The New Madrid Run Read Online Free PDF Page B

goods. The refrigerator door had stayed closed due to specially designed latches, but when he opened it up, the insides, shattered and breached, spilled into the bilge water.
    There were no fresh fruits or vegetables; the boat was not a live-aboard, but there were some good provisions otherwise. Travis found a fork and a couple of cans of corned beef—the kind with built-in openers. He cranked the lids back, and dished them onto two serviceable plates. He wolfed his down, not realizing until then just how hungry he was.
    He took the other plate to the dog. Again the animal raised his head as the man entered the cabin. “Chow time, buddy,” Travis said as he slowly pushed the plate forward. Just as he did with the water, the dog sniffed the dish, then ate greedily, his eyes leaving Travis only for a second as he targeted his food.
    As Travis crouched by the dog, he reached out slowly, cooing softly, and began stroking its muscled back. The dog stopped eating for a second and turned its head towards Travis’ hand. Travis froze his fingers on the dog’s shoulder. He could see flecks of food and saliva on the gray-and-pink maw. He could feel its breath on his outstretched arm. The mouth opened slightly, casually exposing canines curved like sabers. The creature sniffed tentatively.
    Travis held his ground and whispered, “Now’s a good time for us to become friends, buddy.” The animal sniffed once more, then slowly turned back to the food and continued to eat. Travis exhaled and drew his arm back, infinitely pleased to have all his fingers still attached. “That’s it, old boy, let’s not be biting the hand that feeds you.”
    He spent the rest of the morning working on the batteries and electrical system. The boat had taken on quite a bit of water and needed to be pumped out before anything else could be done. Fortunately, the batteries had survived intact, but some of the wiring had been torn loose and required repair. Travis placed the batteries high and dry while he rewired the cables. When finally he hit the bilge pump switch, he was rewarded with the humming sound of a functioning pump. He stepped out onto the deck and double-checked to see the stream of water jetting from the hull. While the bilge water emptied, he surveyed the boat and assessed the damage topside. She was, or had been, a beautiful craft—an Irwin 46, ketch design. Her forward mast was still intact, the other was snapped off about six feet above the deck, testimony to the battering she had received. The mainsail on the good mast was still attached to the boom. The self-furling jib had torn loose from its fittings on the deck and flapped uselessly in the light wind. The sheet lines to the good sail seemed to be in order and, with the exception of the bent and broken bow rails, she looked like she could be made seaworthy in no time.
    By mid-afternoon Travis had the jib repaired and most of the water pumped out of the boat. He hoped the hull was still sound.
    He found a can opener and made himself a lunch of canned peas and cold chicken soup. After lunch, he took some more water back to the dog. As he entered the cabin, the animal rose shakily to his feet. “Easy boy,” Travis said gently, as he moved forward cautiously. “Just relax now, buddy. Here’s some more water.” The dog’s lips curled slightly as the animal stared at Travis, but there was no sound from the dog’s great chest, and the fire in his eyes had cooled. It was as if he understood that a pact was being established. The dog took a few tentative steps forward and drank the water, then settled down again, satisfied to rest, and heal.
    Travis smiled. His new friend was going to make it.
    After finding the spare anchor and securing the boat in about thirty feet of water, he spent the next two days organizing, cleaning, and repairing it. In that time, the dog grew stronger. He limped some, favoring his hind leg, and he moved slowly, but he was up and about.
    From the initial