The Mopwater Files (6 page)

Chapter Ten: The Singing Ignoramuses

I
knew you wouldn't take my advice. You think you're pretty tough, don't you? Well, maybe you are and maybe you're not. We'll see about that.

But don't say you weren't warned.

Okay, where were we? The cannibal brothers had Madame Moonshine tied up and they were staring and grinning at her. And licking their chops in what you might call a threatening manner.

See, I knew all their manniserums, because I had been in that same hot seat before, many times. Mannerisms, I should say, not manniserums. When a cannibal looks at you in a certain way, with a glint in his eye and with drooling chops, you begin to suspect that he's hungry.

And when two of 'em look at you that way, you know you've found Double Trouble.

Anyways, I tuned into their frequencies and listened. Madame was showing spunk and courage. She held her head up and glared right back at them.

“This is disgraceful! I demand that you turn me loose, right now and this very minute.” The brothers grinned. “Because if you don't release me and put an end to this disgraceful folly, I shall have to employ drastic measures.”

“Har, har, har.”

“And if I am forced to do so, you will regret it.”

“Har, har, har.”

“Very well. You leave me no choice. I will now summon my bodyguard. Timothy! Oh Timothy! Come, Timothy, come at once and give these ruffians a taste of their own medicine.”

At that very moment, I heard a slithering sound behind me, and then felt something . . . uh . . . cold and creepy moving along my right side. I didn't really want to know what it might be, but my eyes sort of wandered to the right and . . .

Yipes! I found myself looking straight into the eyes of the biggest, ugliest rattlesnake I'd seen since the last time I'd crossed paths with Big Tim, Madame Moonshine's personal bodyguard.

He gave me a glare that sent pins and needles down my backbone. Oh, and he stuck out his tongue. On impulse, I pushed his head away.

“Will you point that thing somewhere else, you dumbbell snake! The guys you want are right over there in the clearing.” His tail began to rattle. “What I meant to say was . . . hi, Tim, how's it going, fella, and the ruffians are straight ahead and to the left.”

He continued to rattle and glare at me.

“I'm really not part of this deal, Tim, no kidding. I'm just an innocent bystander who's . . . uh . . . inno­cently standing by, so to speak. And you're looking for coyotes, right? Over there. See, I may look like a coyote but I'm actually a dog. Honest. No kidding.”

He was still rattling.

“Okay, forget what I said about you being a dumbbell snake. You're not a dumbbell snake at all. You're one of the nicest, sweetest . . .”

Madame's voice cut me off. “Timothy! Come here at once.”

Big Tim gave me one last hateful look and slith­ered into battle, whilst I finished my thought—under my breath, of course. “You're one of the ugliest dumbbell snakes I ever met.”

Well, Big Tim made his appearance on the scenery. Madame Moonshine smiled at the brothers and announced, “And this is Timothy, my personal bodyguard. As you can see, he is a turbocharged western diamondback rattlesnake, and he is armed with the very deadliest of poisons.”

Rip and Snort winked at each other and grinned. “Coyote brothers not even tinier bit scared of body­guarded snake.”

“Well, you should be. Why, Timothy once spat upon an enormous tree and it withered and died, before our very eyes. What he might do to a couple of unkempt, ill-mannered ragamuffin coyotes, we can only imagine.”

They laughed again. “Ha! Ragamuffin coyotes not worrying about fat stupid snake. Ragamuffin coyotes wrap fatter stupidest snake around tree and tie in knot, ho ho.”

Madame gave them a wise smile. “Oh you think you will, do you? I think not. Timothy?” He threw himself into a coil, began buzzing, and pointed his head at the brothers. “Timothy, we are being harrassed by these ignoramuses. Show them what we think of ignoramuses. Charge! Tallyho!”

By George, it was one of the shortest fights in history. In a matter of seconds, Rip and Snort had old Timothy wrapped around a hackberry tree and tied in a knot. He looked like a Christmas wreath.

I told you those guys were tough.

They returned to Madame Moonshine, who wasn't looking quite as spunky as she had before. Snort grinned down at her.

“What Momma Moonbeam think of ignoramuses now?”

She blinked her big owlish eyes. “I think you are ill-mannered, foul-smelling, uncivilized ruffians.” They howled with glee. They loved it. “I think you should be ashamed of yourselves.” More laughter. “But I can see that you're not, because you're nothing but a couple of ignorant barbarians.”

They nodded their heads and laughed. “Coyote not give hoot for being ashamed. Coyote not give hoot for nothing. Ignoramus coyote brothers prouder and proudest, 'cause Rip and Snort love being ignor-rent.”

And with that, the brothers cut loose with a song. I know, it was an odd time for them to burst into a song, but those guys were pretty strange. Here's how it went.

We're Proud to Be Ignoramuses

A cannibal's life's the one for us,

We're as happy as we can be.

We've got no job or worries

Or responsibilities.

We ain't too swift on thinking,

We ain't too sharp in math.

We're experts, though, at stinking

'Cause we never take a bath.

We're proud to be ignoramuses,

Ramuses, ramuses.

We just love being ignoramuses,

It's more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

Me and Rip never went to school

Or learned arithmetic.

But we've got our own method for counting

And it works out pretty slick.

We point with our toes and call out the count,

“One, four, seven.”

And if someone says, “You guys can't count,”

We beat him up. It works. Ho, ho.

We're proud to be ignoramuses,

Ramuses, ramuses.

We just love being ignoramuses,

It's more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

We're ignor-rent of language

And proud of it to boot.

We're fluent in burping and belching

And we don't give a hoot.

And as for the writing of portry and songs

With rhyming and rhythm and stuff.

We do if we want and don't if we don't,

And if you don't like it we'll break your face.

We're proud to be ignoramuses,

Ramuses, ramuses.

We just love being ignoramuses,

It's more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

We're proud to be ignoramuses,

It expresses our deepest thoughts.

We figger we're both getting famouses

For the science of mental rot.

And one of these days we'll win an award.

You weenies'll be so surprised.

Not the Nobel or Pulitzer,

But the Ignoramus Prize, ha ha.

We're proud to be ignoramuses,

Ramuses, ramuses.

We just love being ignoramuses,

It's more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

When they had finished singing the . . . uh . . . song . . . whatever it was . . . when they had finished their latest piece of coyote trash, they yipped and whooped, howled and hollered and hopped, leaped and jumped and congratulated each other for being such wonderful singers and composers.

Then they turned toothy grins on Madame. “What little owl thinking now of Rip and Snort?”

She rolled her eyes and gave her head a shake. “That was the worst song I ever heard, or ever dreamed of hearing.”

Their grins wilted. “Song not worst. Song gooder and goodest. Song expresserating deepest thoughts of ignoramous coyote brothers.”

“It was so bad, you may very well have set all music back fifty years.”

“Little owl better not talking trash about coyote music, 'cause Rip and Snort berry greater singest in whole world. Also hungry for owl supper, oh boy.”

“If you're such good singers and if your song was so wonderful, why did those weeds over there begin to wilt in the middle of your song?”

All eyes swung to the north, to a small patch of careless weeds. By George, they had all withered and died.

“Ha! Must be pretty strong music, killing weeds.”

“Yes indeed. Poisonous is the word.”

“Ruffian brothers not give a hoot for weeds, ready insteader for supper of fresh owl.”

Their yellow eyes began to sparkle and their tongues swept across their respective mouths. I was watching all of this from my hiding place in the brush, and I kept waiting for Madame to . . . well, DO SOMETHING. Why was she just sitting there? I mean, she had magical powers. Why wasn't she using them?

Those were all interesting questions, but it suddenly occurred to me that Rip and Snort were fixing to make a meal out of her, and never mind the interesting questions. Unless someone took charge of the situation and . . .

Gee, I sure hated to lose a friend like Madame Moonshine, but I wasn't the kind of dog who made a habit of butting into the affairs of . . . well, hungry cannibals.

I mean, it wasn't my fight. I had problems of my own, and as a matter of fact, I had BIG problems of my own and . . .

But on the other hand, the brothers were creeping toward her with a kind of evil lightning crackling in their eyes. I could see that Madame was afraid, but I kind of admired the way she held her head up and faced her destiny.

She had spunk and courage, that little owl, and it was just a shame . . .

I pushed myself up on all fours and walked into the middle of the gathering.

Chapter Eleven: I Manage to Save Madame Moonshine

S
ee, I'd come up with an idea. Whether or not it was a good idea remained to be seen. It was the kind of idea a guy comes up with on the spurt of the moment and on short notice.

It was based on something Rip and Snort had revealed about themselves in their song: They were ignoramuses.

With a cover of boldness that covered the terror in my deepest innards, I went striding into the clearing, took a stand in front of the brothers, and stopped them with a raised paw.

“Halt!” They halted and stared at me with big puzzled eyeballs. “Rip, Snort, we don't have much time, so listen carefully. That song you just sang released a cloud of deadly poisonous gas over this whole area. We've got to get you out of here before . . .”

I pointed toward the wilted weeds. “Uh-oh, it's already begun to work. You see? The fauna and floride have begun to die. The weeds will be the first to go, followed minutes later by trees and bushes, followed minutes later by animals, birds, and fish.”

The brothers exchanged long glances.

“Guys, I've got to put the entire ranch under Emergency Poison Alert and I'm glad I found you before it was too late. I'm clearing out this whole section of the ranch, immediately, at once.”

Snort scowled at me. “Coyote brothers not wanting cleared out to be.”

“I know, Snort, but this poison is like nothing we've ever encountered before.”

The brothers went into a whisper conference. I counted my heartbeats, hoping . . .

“Rip and Snort just fixing to eat little owl, not wanting to leave good nourishment meal.”

“Holy smokes, Snort, that would be the worst thing you could do. That owl has soaked up all the deadly toxins. Eating her would be like eating a whole trainload of poison, train and all. Sudden death, that's what she is.”

They whispered some more. Then Snort gave their reply. “Coyote brothers not believe stupid dummy ranch dog. Brothers not scared of poisum 'cause brothers make poisum with cannibal song, ho ho.”

“And you think that makes you immune?”

He stared at me with his brutish yellow eyes. “Coyote not a mune. Coyote a cammible, and proudest of it to be.”

I had to think fast. “Snort, we don't have time to argue. If you want to discuss this further, you can do it with the Wolf Creek Volunteer Poison Squad. They'll be here any minute, with men and trucks and gas masks.”

That opened their eyes. “Uh. People coming?”

“Oh yes, hundreds of them. In fact . . .” I cocked my ear. “Yes, I think I hear their trucks this very minute.”

They held another conference. “Rip and Snort not believing dummy ranch dog, not hearing trucks coming and not scared of poisum.”

It was looking bad. But just then the wind rustled in the cottonwood tree above us and—you won't believe this—five or six dead leaves floated down between us. No doubt they had been scorched by the terrible heat, but the ignoramuses didn't know that.

I pointed to the leaves. “Uh-oh. You see? That tree just died from the poison, Snort, and with its last dying gasp, it has sent you a secret message.”

The brothers scowled. “What secret message?”

“Don't you get it? Come on, Snort, wake up! I came to warn you and now the tree is warning you. It's telling you what to do. It's right here in front of your nose.” I pointed my paw at one of the leaves on the ground. “What is that?”

“Leave.” At first it didn't soak in, but then Snort's eyes popped open. “Leave?”

“Right, exactly. Noah, Lot, disaster, leave!”

They mumbled and muttered. Then, “Uh. Coy­ote know a lot, smell disaster and leave like tree.”

They began backing away. Then they turned and vanished into the brush. Just before they left, I heard Snort mutter, “That pretty strong music for sure.”

Silence. They were gone. I almost fainted with relief. Then I heard Madame's voice behind me.

“My goodness, unless my eyes deceive me, it's Hank the Rabbit.”

“We've been through this before, Madame, and I don't have the energy to argue. Hank the Rabbit's okay with me. I feel like a rabbit right now.”

“And you've sent the ruffians packing. I'm so proud! My goodness, they were going to eat me.”

“I noticed. I also noticed that you were going to let them. What's the deal?”

“Well, as you can see, they bound me with grapevine, pinning my wings to my sides. And how can I do a proper job of casting spells without my wings? It can't be done. The wing is the sting. Disable the wing, dispose of the sting. Speaking of which . . . do you suppose you could unbind me. As it is, I'm bound to be tied.”

“Well, I'll see what I can do.”

I began gnawing on the grapevine. Whilst I was doing this, Madame kept me entertained with her chatter, such as:

“You're tickling me. Stop that. No, don't stop that. Continue. Oh, eee, ah! I suppose you know you are gnawing on my ribcage, and I suppose you gnaw, knowing full well what you're doing. Now I know you gnaw, trah-lah, trah-lah, trah-lah.”

That was typical Madame Moonshine talk. She didn't always make sense but she seemed to enjoy herself. At last I cut her free. She smiled and flapped her wings.

“There! Thank you, thank you, and thank you. But how can I ever thank you enough? Thanks is such a paltry gift, but if I offered you a chicken instead, it would be a poultry gift. Hence, by following the logic of the moon and stars, we receive the knowledge that mere thanks is more thankful than a chicken.”

“I guess so. Whatever.”

She swiveled her head around and studied me with her big owlish eyes. “Do you suppose we can use that information, Hank the Rabbit?”

“Uh, Cowdog, actually. Hank the Cowdog.”

“Oh rubbish. Cowdogness seems so boring and ordinary, but rabbitness has a way of keeping things hopping. And did I mention that you're spending the summer with me in my cave?”

“Huh? Spending the . . . no, we haven't discussed that . . . uh . . . yet . . . Madame.”

“Oh piffle. I meant to tell you, but I was about to be eaten by cannibals and it slipped my mind. And besides, you just got here. Come, let's retire to my cave and we can discuss our summer plans.”

She went hopping toward the bluffs on the other side of the creek. I followed . . . although I was beginning to feel a little uneasy about the summer business. When we came to the tree that was decorated by her bodyguard, Timothy the Turbo Windbag, she stopped.

“Timothy, you have been a naughty snake. How shameful and scandalous, allowing two ignoramus coyotes to tie you to a tree! I may be forced to review your employment record. It simply looks bad for a tree to be wearing my bodyguard. Come, Hank the Rabbit.”

I followed her across the creek and to the bluffs. There, she disappeared into a hole and I followed. I crawled through the darkness for ten feet or so, until it opened up into a kind of underground room.

She stood beside a flat-topped rock in the middle, with tree roots hanging around her head. She was looking down at the flat-topped rock and . . . I didn't know what she was doing. Muttering, I suppose.

“Go left. Go right. Stand up. Sit down.” She glanced up at me and smiled. “My troop of performing fleas. Would you like to say hello to them?”

“Uh . . . not really. Fleas and I don't get along. That is, we'll get along fine as long as they stay over there.”

She clapped her wings together and turned her eyes on me. “Well, we are safe from marauding coyotes, and 'twas foolish of you to enter my cave, oh Rabbity Hank, because I just might not allow you to leave. But before I don't allow you to leave, tell me why you came.”

“Well, Madame, I have a small problem.”

“Oh good. A small problem is only half as large as a large one, so we needn't bother with it.”

“Okay, I've got a large problem.”

“Oh dear.” She blinked her big moon eyes. “What have you done?”

I started at the beginning and told her the whole story about the grasshopper, the root stimulator, the mopwater, and the fight I'd picked with Billy's pet gorilla.

“See, I talked my way into a fight with one of the biggest, meanest dogs in Texas, and I don't know how to get out of it.”

“Yes, it's coming clear. If you don't fight, you're a coward. If you do fight, you're a hamburger.”

“Right, and I was hoping that you might be able to teach me some fighting tricks—you know, like karate or judo.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Karate or judo, kersplotting menudo, we're plotting but you know—the answer is no.” Her eyes drifted down to me. “I know many things about many things, little things about big things, and big things about little things. But I know no things about . . . fighting. In my line of work, we don't fight. We use our minds.”

“Yeah, I saw you using your mind on those cannibals and it almost got you eaten.”

“But I didn't need to use my mind. You used yours. One mind is enough, yours or mine, and I don't mind that it wasn't mine. The result was the same.”

“We got lucky, Madame. That was pure-dee dumb blind-hog luck, and I'd just as soon have something more substantial when I go into battle with Rufus.”

“Rufus. An interesting name. Does he say roof-roof?”

“That's probably the nicest thing he says.”

“Hmmm.” She raised a wing and began stroking some of the tree roots above her. “Rufus. Root stimulator. I am stimulating the roots on the roof of my cave. May I think about this?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Yes, we have the entire summer, don't we?”

“Well, I . . . to be honest, Madame, I really . . .”

“Hush. Silence.”

She closed her eyes and went into a thinking spell. I could only hope that it was a good one.