The truck, carrying his father and brother pulled up. The father went over to the dead dog and looked it over. He confirmed what the boys already knew. The dog was Fritz! There was no mistaking that, and the dog had been shot. The boys father went back over to the truck, lowered the tail gate and spread a blanket out in the box of the truck. Tommy asked why he was doing that. His father replied, A dog like this deserves respect. These were lessons that were not missed or forgotten by the boys.
They loaded the dog, carefully laying its stiffening body on the blanket. Joe went over to the brush and got their fishing poles and laid them down the side of the box being careful not to let them touch the dead dog. He then got his bike, his father took it from him and hoisted it into the box and secured it right behind the truck cab with a rope. The three of them jumped into the truck and headed back down the trail and road to Grubbers place.
The three of them had their teeth clenched shut in silence as they sped back up the road. Each was silently speculating about who would have killed such an animal. Each thought it might have been Grubber as they practiced for the trials. Who else could it be? It was not hunting season yet, so it could not be an accident. A hunting dog is more likely to be shot with a shotgun, which would have ripped the animal apart. It was likely that this shooting was not an accident. Fritz did not look anything like a coyote so it was highly unlikely that he had been shot by a farmer doing some pest control. Besides everyone in the county knew that Fritz did not leave Grubbers side. They went everywhere together with Fritz never on a leash. He would walk along beside his master, looking up occasionally and an assuring hand would come down and touch his nose. The two of them would move that way all the time. Bitches in heat did not even draw Fritz from his masters side.
The three of them arrived at Grubbers gate and drove up the lane to the house. When the truck came to a stop, the boys father got out and hollered, Grubber -- Grubber -- Hans Grubber! The three of them stood and looked at the house and the barn, expected the tall German to come striding out to greet them. There was no activity.
Ill check the house. You boys check the out buildings, said Murphy.
The father opened the door to the house and sticking his head in the door and called again. There was no answer. He stepped in. To his surprise, the house was in total confusion. It appeared that there had been a brawl in the living room. The house had been torn apart with objects broken and furniture upholstery torn to expose the understructure of each piece of furniture.
Dad, Dad! Come quick! yelled the boys in unison as they were running towards the house.
What is it? What have you found? yelled Murphy as he jumped off the porch that ran across the front of the house and headed in the direction of the boys.
Each boy grabbed an arm and pulled their father towards the barn. Tommy and Joe were both shouting at the same time. When boys who are not yet men get excited and raise their voices, the range of sounds goes into the higher registers making what they are saying difficult to understand.
When the father got to the door of the barn, he flung the double doors open to let the light of the day shine in on whatever they had found. There hanging from a rafter that ran the length of the barn was the corpse of Hans Grubber. The boys father sent the boys back to the door while he went over to take a closer look. As he approached the body he noticed that poor Mr. Grubber was hanging by a wire that had been tied around the rafter with the other end formed into a noose and tied around the mans neck. He was hung just high enough that his toes, if pointed downward, could just touch the ground below. The wire had cut into the mans neck. His shirt was soaked in blood. As he struggled the wire had cut deep trenches into his neck. As he struggled for breath, he was severing his own head from his body. There was no drop in the hanging so the likelihood of the neck being broken and speeding up the horrific process was not likely. Laying behind the now still man was a small stool that he must have stood on before he had taken his deadly fall. It was a sight of pure horror. It was not an image that he wanted permanently etched into the minds of his young sons, but it was too late to protect them.
Murphy stepped back from the body, backing out of the barn saying, Better get into the phone and call the R.C.M.P.
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