Spencerville

Billy focused the binoculars on the house and whispered, "Okay here."

Finally, the shepherd stopped pacing at about forty yards' distance and raised its head, as though listening for something. It was a profile shot, and Keith aimed at the dog's forward flank, hoping to hit his heart or lungs. He pulled the trigger, and the arrow shot out of the crossbow.

He couldn't see where it went, but it didn't hit the dog. The dog, however, heard the vanes as they hummed past and let out a short, confused bark, then began running around.

Keith recocked the bowstring and fitted another arrow.

Billy whispered, "Still okay here."

Keith stood and fired purposely short, and the arrow sliced into the ground about twenty yards away. The shepherd heard it and streaked directly toward the arrow as Keith recocked, fitted another arrow, and aimed through the sight. The dog stopped short and snapped at the feathered vanes. Keith pulled the trigger.

He could actually see the arrow pass through the German shepherd's head, and he was sure the dog was dead before it hit the ground.

Keith tapped Billy on the shoulder. "One down. Let's move."

Keith reslung his M-16 rifle and carried the crossbow at his side. Billy slung his M-14 and carried the shotgun. Together, they began moving again through the pine forest, toward the other two dogs.

It took them over twenty minutes to navigate through the dark woods around the perimeter of the clearing. They crossed the open dirt road in a quick rush, and continued on in a semicircle through the pines and toward the lake.

They stopped at a point where they could see the lake ahead. The moon was almost behind the pines now, and the lake looked much darker. Keith figured they had only a few more minutes of good moonlight left.

There were some felled pines in the area, cut down, it appeared, to expand the clearing. Keith used the sawed base of a tree trunk to steady the stock of the crossbow. He scanned through the bow sight and saw the Labrador retriever on its wire run, sitting about twenty yards away on its haunches, looking out at the lake.

Billy was watching the house through the telescopic sight of his rifle. He had an oblique view of the sliding glass doors on the front deck and whispered, "House okay." He shifted his aim and found the golden retriever. "Third dog sleeping."

Keith lined up the bow sight's crosshairs over the Labrador's left flank. The dog raised its head and yawned. Keith pulled the trigger. Except for the twang of the bowstring, there was no sound as the arrow flew off. A second later, the dog jerked, let out a short, surprised sound halfway through its yawn, and rolled over. It whimpered softly for a few seconds, then became quiet.

Keith rolled over, too, on his back, and with the butt against his chest, recocked the bowstring as Billy handed him another arrow from the quiver. Keith fitted the arrow, then jumped to his feet. With two dogs gone, absolute silence was not as important as speed. He noted on his watch that it was one twenty-eight A.M.

Keith left the cover of the pine trees and made directly for the golden retriever, who was curled up on the ground about fifty yards away, apparently sleeping. Keith got within twenty yards before the dog awoke and jumped to its feet. Keith fired, and before he even saw if the arrow would hit or not, he dropped the crossbow and sprinted toward the dog, drawing his knife as he ran.

The retriever yelped and tried to run at Keith, but the arrow had pierced his rear haunch, and he stumbled. As the dog looked back over his shoulder to see what was wrong, Keith landed on him with both knees, breaking his backbone, and at the same time grabbing its muzzle and holding it closed while he slit the dog's throat.

Keith felt the dog go into spasms, its blood pouring from its slashed throat. In a few seconds, the dog lay limp.

Keith glanced up at the house a hundred yards away. There was nothing between him and the house now — no dogs to warn Baxter, but also no cover or concealment for him. Just three hundred feet of open space. The clearing was dark, but not as dark as it would be in a few minutes when the moon dropped behind the pine trees, and he knew he should wait, as per plan. But he was psyched now, the adrenaline was pumping, he'd drawn blood, and he was as ready as he'd ever be.

Billy had moved up into a concealed position among the trees behind Keith, at a slight angle from the sliding glass doors, so he could cover Keith without Keith being directly in the line of fire. Billy whispered loudly, "Keith — get back here or get moving. You can't stay there."

Keith turned to Billy and gave him a thumbs-up.

Billy said, "Okay, I got you covered. Good luck."

Keith turned back toward the house and with no hesitation began the hundred-yard sprint across the open field.

He didn't want to be slowed down, and he didn't need his rifle for this, so he carried only the police revolver and the hunting knife.