises and occasionally turning around as if to check that Nat still followed.