“I didn’t become Head of Ranch Security by blabbing.”
“Okay. I just wanted to hear you say that before I gave you any more information.”
“Go on, J.T. It’s safe with me.”
“Okay, I’ll have to trust you. It was them two boys of mine. They’d been out playing around, see, and thought they could sneak back in while the old man was asleep.”
I glared at him. “Wait a minute. I came up here to solve a mystery. Where is it?”
“Well, it’s a mystery to me why their mother lets them boys get by with that kind of darned nonsense, and you always struck me as the kind of dog who cared about others and their problems, and it was kind of quiet this morning and I said to Elsa . . .”
I put my nose in his face and growled. “You’re wasting my valuable time and I don’t like that.”
His beak dropped open. “Well there’s no need to be tacky about it! If you want to know what I think . . .”
At that very moment, Drover came streaking up the hill, scattering hens and pullets in all directions. You should have seen the feathers fly! J.T. heard the commotion and started squawking.
“Help! Help! It’s a wolf, run for your life!”
That was the last I saw of J. T. Cluck that day, which was just fine with me. There are very few things I hate worse than being suckered by a dumb chicken.
Drover arrived in a nervous spasm and a cloud of dust. “Oh Hank, come quick, you won’t believe, oh my gosh, it’s awful, help, attack, the baby, save him, Hank, it’s all up to you!”
Ordinarily I would have told my assistant to calm down and give me the facts so I could build my case. I mean, there’s such a thing as blind panic, and in this business you learn that blind panic is a poor place to start.
On the other hand, when duty calls, a loyal cowdog must respond. I mean, answering the call of duty is just by George bred into us.
Did I stand around gathering facts, building my case, taking descriptions of suspects? Did I waste time asking Drover who was attacking what, where, when, and why? No sir. I lit a shuck and went streaking down the hill toward the gas tanks, scattering chickens.
“Out of the way, you fools!” You should have heard the squawking. Dumb birds.
I reached the gas tanks in a matter of seconds, stopped, set up a forward position, and waited for the enemy to show himself. He didn’t appear, so I started barking.
“Hank!” Drover was standing at the top of the hill, in front of the house. “You went the wrong way. Up here!”
It appeared that I had . . . Drover’s directions had been very vague. How was I supposed to . . .
I shot up the hill. “All right, where is he? Give me a coordinate.”
“Left!”
I went streaking off to the left and heard Drover’s voice again.
“Hank, not your left. MY left!”
I screeched to a halt, spun around, and sprinted back to Drover. “You’re going to have to work on your navigation, son. This is unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry, Hank, but I thought . . .”
“Never mind what you thought. Which way’s the enemy?”
“In the yard. But you’ll have to jump the fence.”
In spite of the dangerousness and seriousness and emergenciness of the situation, I couldn’t help smiling. “That fence means nothing to me, son. It’s just one of life’s many hurdles.”
“Really? I don’t think I can jump it.”
“That’s fine. Watch me and study your lessons.”
“Okay, Hank. I’ll work on it later.”
“You bet you will—on your own time. Here I go!”
I got a run and virtually flew over that fence. A deer couldn’t have done it better. I landed in the yard, went into my fighting crouch, set up a forward position, sniffed the air, and scouted the terrain.
The yard was Forbidden Territory, you might say. Sally May had planted grass and shrubs and flowers and other stuff, and Iron Law Number One on the ranch was that dogs weren’t allowed inside the fence.
Cats were. You could usually find Pete the Barncat lolling around the back porch—waiting for a hand-out and never mind the rest, it makes me mad just thinking about the injustice of it.
Anyway, once inside Forbidden Territory, I scouted the terrain. Some thirty feet in front of me, I saw Little Alfred, Sally May and High Loper’s baby boy. He was wearing a sailor’s suit and playing with a dump truck.
A short distance from Little Alfred, perched upon a cardboard box, was a large cake with white icing and two yellow candles.
The clues were fitting together: baby, clean clothes, cake, candles. This was some kind of ceremony. An ordinary dog, untrained in security work, would have leaped to the conclusion that this was a birthday party. But, drawing on my years of experience, I didn’t make that assumption. The facts said, “Ceremony of Some Kind,” not necessarily a birthday party.
Two questions remained unanswered. First, where was the child’s mother? And second, what monster or evil force had put Little Alfred’s life in danger?
Those were the crucial questions in the case, and you’ll notice that I had arrived at them only minutes after the first alarm. My next course of action was to search for some answers.
And I suspected Drover knew them.
Chapter Two: The Case Turns Out to Be a Piece of Cake
“All right, Drover,” I called out. “I’m ready to go into action. Two questions: Where is Sally May?”
“She went inside to get her camera.”
“Number two: With whom or what do I go into combat?”
Drover swallowed hard. “Oh, Hank, I hate to tell you this. It’s awful!”
“Nothing’s awful unless you believe it’s awful.”
“You’re going to be scared.”
“I doubt that, son. Remember the Silver Monster Bird? Remember the Enormous Monster? Remember the night I defended the ranch against the entire coyote nation? With that kind of combat record . . . never mind. Point me toward the enemy.”
His teeth were chattering. “Over by the baby. You want to know what it is?”
“Might as well.”
“It’s a giant rattlesnake, Hank!”
“HUH?”
The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Chills rolled down my spine. All at once I felt the cold grip of fear closing around my throat.
I have very few weaknesses, very few clinks in my armor. In fact, you might say I have only one weakness: I’m scared of snakes, always have been. My Uncle Pottsy was bitten on the face by a rattlesnake and died a horrible death.
I started shaking. For a long time I couldn’t speak. The only thing that kept me from losing control was Drover. It would have ruined him.
I fought against the shakes and chills, until at last I was able to speak. “One last question, Drover. Why didn’t