Free Joko by Karl Kofoed Page B

become her entire family.
    She’d considered leaving Yale and moving closer to a larger community, but those thoughts were forgotten in the day to day realities of maintaining the farm. She didn’t do it alone.
    Johnny helped, of course, but he had to work to keep money coming in. Luckily, hands from the larger spreads south of town were usually available during the busier times. That cost some raspberry money, but not all. All in all, despite the loss of her husband, Gert made ends meet. But she didn’t take all the credit.
    “The Lord’s been watchin’ over us most kindly,” she often said.
    Gert knew what Johnny wanted for breakfast: egg bread, the way only she could make it. As the smell of bacon began to fill the kitchen Johnny breathed a sigh of contentment.
    “Thanks, Aunt Gert,” Johnny said softly.
    “For what?” she asked, tossing a pat of butter onto a searing hot griddle.
    “Well, for not shootin’ Jocko, for one thing.” He smiled. “I mean, you’ve been great to him.”
    “No idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
    “Yes you do. I know Jocko’s strange, but I owe it to him to help him get home. I’m just not sure what that means.”
    Gert stood before the wood stove with a spatula in her hand. She dumped the egg bread onto a plate and handed it to Johnny.
    “Here’s yer usuals,” she said. “And as far as he is concerned, you better do something before he eats our garden.”
    Gert sat down in front of Johnny, pouring hot water into her tea from a tin teakettle.
    “I didn’t talk about Jocko last night ’cause you were tired.”
    She looked at him in earnest. “But Johnny, you’re right. You have to decide what to do. Those men, the railroad agent and the rest, are likely to come here to see if you know where their monkey is.”
    “Why would they do that?” asked Johnny, drinking some milk. “Nobody saw me with Jocko, ’cept maybe the smithy, but he thought Jocko was just a dead dog.”
    “You never know what men will do for gold.”
    “Jocko sneaked off the train all by himself,” argued Johnny. “I didn’t release him. They’ll figure out he opened the latch to the bear cage himself. And I suspect they won’t find out he’s gone ’til they got to wherever they was goin’. And they wouldn’t trace him back.” He looked down at the dog.
    “They might … they just might if they use hounds . They might pick up his trail at the ridge and trace it back to the shed. But then it would disappear.”
    His aunt shook her head. “If they ask around, the smithy will tell ’em about smellin’ the dead dog in my wagon.”
    Johnny looked down at his food. “Dam n, and I thought we’d be safe here.”
    Gert wanted to reassure Johnny they’d be safe, but she knew sooner or later the whole town would know about Jocko. “Secrets don’t last long in small towns, Johnny.”
    “Then we have to figure out what to do with him,” said Johnny. “Whatever it is, we have to do it fast. It’s been half a day since he jumped off the train.”
    Gert got up and looked through the kitchen window at the garden. She couldn’t see Jocko but knew from the movement in the corn that he was there.
    “Johnny, see if you can fetch Jocko to the house. He has to come in here sooner or later. We need to find out if we can hide him in here.”
    “No, that won’t work.” Johnny shook his head. “If they come, they’ll have their dogs to smell him out. And if we bring him in here, the dogs will know and they’ll search the house.”
    “Damned if they will!” protested his aunt.
    “If the dogs don’t smell him inside the house, then maybe they’ll leave,” offered Johnny. “Leave him outside, Aunt Gert, I don’t want you in trouble.”
    Gert got up and went to the sink. She began to clean some dishes as she pondered the situation. Finally she said:
    “Maybe we’re worried about nothing. Maybe they won’t find his trail.” Gert looked out at Jocko. “You know, if he didn’t smell so