empty eyes. “Will you please get out of my way?”

      “When?”

      “When what?”

      “When did somebody get in your way?”

      “You’re in my way right now!”

      “Oh my gosh, did something happen?”

      “Yes, something happened. We’re in a Code Three Situation. We’re under Red Alert, and you’re in my way, and I can’t get out. Move!”

      He moved, all right. He started turning circles right there in the seat. “Help, mayday, Red Alert, oh my leg!”

      “Stop squeaking and spinning in circles! Jump out the door and attack that bull!”

      “Bull? Oh my gosh, okay, here we go, out the door . . .”

      At last he jumped out the door, but would you like to guess what he did the very instant his feet hit the ground? Instead of charging after the bull, he ducked under the pickup and hid. I couldn’t believe it. I was so disgusted . . . oh well. I didn’t have time to deal with Drover’s problems.

      I flew out the door and went ripping into the stack lot to give that smart-aleck bull a stiff dose of Ranch Justice. I’d never liked bulls in the first place, and I could hardly wait to tear this guy to shreds.