The Case of the Hooking Bull (2 page)

Chapter Two: Code Name “Abilene”

F
rom my bunker position, I homed in on their voice frequencies and picked up these bits of information:

1. Sally May and Loper were going to Abilene to attend the wedding of . . . someone. Two people. Two people were getting married—a man and a woman.

2. One of the alleged persons-to-be-wed was Sally May's cousin.

3. It appeared that Loper had resisted the idea of attending the wedding, arguing that he had a month's work to do on the ranch and no hope of getting caught up.

4. To which Sally May replied: “If it was a team roping, a rodeo, or a dog fight, you'd be caught up in a New York minute, but when it comes to my kinfolks, you always seem to be snowed under!”

5. Loper seemed to have no answer to that. He scowled up at the clouds and tugged at his necktie and mumbled, “This thing's choking me to death. I'll have brain damage before we reach Guthrie.”

6. Slim wore his everyday cowboy clothes and a big smile. I got the feeling that he was enjoying all of this.

7. Sally May pointed out that wearing a tie once or twice a year wouldn't kill Loper, and even if it did, she “just might enjoy the insurance money”—whatever that meant.

8. Slim laughed out loud. Loper glared at him and his lips formed words I couldn't hear.

So there you are. Those were the clues I amassed from my observation point beneath the car. Pretty impressive, huh? You bet it was.

Oh yes, one last detail.

All at once Baby Molly began to cry. Loper bounced her around in his arms, then handed her over to Sally May. “Here, Ma, your daughter's calling you.”

Sally May took the baby and got her settled down. Then she turned a pair of steely eyes on Slim. “Slim, I'll be honest. I have some misgivings about leaving you in charge of my house and child.”

He nodded. “Yes ma'am, I can understand that, sure can.”

“You
will
feed my child something while I'm gone, won't you?”

“Oh yes ma'am.”

“Vegetables?”

“You bet, lots of vegetables.”

“He needs to take a bath tonight and brush his teeth after every meal.”

“You bet.”

“At bedtime, I usually read him a story.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then I tuck him in and we say our prayers.”

“Yalp.”

“Sometimes he wants a glass of juice at bedtime.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So if you want to make him a glass of orange juice, that will be fine.”

“Okay, orange juice.”

“Slim, can you remember all this?”

“Oh yeah, you bet.”

“Maybe I should make a list.”

Loper eased her down the sidewalk toward the car. “Everything'll be fine, hon. Old Slim might not look very smart, but he's really pretty stupid.”

“This is no time for joking.”

“Sally May, we'll only be gone for two days.”

“Pompeii was destroyed in fifteen minutes.”

“Hon, Slim can't even find his hip pocket in fifteen minutes.”

“I'm not feeling any better.”

“Shall we go or shall we stay home?”

By this time they were standing right beside the car. Their feet, ankles, etc. were only a matter of inches away from my nose. Sally May was wearing a dress, don't you see, which meant that her ankles were sort of bare.

For some strange reason . . . it was just an impulse, see, a sudden impulse that happened before I could think about it . . . all at once it occurred to me that I should, well, lick Sally May on the ankle, you might say.

Maybe she hadn't seen me under the car and maybe she wasn't expecting anyone to lick her on the ankle, because she sure took it the wrong way.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

Yes, I'm almost sure it caught her by surprise, the way she jumped back and kicked the car door all in one rapid motion. It appeared to hurt her foot, but the good news was that she missed my nose.

“What's wrong, hon?”

“Something licked me on the ankle, and I have a pretty good idea who it was.” Her face appeared upside down in the little slot of daylight between the car and the ground.

I, uh, whapped my tail several times upon the, uh, gravel drive and tried to squeeze up a big, friendly cowdog smile, as if to say, “Oh, I guess that was, uh, your ankle, right?”

“STOP LICKING ME! I have to go to a wedding this afternoon and I don't want to smell like a sewer!”

Okay, fine. If that's the way she felt about it, by George, I would just pack up my licks and take them somewhere else. But she didn't need to screech at me like that.

Dogs have feelings too.

In many ways, we're very sensitive, and all that screeching and yelling and so forth has a dilapidating effect on our . . . something. Inner being, I guess.

So after having my inner being smashed and crushed, I crawled out from under the car and went slinking off with my tail between my legs and sat down beside the fence, some ten yards away from Sally May, and proceeded to beam hurt­ful looks at her.

She didn't notice the hurtful looks. Instead, she turned to Slim and said, “And speaking of dogs, I don't want any dogs in my yard while I'm gone.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“And I don't suppose we need to discuss dogs in the house.”

Slim shifted his weight to his other leg. “Now, I'm pretty strict on that, Sally May. These dogs don't get away with much around me, they sure don't.”

Sally May took a deep, slow breath. “This is probably a mistake. I'll probably regret this for the rest of my life, but if we're going to make the wedding, we'd better go.”

Loper turned to Slim. “Can you run that bull out by yourself or would you rather wait until I get back?”

Slim smiled. “One riot, one Ranger.”

“Well, watch him. He's big enough to hurt somebody.”

“So am I.”

Loper opened the back door and started pitching luggage inside. Sally May called Little Alfred away from his chicken roping, and he came down the hill for the Final Ceremonies.

Holding the baby in the curve of her left arm, she bent down and hugged the boy with her right. “Alfred, I want you to promise me that you'll be a good boy while Mommy's gone.”

“I pwomise.”

“And that you won't do anything Mommy wouldn't want you to do.”

“I pwomise.”

“Mommy will miss you and . . .” So forth.

I've reported only part of the conversation between Sally May and Alfred. It went on for quite a spell and I quit listening to it. You see, my attention had been drawn to a small detail that a lot of dogs would have overlooked.

It suddenly dawned on me that after packing the luggage into the back seat,
Loper had left the car door open.
Everything in this old world has a reason. A car-door-left-open is part and partial of this old world, therefore it has a reason.

It was my job to find the reason. In other words, why had Loper, a careful and precise kind of feller, left that door open? To air out the car? No. To load Baby Molly into the back with the luggage? No. To let Sally May ride in the . . . no.

I submitted this mystery to the Funnel of Logic (another of the techniques we use in the Security Business) and it funneled down to one and only one simple explanation: For private and unknown reasons, Loper wanted ME to accompany them on their trip to Abilene, and possibly even to attend the wedding.

Why? I had no idea. The Funnel of Logic does not address why-questions. It only deals with broad general truths and long-term trends.

Well, a trip to Abilene wasn't exactly part of my scheduling for the next couple of days. Could I squeeze it in? For anyone else, the answer would have been a big, lymphatic NO. I had much too much work lined up to be running all over the state of Texas.

But for Loper and Sally May? You bet. Loyalty runs deep in my line of cowdogs. When duty calls, we are there, Johnny-on-the-Spot.

It happened that Drover appeared at that very moment and said, “Hi Hank, I got bored.”

“Never mind what you got, Drover. I have been called out on an assignment. Within minutes, I'll be leaving on a secret mission.”

“I'll be derned. Where you going?”

I glanced over both shoulders and dropped my voice to a whisper. “We're not sure, Drover. The decoy destination is Abilene. The actual destination could be anywhere: London, Paris, Bangkok, Amarillo. A guy never knows.”

“Sounds pretty exciting.”

“Exactly. While I'm gone, you'll be in charge.”

“Oops.”

“I know, but we must take life as it really is. Take care of things, son. Good-bye.”

Before this emotional parting could get out of hand, I turned away, squared my shoulders, lifted my head to a stern angle, and marched to the transport vehicle, which was waiting for me.

I hopped in, found myself a place on the seat amidst the suitcases and high chair, and settled down for a long . . .

Perhaps I had misread the signals.

The, uh, secret mission was suddenly cancelled, so to speak.

After thinking it over, Loper must have decided that . . . well, just think about the risks of . . .

I stayed at the ranch, and never mind the details.

Chapter Three: Emerald Pond

A
s they pulled away from the house, Slim and Little Alfred waved good-bye, and I found myself standing beside Drover again.

“That was a pretty short trip.”

I gave him a wilting glare. “My orders were cancelled at the last moment.”

“There for a second, I thought Loper was going to cancel
you
.”

“That was your interpretation of your impression. The actual truth, Drover, often lies hidden beneath the facts.”

“He looked pretty mad to me.”

“Drover, I feel you're trying to make a mock­ery of my misfortune, almost as though you en­­joyed watching me get dragged from the car and pitched into the weeds.”

“Well . . . it did look pretty funny, I guess.”

“There we are, a confession! That will go into my report.”

“Oh drat.”

“And in the meantime, let me share something with you.”

“Thanks, Hank.”

“You're welcome.” I began pacing up and down in front of him, as I often do when I find myself tugging at deep and difficult concepts. “Drover, in the process of running this outfit and dealing with dim-witted employees, I've found that most situations can be improved when the higher authorities, such as myself, employ two simple words.”

“I'll be derned.”

“Just two words, Drover, simple words that have a magic effect.”

“Don't tell me, let me guess.” He rolled his eyes and set his lips into a peculiar shape. “Let's see. Happy birthday?”

“No.”

“Merry Christmas?”

“Wrong again. You'll never guess it.”

“Yes I will.”

“That's three words.”

“Yeah, I know, but it wasn't a guess.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you?”

“You're welcome.”

“No, that was my guess: thank you.”

“Of course. No, that's wrong too.”

“I'm sorry?”

“That's okay, I didn't expect you to guess it.”

“No, that was another guess.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Not really.”

“Good, because this is not the time to be funny. Now, what was your last guess?”

“I'm sorry.”

“I told you not to worry about it.”

“Yeah, but that was my guess: I'm sorry.”

“Yes, of course. No, that's wrong, and we're just about out of time. I will now tell you the two magic words that are most often used by efficient managers, bosses, top executives, generals, admirals, and Heads of Ranch Security.”

He sat down and wagged his stub tail in the dust. “Oh good, I can hardly wait. What are they?”

I stopped pacing and whirled around, facing him with narrowed eyes and a worldly sneer. “The first is SHUT and the second is UP.”

“Shut up?”

“That's correct. Keep those two words before your eyes and near to your heart, Drover. Repeat them, memorize them, and the next time you think you've seen me in an embarrassing situation, pull them out of the vast garbage heap of your mind. And in the meantime, shut up.”

“Okay, Hank, I think I've got it.”

Well, getting the runt straightened out had taken longer than I had expected, but some jobs can't wait. Once the cat is out of the sandbox, you have to . . . I don't know, change the sand, I suppose.

Well, when Loper and Sally May drove out of sight, Slim yawned and checked the location of the sun. Then he looked down at Little Alfred and frowned.

“Well, Button, it's me and you against the world. Don't forget all them things your ma told you not to do, and in case she missed anything, you can just figger that the answer is no.”

“Okay, Swim.”

“I didn't hire onto this outfit as a baby-sitter, and don't you forget it.”

“Okay, Swim.”

“I'm too old and gripey and set in my ways to be puttin' up with a green colt like you.” His gaze drifted over to me and Drover. I gave him a big smile, and he, well, appeared to curl his lip at me. “You and your two souphounds. I've got fifty-three jobs that need doin' and here I am, playin' bedpan nurse to the Three Stooges.”

“We'll have fun, Swim.”

“Huh. I have my doubts about that.”

“Is it time to eat, Swim?”

“Eat! Good honk, son, your ma's dust has hardly settled and you're already wantin' to eat? How come you didn't eat yesterday?”

“I did but I'm hungwy again.”

Slim growled and shook his head. “What do you want to eat?”

“Oh, wet's see. Ice cweam.”

“No ice cream. Your ma gave me strict orders to give you nourishing feed, with plenty of vegetables. What kind of vegetables do you want with your Vienna sausage? How 'bout some canned peas?” Alfred shook his head. “Canned corn? That's pretty good stuff, that corn.” Alfred shook his head. “All right, then stewed tomaters.”

Alfred made a sour face. “I don't wike stewed dummaters.”

“Well, you're too hard to please. I ain't runnin' a short-order house for fussy eaters. How 'bout some ketchup?”

“Okay, Swim, I wike ketchup.”

“Then that settles it.” Slim hitched up his pants. “I'll fix us a bait of Vienna sausage, with a side order of ketchup. And crackers. We'll break out some crackers. Now, that's a real gen-u-wine cowboy dinner.”

“And then we'll have some ice cweam.”

“No, and then we WON'T have some ice cream. I don't want your ma tellin' the neighbors that I corrupted her child with junk food.” Slim yawned and stretched. “Boy, this heat makes me as loggy as a fat pup. Button, we may be forced to shut down the ranch and take ourselves a little nap after a bit.”

“Aw Swim! I don't want to take a nap.”

Slim bent over and looked the boy right in the eyes. “Yeah, but you WILL take a nap, 'cause I'm going to take a nap and I ain't about to close my eyes while you're running a-loose.”

“Okay, Swim, I'll take a nap.”

“That's more like it. I hate to be stern and cruel, but rules is rules, and law is law. Let's go to the house.”

Slim yawned again and started toward the back door. Little Alfred gave me a wink and a smile, and he whispered, “I'll be out to pway, as soon as Swim falls asweep.”

Hmmm, that was interesting. It appeared that the little snipe had some ideas of his own.

Well, we dogs weren't invited to lunch, which was okay. I mean, we had other things to do and if Slim thought he was too good to share his meal with two loyal, hardworking ranch dogs, that was just fine. I wasn't too fond of Vienna sausage anyway, although if he had . . . but he didn't.

Well, it was definitely a hot, still summer day, and I was carrying around this heavy coat of hair, and all at once the timing seemed perfect for a nice roll in Emerald Pond.

Emerald Pond, you might recall, was my own private bath and spa. It lay about halfway be­tween the house and the corrals, shaded by large elm trees and fed by mineral springs whose life-enhancing trickle could be traced to the overflow of the septic tank.

Many a time I had dragged myself to the edge of Emerald Pond, wondering if I could summon the energy to wade out into those healing waters—and we're talking about tired and ex­hausted, sometimes even injured, burdened down by all the responsibilities of running a ranch with very little help or cooperation from anyone else, solving one mystery after another, working day and night and yet somehow finding the time and energy to bark at the mail truck every morning at ten o'clock.

Really messed up, in other words, but five minutes of rolling in those fragrant waters had never failed to snatch me back from the edge of the brink and restore my spirits.

And it was into those very waters that I now plunged. I waded out brisket-deep and collapsed, rolled around, kicked my legs in the air, and indulged myself in the kind of joyous barking that comes to a cowdog at such moments.

That done, I scampered out onto dry land, gave myself a good shake, rolled in the grass, and leaped to my feet—a new dog. In the meantime, Drover had ventured over to the pond's edge and had tapped one paw into the water.

I just couldn't understand . . . I was on the point of giving the little mutt a lecture on Health Care and Beauty Aids when my ears picked up a sound in the distance.

I froze and listened. “What was that?”

“Well, I think it was the sewer.”

“No, no, a sound, an unusual sound.” I lifted my ears and listened. There it was again. “Drover, unless I miss my guess, someone has just come out of the house and slammed the screen door.”

“And that means they didn't come out the window.”

“Exactly. Now the only question remaining is, who could it be?”

“Yeah, and that depends on who came out the door.”

“Exactly. And we're about to find out. Come on, Drover, to the yard gate, on the double!”

And with that, we went streaking away from the banks of Emerald Pond and made a lightning dash to the house.

Little did I know or suspect that within the hour, I would be forced to eat strawberry ice cream. And even littler did I suspect that I would be given a ride in a spaceship.

You probably don't believe that, but just wait and see.