Mastodonia Read Free

bones.”
    â€œMaybe they weren’t dinosaur bones.”
    â€œLady, I know dinosaur bones. I taught paleontology at the college and dinosaurs became a sort of hobby for me. I read all the papers I could lay my hands on and one year we picked up some dino bones for the museum. I mounted the damn things. I spent one entire winter stringing all those bones together and making artificial skeletal details that were lacking, coloring them white so no one could accuse us of faking anything.”
    â€œBut, fresh!”
    â€œShreds of flesh still clinging to them. Some gristle and tendons. The meat was getting high. So was Bowser. Apparently, he had found a decaying carcass and had rolled in it, picking up all that lovely scent. It took three days of scrubbing him to get the stench out of him. He was so high there was no living with him.”
    â€œAll right, then, if you say so. How do you explain it?”
    â€œI don’t. I’ve gotten so I don’t even try. For a time, just to show you, I toyed with the idea that maybe a few smallish dinosaurs had survived into modern times and that Bowser had somehow found one that had died. But that doesn’t make any more sense than a time-traveling dog.”
    There was a knock on the door.
    â€œWho is there?” I yelled.
    â€œIt’s Hiram, Mr. Steele. I came to see Bowser.”
    â€œCome on in, Hiram,” I said. “Bowser’s in here. He had an accident.”
    Hiram stepped inside, but when he saw Rila at the table, he started to back out. “I can come back later, Mr. Steele,” he said. “It was just that I didn’t see Bowser outside.”
    â€œIt’s all right, Hiram,” I told him. “The lady is Miss Elliot, a friend of mine I haven’t seen for a long time.”
    He shuffled in, snatching off his cap, clutching it with both hands to his chest.
    â€œPleased to meet you, miss,” he said. “Is that your car outside?”
    â€œYes, it is,” said Rila.
    â€œIt’s big,” said Hiram. “I never saw as big a car. And you can see your face in it, it shines so nice.”
    He caught sight of Bowser in the corner and hurried around the table to kneel beside him.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with him?” he asked. “He’s got all the hair off one of his hams.”
    â€œI cut it off,” I told him. “I had to. Someone shot him with an arrow.”
    The explanation wasn’t exactly correct, but it was simple enough for Hiram to understand and not start asking questions. Arrows he knew about. A lot of kids in town still had bows and arrows.
    â€œIs he bad hurt?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    Hiram bent and wrapped an arm around Bowser’s shoulders. “That ain’t right,” he said. “Going around and shooting dogs. There ain’t no one should shoot a dog.”
    Bowser, inviting sympathy, beat the floor feebly with his tail and lapped at Hiram’s face.
    â€œEspecially Bowser,” said Hiram. “There ain’t no better dog than Bowser.”
    â€œYou want some coffee, Hiram?”
    â€œNo, you go ahead and eat. I’ll just sit here with Bowser.”
    â€œI could fry you up some eggs.”
    â€œNo, thank you, Mr. Steele. I already had breakfast. I stopped at Reverend Jacobson’s and he gave me breakfast. I had cakes and sausages.”
    â€œAll right, then,” I said. “You stay with Bowser. I’m going to show Miss Elliot around the place.”
    When we were in the yard and out of earshot, I said to her, “Don’t let Hiram bother you. He’s all right. Harmless. Wanders around. The town sort of takes care of him. Drops in and people give him food. He gets along all right.”
    â€œHasn’t he anyplace to live?”
    â€œHe has a shack down by the river, but doesn’t spend much time there. He goes around visiting friends. He and Bowser are great