‘I don’t believe it,’ he said flatly.
‘That’s fine.’ Jessie bit her lip and shrugged. ‘Just let me get on with finding the dog and there’s no need for you to believe anything.’
‘How long have you been qualified?’
‘Look!’ Jessie’s voice exploded into anger. ‘How long I’ve been qualified has nothing to do with anything. The only thing that matters at the moment is that there’s an injured dog on your property and I need to find him. Fast!’
Niall Mountmarche was still watching her-assessing her. With his eyes still on her, he stooped to pick up his gun and snap it together. As Jessie’s face changed again he flicked the cartridge with his booted toe so that it lay almost at her feet.
‘You keep the cartridge,’ he said harshly. ‘I won’t shoot your precious dog. But I want to know why you think he’s on my property.’
The air whooshed out of Jessie’s lungs in a rush. She stooped to retrieve the cartridge and shoved it deep into her pocket-before the man changed his mind.
‘There are rabbit traps set near your boundary fence,’ she told him, fingering the cartridge as security. ‘Some of the local kids must have set their traps on Frank’s land while he’s in hospital. They know he’d never let them, otherwise. The traps are set in a pattern and one trap seems to be missing-and the place where it should be is marked with blood and fur. Not brown rabbit fur. It’s the black and white fur of a collie.’
‘Collie?’
‘Harry-Frank’s dog-is a Border collie. A good one.’
He was certainly a lovely dog, Jessie knew, and if anything happened to Harry Frank Reid would break his heart.
‘You haven’t said why you believe he’s here.’ The booted toe was tapping again on the leaf-strewn ground. Patience, it seemed, was not one of Niall Mountmarche’s strong points.
‘There’s a trail of drag marks and blood leading through your fence. At a guess, the dog still has the trap on his foot. If he’s too injured to drag himself home then he won’t have gone far.’
‘If he’s been missing a week then he’ll be dead.’
‘No.’ Jessie shook her head. ‘I heard him,’ she said flatly. ‘He’s somewhere here.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nearby?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what are we wasting time for, Jessica Harvey?’ the man demanded harshly. ‘Let’s find him.’ ‘You mean…You mean you’ll help?’ ‘Why on earth wouldn’t I?’ Why not, indeed?
It took fifteen minutes.
At the sound of Niall’s voice Harry’s whimpers had ceased and, no matter how much Jessie called, she wasn’t able to hear the dog again. Then it was a case of physically searching inside every hollow log and under every piece of undergrowth.
In the end it wasn’t Niall who found Harry but Harry who found Niall. Niall lifted a piece of bush and Harry’s black face lunged forward in snarling menace. Teeth sank into Niall’s leather boot-and then the dog shrieked in pain as his movement made the agony from his injuries unbearable. The dog fell back, teeth still bared in a grimace of suffering.
Jessie had heard. She came flying from twenty yards away, half expecting Niall Mountmarche to kick out in fury.
The Ogre of Barega did no such thing. The man knelt, just out of range of the menacing teeth, and his voice softened.
‘Hey, old fella,’ he said gently. ‘We’ve been looking for you. There’s no need to attack. We’re here to help.’
He knew animals, then. Jessie’s fears receded further. This man knew a desperately injured dog would react by defending itself. The worse its pain became the more it would defend itself-to the point where a badly injured dog could even bite its owner.
Harry was confused and in pain and, Jessie guessed, starved almost to death. They could expect no cooperation from Harry.
Jess knelt beside Niall and looked under the bush where Harry lay. All she could see were the whites of his eyes wide with terror-and the bared teeth.
‘Any suggestions?’ Niall asked and his tone was sardonic again. It suggested that Jessie’s claim to being a vet was ridiculous.
‘I’ll dart him with a tranquilliser if I must,’ Jessie said, hauling her bag from her shoulder and flicking it open. ‘But I don’t want to. He’ll be weak enough as it is.’
‘So, what…?’
Jessie lifted her tray of syringes and dressings from the top of the bag and found what she was looking for. A leather muzzle. Normally she could manage without-if she could reach the dog from behind-but Harry was wedged firmly into his hiding place and could only be faced head-on. To put her hands into his refuge was to risk losing a finger.
‘OK.’ She looked back at the collie. The big dog hadn’t moved. The teeth were still drawn back in a grimace half of pain, half of menace.
‘No sudden movements,’ she said shortly.
Niall nodded. He didn’t move.
‘OK, Harry,’ Jess said gently, turning her full attention on the dog. ‘Let’s help you. Come on, boy. We’re here to help.’
She talked for five minutes, taking all the time in the world. The dog had hurt himself by his lunge forward and Jess was prepared to wait for the agony to settle. She needed the terror to recede from those huge, pain-filled eyes.
She knew this dog. Frank Reid was a friend and Jess saw Harry often when she dropped in to Frank’s farm. She’d removed a burr from his ear last summer and he’d let her help as soon as she had his trust.
This time he was more desperately hurt. It would take time-but she could afford to take it.
‘Come on, Harry,’ she said gently. ‘We’re here to help. You can trust us.’
Inch by inch she edged forward, her eyes never leaving the dog’s for a moment. Beside her, Niall Mountmarche watched and listened-but didn’t move either. He sensed that he could destroy all her efforts with a movement. At least the man had the rudiments of common sense.
Jessie held the muzzle forward, letting the dog see it. He hadn’t seen such a thing before-so he didn’t know it wasn’t to be trusted. Jess let it lie like a handkerchief in her hand, holding it forward.
‘Hey, Harry…’
An inch more…An inch more…
The dog’s lips moved. His body shuddered and he lunged forward, desperately defending…
Right into the muzzle.
Jessie moved like lightning. She was up over the big dog, fastening the leather thong at the back of his neck and then hauling the dog from his hiding place and gathering the collie to her like a frightened child. She held him immobile and rigid against her, pulling him down to her and talking and talking as if there was absolutely no threat…
The dog could do nothing.
Normally Jess would have to fight for control of a big dog but, muzzled, Harry was helpless.
He sagged against Jess and the fight left him. The collie lay limply on her knee and the huge eyes looked up pleadingly.
I don’t know what to do, the eyes seemed to say. Help me.
‘Hey, Harry…’
The dog whimpered in pain.
There was no longer a threat from those razor-sharp teeth so Jess removed the muzzle. Now that Harry was in the open she could control him and the muzzle would only distress him more than he already was.
Jess put her hand on the big dog’s matted coat and felt the beginnings of tears prick behind her eyes as she saw the extent of his injuries.
There was little she could do here-except put the dog out of his misery.
