For a time, the two of them stared out the window at the palm trees, the beach, and the rolling surf.  Finally, Benton said, "Jonny, I have something for you."

"I don't want it," Jonny replied sullenly.

"It's your birthday present," Benton said, trying to tempt the boy.

"I don't care.  I don't want it," he repeated stubbornly.

"How do you know if you don't open it?" his father asked, reasonably.

"Because it's not what I wished for," he whispered.

"What did you wish for, Jonny."  Benton asked gently.  He suddenly saw the boy's bottom lip tremble and, with an abrupt stab of pain, Benton knew what was coming.

"I want Momma back!"  Jonny turned to his father pleadingly, as if this time, the response would be different.

Benton Quest hung his head and struggled to try and find something to say to his son.  Finally, he managed to say, "I'm sorry, Son.  I wish I could bring your mother back, but . . ."  He stopped short, choking back a sob.

"I know," Jonny replied, repentantly.  He unfolded from his tight ball and scooted over to his father.  "I'm sorry, Daddy.  Please don't cry . . ."

Benton folded Jonny into his arms and held him tightly for a long time.  Eventually, he cleared his throat and released his son.  Setting him back a little, Benton reached again for the big white box.  "Jonny, I know that this is no substitute for your mother.  But she and I had talked for a long time about this, and we both decided that this is what we wanted to give you for your birthday this year.  I know that she would still want you to have it.  She would think it is really important."

Jonny looked from his father to the box and back to his father again.  "Momma picked this out?"

Benton nodded solemnly.  "Yes . . . we both did."

Hesitantly, Jonny reached out and tugged at the bow until it fell away.  Then he reached out and lifted the lid, looking inside the box.  Two large brown eyes looked up at him for a brief instant before the little dog lunged forward and began to lick the boy's face furiously.  Jonny laughed uncertainly and backed away a little.  Benton turned the box on its side, spilling the puppy out onto the bed.  It squirmed and yipped excitedly as Jonny reached out and tried to pet it.  For a long time, the boy simply sat there, watching the wound-up puppy and saying nothing.

"Momma and I used to look at pictures of dogs," he said, finally.  "She used to say that ones like this looked like the bandits in old movies."

A small smile tugged at Benton's lips.  "Yes, they do," he agreed.

"What's his name?"

Benton shook his head.  "He's your dog, Jonny.  You have to name him."

The boy thought about that for a while.  "Then I'll call him 'Bandit'.  Momma would have liked that."

"Yes, I think she would."  Benton reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a collar and leash.  Handing them to Jonny, he said, "Why don't you put these on him and let's take him for a walk before it gets dark."

Jonny's face darkened as he gazed down at the windswept beach outside his window.  "I don't want to."

Reaching out, he caught the boy's chin in his hand and looked at him.  "You know that we talked about this when you first said you wanted a dog.  How you would have to take care of him and walk him every day."  Benton watched as Jonny's jaw clenched stubbornly.  Benton continued quickly, "Furthermore, don't you want to show Bandit all the places that you and your mother used to play?"  Indecision flickered in the boy's eyes.  "You know that your mother still watches over us.  I'm sure she would like you to take Bandit to those places . . ."

After a minute, Jonny reached for the collar and leash.  "Okay."

*****

Jonny looked up as a shadow fell across him, interrupting the brilliant sunshine.  His father's new bodyguard towered above him.  Jonny laid his chin on his knees again and ignored the man.  Race Bannon settled down on the sand beside the boy and the two of them sat quietly for a while.  Nearby, the new puppy lay in the shade of a palm tree, sleeping.  Occasionally, the dog would twitch and snort as though dreaming of some imagined chase.

"You're very quiet today," Race said to the boy.  "I got worried about you."

Jonny just shrugged.

Race gestured toward the sleeping puppy.  "Now that the two of you have been together for a couple of weeks, how are you and your new friend doing?"

"Okay, I guess," the boy replied.

"Don't you like him?" Race asked with concern.

"Naw, it's not that.  It's just that he wants to play a lot and I don't feel much like it."

Race thought about that.  "Well, why don't you explain it to him?"

"Huh???"  Jonny looked at the white-haired man incredulously.  Behind them, Bandit woke with a start, stretched and rose to amble in their direction.

Race cocked his head and looked at Jonny seriously.  "Tell him about your mother . . . about why you don't feel like playing . . . about whatever is bothering you . . . and about all the good things and bad things that have happened to you.  He will listen to you, Jonny."  Race rose to his feet and looked down at the boy sitting on the sand.  "Try it.  What have you got to lose?"  Then he walked away.

Jonny turned and looked at the little dog who was now sitting a foot or so away.  His head was cocked to one side, as he gazed at Jonny with an attentive expression.  As Jonny gazed at him, he suddenly had an urgent need to talk to someone.  Hesitantly, he said,

"Well, Bandit, you see, it's like this . . ."

*****

Jonny opened his eyes and stared up into the cloudless blue sky.  Rock walls encircled him and rose straight up on all sides.  He was in a pit!  No, not a pit . . . a . . .a cave!  He sat up slowly, gingerly shaking his head.  What had happened to him?  He tried to remember.  It was Hadji's birthday . . . his twelfth birthday.  He remembered a present . . . from his dad.  A plane, radio controlled.  And . . . running . . . they had been running . . . down a path . . .  HADJI!!!  Where was Hadji?  He twisted sharply, peering around him.  In the dim light at the edge of the pit, he saw something.  He levered himself to his hands and knees, and then staggered to his feet.  His head spun as he stumbled across the floor of the pit toward the immobile form.