The Journey Home Read Free Page A

interested him about as much as wet cardboard. Great. Just great. Six months with only Sports Illustrated to read.
    â€œYou all right back there?” Abe called.
    â€œComing!” he cried. Before he left the aisle, a stack of small, hardback notebooks on a shelf caught his eye. Over the past few months he’d wanted to start keeping a diary of his and Taylor’s adventures—kind of like the wilderness journal Abe had kept when he’d been younger. It was Abe’s old journal that had inspired the boys to make the trip to Wyoming, and had helped them survive the journey. Jake grabbed a notebook and went to get Taylor, who was still drooling over the snacks section.
    â€œThink dad will get us one?” Taylor asked, sweeping his hand through his sandy brown hair.
    â€œDoesn’t have to be his call, does it?” said Jake, picking up a bag of peanut butter cups.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Taylor asked, confused.
    â€œNothing. . . . C’mon,” he said.
    On the counter, Gunter had stacked a treasure pile of supplies: boxes of nails, duct tape, gun oil, gun cartridges, anew ax, shoelaces, matches, sewing needles and thread . . .
    â€œWe’ll take these, too,” Jake said, placing the notebook and peanut butter cups down.
    Abe picked up the bag of candy and dangled it as if it were a dead rat. “This crap?”
    â€œThe candy’s for me,” Taylor quickly said, sensing his dad’s disapproval. “It’s okay. I’ll put it back.”
    â€œC’mon, Abe. It won’t kill ’em,” Gunter said.
    â€œYeah,” Jake chipped in. “It’s hardly a deadly mushroom.”
    Abe’s eyebrow arched, and for a moment it looked like he was going to launch into one of his long speeches, but he dropped the candy back onto the counter.
    â€œYou’re right. But I get a bite!” he said with a laugh, handing over the money.

3 As the three of them headed toward the front of the store, laden with goods, the door opened before they could reach it. Suddenly the mood changed again. Jake’s squabble with his dad was forgotten, and tension took over.
    A police officer stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
    Jake froze.
    One thought went screaming through his mind: Bull. They’ve found his body. He exchanged glances with Taylor and saw the fear in his eyes.
    He wished they’d worked out a story to tell the police before they’d come to town. But no, that would have meant talking about Bull’s death, and that was the one thing they never, ever did.
    â€œThat your dog out front?” the cop asked.
    â€œYeah, he’s ours,” Jake said. His throat felt dry and tight. “Is he okay?”
    â€œHe’s loose!” snapped the policeman. “If you’re going to visit a national park, you’d better learn the rules. Dogs must be kept under control at all times.”
    Abe finally spoke up. “It’s my fault, Officer. I thought he was tied up.”
    The policeman frowned. “Abe Wilder, isn’t it?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWell, I know you know the rules.” He looked sternly at Jake and Taylor. “Just checking that these boys know them too.” The police officer turned to leave, but then paused. “Oh, Mr. Wilder? One more thing . . .”
    Abe swallowed. “Yes?”
    â€œYou should bring that guitar of yours next time you come by. Play a few songs over at Benny’s. It’s been too long.”
    Abe smiled, and promised he would.
    They said their good-byes and made to start the trek home.
    â€œC’mon,” Abe muttered distractedly. “Let’s get out of here.”
    Jake couldn’t help notice the change that had come over his dad—jaw set, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes darting nervously.
    Once again the memory of Bull’s last scream rangout in Jake’s mind. He saw the limp