Free Night of the Howling Dogs by Graham Salisbury

cowboy boots. He pushed the brim of his sweat-stained straw hat back on his head with his thumb. The hat had a red-feathered band around it.
    The paniolo’s skin was leather brown, and worn from a lifetime outdoors. A sparse patch of hair hung from his chin.
    We nodded at each other.
    “Name’s Masa,” he said, a smile in his eyes. I liked him instantly.
    “Dylan,” I said, nodding. “And this is Casey.”
    He dipped his head to Casey. “We came to fish. How’s about you folks?”
    “Scout camp,” Mike said, then lifted his chin toward the other cowboys. “How…how’d you get here?”
    “Trucked up to the trailhead and rode down. We from a ranch in Kau.”
    I glanced back up at the cliff. “You came down that trail on
horseback
?”
    “Just now…. You boys here by yourselfs?”
    “No,” Casey said. “There’s more. We’re camped in the grove. My dad’s the scoutmaster. He went down the coast.”
    Masa turned toward the ocean. “You mind if we set up in that grove?”
    Casey shrugged. “Fine with me. My dad will like the company.”
    Masa grinned. “You boys like to fish?”
    “With a spinner,” Mike said.
    Louie nodded. “My uncle has a boat.”
    Masa turned to me and Casey. “How’s about you two?”
    “Never done much fishing,” I said.
    “What? Your daddy never take you?”
    “He’s not home much.”
    “My dad took me deep-sea fishing once,” Casey said. “I never been so sick in my life.”
    Masa chuckled. “You get used to that. We going fish nighttime, with a light. Fish come right up, see what that light is all about. Like in the before time…
papio, taape, ulua.
The fish not scared of you here.”
    “Taape?” Mike said.
    “Blueline snapper. Good fish.”
    Behind Masa the other cowboys leaned toward us, their forearms crossed over their pommels.
    “Watch out by that island,” I said. “There’s a shark.”
    Masa raised an eyebrow. “Had a hole in the fin?”
    “How’d you know?”
    Masa grinned. “That’s Fred.”
    “What?”
    “He’s been around Halape long time. Some say two hundred years.”
    Louie snorted.
    Masa glanced at him. “Maybe more. Fred protects the bay, and you, too, if you get into trouble.”
    “Sharks don’t protect people,” Louie said. “They eat um.” He grinned and looked at Mike.
    Masa studied Louie. “You sure about that, boy?”
    Louie didn’t answer.
    “How come it has a hole in its fin?” I said.
    Masa looked at Louie a moment longer, then turned toward me. “Some fool shot it.” Masa smiled. “That wasn’t too smart.”
    “Why?”
    He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from the inside band with a finger. His short hair was black, peppered with gray, and his scalp was eerily white from wearing the hat all the time. He put the hat back on. “One time two guys came down here. Mainland guys. One of them had a pistol, for protection.”
    “From what?”
    “Good question. Anyway, they wanted to go swimming, and like you, they saw Fred. Fred was just curious, you know? He likes company. So Fred came in close to check out his visitors. The one guy got his gun and shot him in the fin. You seen the hole. Fred took off and they went swimming. But he came back.”
    “And attacked them?”
    “No, no…he came back later, at night while they sleeping…lying on the sand in their sleeping bags.”
    We waited for more. Masa took his time.
    “Well, what happened?” Mike said.
    Masa looked sideways, as if checking to make sure no one would hear. “About two o’clock in the morning,” he whispered, “the guy with the gun wen’ fly up!
Boom!
”
    We all jumped.
    Masa went on. “The guy scramble out of that bag and reach for his gun.”
    “Ho,” Mike said. “What was it?”
    “Something bumped him.” Masa held up two fingers. “Two things happened. One, his gun was gone. Two, the guy’s finger was frozen stiff. Trigger finger.”
    “Yai,” Mike whispered.
    “You just made that up, right?” I said.
    “No, boy. True