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Ready, boy?" Griffith said, waving the stick in front of Dog's long snoot. "Go get!"

Griffith flinched, pretending to launch the object across the empty lawn in front of the dormitories. Dog immediately bolted off, but as soon as he realized the stick hadn't left Griffith's hand, he scampered back. Several times Griffith had faked the throw, and each time Dog had jumped the gun.

"You need to wait!" said Griffith.

Dog shook with anticipation, and the water in his coat from the wet grass sprayed about.

At last Griffith flung the stick, and Dog gave chase, following the stick's end-over-end flight as he bolted across the quadrangle. The moment it landed, Dog pounced on it with his oversize paws. He skidded to a stop, gobbled it up, and then tore back, dropping the stick at Griffith's feet.

"Good boy," Griffith declared.

He reached down to Dog, who sat up tall against Griffith's leg, and scratched behind his floppy ears. Then Griffith knelt and wrapped his arms around his new friend's torso. For such a scrappy and weathered old hound, Dog was muscled and toned.

As he picked up the stick, Griffith stole a glance at the clock atop the university library across the quad. He knew he should've already joined the others in the cafeteria for dinner, but he was having too much fun with Dog.

"Ball or stick?" Griffith asked, pulling from his pocket an old baseball that the Travelin' Nine had discarded. He held out both objects.

With a tilt of the head and a bob of the snout, Dog requested the ball. Preacher Wil had told Griffith that Dog never asked for much; the most he ever wanted was for someone to play with him.

Griffith dangled the rock above Dog's head and then threw it as far as he could. Dog sped off.

But as Dog became smaller and smaller chasing after the pill, a chill surged through Griffith. He realized just how vulnerable he was on the empty quad. The last time he'd been alone outdoors, he'd encountered the Chancellor.

When Dog finally reached the ball and began bounding back across the grounds, Griffith relaxed his tense shoulders and exhaled a long breath. As Dog approached, he began to prance with his tail held high. He shook the rawhide proudly in his jaws, before dropping it into Griffith's cupped hand.

"Attaboy," Griffith said, grabbing Dog's nose and playfully shaking it. "One more?"

Dog bobbed his head and backed away.

"Let's see if you can catch this one," said Griffith. "Fetch!"

This time, Griffith didn't throw the ball far. Instead, he threw it high, as high as he could. Dog circled under the pill like an accomplished outfielder and snared it in his mouth.

"Great catch, Dog!" Griffith cheered. "You could play for the Travelin' Nine!"

Dog sat across the room in front of the partially open door. He was on guard. No one would be entering without his permission.

"Not only is that drifter dog an impeccable judge of character," Preacher Wil had told Griffith and Ruby, "but he is also fiercely protective."

Preacher Wil was right. At the slightest sound -- the tree limb against the windowpane above Ruby's bed or Graham's soft snoring -- Dog's ears would perk up.

Griffith lifted his head off his pillow and looked over at his brother and sister, sleeping soundly in their beds. At dinner, Preacher Wil had offered to let Dog stay the night with them in their dorm room. It was almost as if Preacher Wil had known that something had spooked Griffith, and that Griffith needed Dog near him.

Peering across at Dog, a hint of a smile crept onto Griffith's face. For the first time, he realized that there seemed to be a little bit of each of the Travelin' Nine in Dog. His grayish-white coat brought to mind Happy, and the black markings around his eye resembled the Professor's patch. The way Dog sprinted across the quad reminded Griffith of how Crazy Feet pursued a star chaser. And since Dog didn't bark, he was a dog of few words, like Scribe was a man of few words.

Even in the darkness, Griffith could see that Dog was watching him, waiting for a command. So Griffith gave one -- an ever-so-slight lifting of his chin. Dog sprang to his paws and walked softly across the room. When he reached Griffith's bed, he sat down, stared up at Griffith, and waited again.

Griffith blinked his eyes and tilted his head. Then Dog took several steps back, turned two circles, and leaped onto the bed. He lay alongside Griffith, nudging him with his long nose as if he were telling Griffith to scoot over.

So Griffith did.

Dog seemed to smile, but his expression said something more. It appeared to say that he understood about tomorrow's meeting, the one where the Travelin' Nine would determine whether or not Preacher Wil would be permitted to play.

The meeting was the reason why Griffith couldn't sleep. It was all he could think about. But in a way, he was relieved. The meeting kept him from thinking about Ruby disappearing back in Chicago and how he had thought he might never see his sister again. It also kept him from thinking about the Chancellor.

He looked down at Dog, who exhaled an exaggerated sigh and shut his eyes. His floppy ears dangled forward like an extra pair of lids. Griffith rested his hand on Dog's belly and felt it rise and fall with each breath.

In a matter of moments, both boy and dog were sound asleep.

Text copyright © 2009 by Phil Bildner and Loren Long