Free The Third Adventure by Gordon Korman Page A

through the air, and landed on Luthor’s haunch. There, the small animal performed the task he had been trained for — administering a wake-up nip to a slumbering host.
    For the first time in more than fourteen hours, Luthor came to life and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. He was with two men he distinctly remembered disliking. He was pretty sure both of them had been mean to him.
    And then his sharpest sense — his hearing — came back to him in a rush. Savannah was out there somewhere, screaming in distress. She needed him, and he wasn’t there for her.
    He got to his feet with a bark that rattled the rafters. He made several runs for the door, bouncing back in painful frustration. She was still calling his name, still frantically upset. And he knew, with all the loyalty of more than a century of Doberman breeding, that there was no house that could keep him from her.
    It was just a matter of effort.

    T he big dog unleashed a barrage on the cottage that was terrible to behold.
    Ferret Face hid under the easy chair as Luthor flung his full weight repeatedly against every inch of the walls in search of a weak spot that might allow him to get through to Savannah. His roar was earsplitting. Furniture flew in all directions, curtain rods came crashing down, wood splintered, mirrors shattered.
    â€œGet the dart gun!” Palomino yelped in desperation.
    Hiller picked up his cane and thumped for the exit. “No chance, boss! I quit!”
    Swindle ducked as Luthor sailed past, knocking over tall shelves, sending books and knickknacks flying in all directions. “Me first!” he yelled. He beat his man to the door, flung it wide, and fled.
    His first step outside was into the wagon. His momentum sent it rolling across the property down the gentle slope. He rode like a novice skateboarder, back ramrod straight, chubby arms windmilling in a desperate bid to maintain balance. A gasp of terror was torn from his throat as he jounced into the road just as a pair of headlights loomed out of the darkness on a collision course.
    â€œStop!”
he wheezed.
    A split second before impact, the vehicle screeched to a halt.
    Mr. Bing jumped out and stared at the cause of the near accident. “
You!
Where are our children?”
    Not even when he’d been robbed of a million-dollar baseball card had S. Wendell Palomino felt so completely dazed, outsmarted, and outnumbered. More cars were arriving — the rest of the parents, no doubt. He should be saying something to them, giving them a piece of his mind about their terrible, lawless kids. Yet as he climbed unsteadily out of the wagon that had very nearly become his coffin, it was all he could do to point vaguely in the direction of the house.
    The new arrivals spilled out of their vehicles and rushed over the wet terrain to the cottage just as Luthor blasted out the door. He joined Savannah in a joyous lovefest on the front walkway, complete with human kisses and very sloppy canine licks. For the dog whisperer, this reunion could not have been sweeter. She was positive that, if Swindle had been allowed to board a plane with the Doberman, she might never have laid eyes on her Luthor again.
    Mrs. Drysdale embraced both daughter and dog, choking back a tear. “Aw, honey. I know it feels good now, but it’s only going to be twice as painful when you have to give him up.”
    Savannah unburied her face from Luthor’s short black-and-tan fur to beam at her mother. “But we
don’t
have to give him up!”
    Mr. Drysdale appeared at his wife’s side. “Mr. Palomino may not be the nicest person in the world, but he still has the court order on his side.”
    â€œNot anymore!” Pitch pulled the document from the Cedarville pound out of her pocket and unfolded it triumphantly in front of the Drysdales. “See? This proves Swindle gave up his dog when he moved out of Cedarville. When you adopted Luthor, it was