August 5, 1844, Monday.

'Here, Jacky, here, boy!' It was getting dark, and Jim Tanner was getting tired. It had been a long day, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was hunting for a runt of a small dog. But Sadie Gallagher's little fice¹ had wandered off, and Sadie was inconsolable. Jim figured he wouldn't be able to stand it if the child's pet were eaten by bears, which it would be if he didn't find it soon. 'Here, Jacky, here, boy! Come on, you, I've got some leftover chicken!'

Whether it was the smell of leftover chicken, or the dog had just had enough, Jim couldn't tell. But the little cur came wandering out from some bushes and cocked its head at Jim, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

'All right for some,' muttered Jim, petting the dog and giving him a bite of chicken. He'd just tucked the mutt under his arm and was about to head back to town, when he caught sight of something else in the bushes. He stepped nearer, and whispered,

'Are you lost?'

to the two eyes peeking back at him from a scared, hungry-looking, and, above all, dark face. 'Don't worry, I won't tell anybody.' And Jim crept further away from the road, though he couldn't see anyone about.

The fellow, about Jim's age, looked terrified. He also looked exhausted. He was in rags, and barefoot. Jim took a couple of guesses: 'Would you like this chicken? And are you looking for the nearest station master?' The speed with which the rest of Jacky's chicken was snatched up answered the first question, a nod the second.

Jim crouched down near the bushes, petting the dog to keep him quiet. 'What's your name? Mine's Jim.'

'Robert.'

'Pleased to meet you, Robert. You come far?'

'All the way from Kentucky. Mostly at night. Been from station to station. But I got lost this time. I think I mistook the river.'

Jim nodded. 'We've got a right smart of 'em around here. But you're not far now. I can take you to the place now that it's dark. Just be real quiet. Not ever'body's, er, safe.' Robert nodded. Jim thought about how best to bring him to the station house. He had an idea and clapped his own hat on the young man's head, thrusting Jacky into his arms. 'Here: hold this dog. He's a yapper, sometimes. But he don't bite.'

Robert took the dog and stroked his head, which appeared to make Jacky very happy. He nestled in Robert's arms as if that's just what he needed after a hard day's mischief: a proper appreciation of just how lovable a small dog can be. Jim grinned.

'Good. Keep that hat down low, and if we pass anyone, they'll think you're one of the Gallagher kids. Now come with me, it ain't much more than half a mile up the road.'

They moved quietly, not speaking much, but they didn't pass anybody on the road. Most were already home for the evening. When they got to Pickering Street, Jim led the fugitive around the back, where he knocked on the door. The woman who answered the knock took one look at the two of them and beckoned them in. Jim shook his head. Robert returned his hat and a reluctant Jacky and gave Jim a quick smile. Jim smiled back and walked back to Main Street.

'Good dog, Jacky! If I hadn't'a been lookin' for you, I might not have found that feller. Now he's getting his dinner from Judge Heath's cook, and Mr Fogle will be over with the tannery wagon to smuggle him on out to Warren. You're a good Abolitionist dog, Jacky. Just let's don't tell anybody else, okay?'

And Jacky kept mum about what they'd been doing, even after little Sadie plied him with more leftover chicken she'd saved from her own supper.

Drifting off to sleep, Jim reflected that Judge Heath was a man who put his money where his mouth was. After all, he'd been fined $2000 that time they found out who slipped the tools into the jail and helped the fugitive slaves escape. That was in 1835: Heath hadn't stopped yet, and Jim hoped he'd never would.

Dmitri Gheorgheni