Eighteen

crying out, "For the love of God! If you run any slower, you're a dead man!"

Joshua couldn't run any faster. He was an emaciated 57 year old Jew with the remains of his left lung and a kidney ready to shut down should anyone of authority give the word. His heart threatened to rupture, even at this shambling pace, sweat as he had not seen in 30 years drenched his forehead, and spots of light kept flashing in and out of his field of vision. He was a dead man.

Dash pulled to a stop once he saw his boss ready to keel over. Rolling his eyes, hands on his hips, he hurried back to save his life. Grabbing Joshua, he hoisted him up into a fireman's carry, and trotted off through the field.

Coming upon an enormous chestnut tree, Dash grabbed the lowest branch and nimbly gamboled up to the higher ones, Joshua no more bother than a winter scarf. He finally came to light on a wide horizontal branch, barely winded. He looked quite proud of himself, and his face showed his glee.

"Well," he beamed, "At least bears don't climb trees!"