The Case of the Bone-Stalking Monster (5 page)

Chapter Eight: Miss Scamper Falls Madly in Love with Me

W
e glared at each other for several seconds. Then I broke the icing and walked a few steps away.

“Okay, Ralph, have it your way. So what brings you down here?”

He began scratching his left ear with his left hind leg. I waited. He was a slow scratcher.

“Me and Jimmy Joe Dogcatcher are going to camp out at the lake and fish all night.”

My eyes fell on two fishing rods in the cab. “Hmm, yes, that fits.”

He stopped scratching and looked at me. “Did you ask was I having fits?”

“No, I did not. I said, ‘that fits.'”

“Oh. I thought . . . can't hear so good when I'm scratchin'.” He went back to scratching. “Did I mention that there's a lady dog in that white pickup?”

My eyes popped open. Suddenly I was wide awake. “What? A lady dog? You mean I've been listening to you all this time and there's a lady dog only fifty feet away?”

“Uh-huh. I wanted to talk to her, only I'm too bashful. I'm always afraid they'll laugh at my long ears.”

I studied his long ears. “They are pretty long, tee hee, aren't they? I mean, I have nothing against long ears, Ralph, but those may be the, ha, ha, longest ears I ever saw.”

He heaved a deep mournful sigh. “See? That's why I can't talk to the girls. We'd just end up talking about my big ears.”

“Those are definitely some amazing ears, Ralph. Do you ever step on them when you walk?”

“Uh-huh, all the time. It's pretty embarrassing.”

“I'll bet. Well!” I leaped to my feet. “I'll march over to that pickup and give you a few lessons on how to impress the womenfolk.”

“Oh good. Can I watch?”

“Sure. Watch and take notes. You might as well learn from one of the best in the business.”

I left him there with his big ears and made my way around to the second pickup. Before I got there, I slowed my pace to a manly swagger and let my eyes drift up to the . . .

Mercy! She was a beagle, surely one of the most gorgeous beagles ever to draw a breath. She was looking into the rear glass of the pickup and primping on her face. When I came into view, she saw me in the glass.

“Well, well!” she gushed in a sultry voice. “Mir­ror mirror on the wall, look who's coming, big and tall! Hello there, big boy.”

I sat down and beamed her a rakish smile. And then, in my deepest, most malodorous voice, I said, “Howdy, ma'am. Unless these eyes deceive me, you are the lovely Miss Scamper.”

She fluffed up her ears, then turned and came floating over to the tailgate, wearing a foxy little smile. She fluttered her . . . mercy me, she fluttered those long eyelashes and I almost forgot to breathe.

“You're pretty cute yourself, Wolfie. Do we have a name for you?”

“Oh yes ma'am. Hank the Cowbell . . . er, Hank the Cowdog, Head of Ranch Security, at your service, ma'am.”

“Oooo. Are we a pretty important dog, is that what we're saying?”

“Well, I'm not one to broast or bag . . . boast or brag, that is, but it's been said that, yes, I'm a fairly important dog.”

She studied the claws on her right front paw. “Are we merely important or are we also rich?”

“Ha, ha. Funny that you should ask. As a matter of fact, I recently made a huge fortune in the bone market.”

One eyebrow twitched. “Oooo. Little fortunes don't thrill me, but I can be impressed by huge ones.”

“Well, I've got one. I also write poetry, speak many languages, and do tricks.”

“You're a busy little fellow, aren't you? So what's causing all the dust?”

“Huh? Dust?” It was then that I noticed the small cloud of dust that had risen around us. “Oh, the dust. My best guess, Miss Scamper, is that you've caused my tail to wag extra hard, and it's kicking up a, uh, small cloud of dust . . . so, to speak.”

She coughed. “That's a pretty smart tail, but maybe we could slow it down, now that we're friends.”

“Sure, you bet.” I punched in the commands for Relaxed Tail. It didn't work. I shot a glance at Miss Scamper.

She was fanning the air with a paw. “It keeps wagging, doesn't it?”

“Uh, yes ma'am, so it seems. It's been a while since we've had a gorgeous lady on the ranch, don't you see, and the old tail just . . . ha ha, wants to wag, I guess.”

She coughed again and gave me a frozen smile. “Maybe we should do a trick.”

“Right. Just what I was thinking. Okay, check this one out.” I stood up and walked a short distance away, loosened up my enormous shoulder muscles, and prepared for the trick. “Now watch. Bang!”

I fell to the ground and played dead. I laid there for fifteen seconds and didn't even breathe, then leaped to my feet and took a bow.

“Pretty impressive, huh? I'll bet you thought I was really dead.”

“I was almost worried sick.”

“Great. You want to see another one?”

“If you've got the money, honey, I've got the time.”

“You're covered. Watch this one.” I hopped up on my back legs and walked around in a circle. Then, before her very eyes, I shifted to only one leg.

Fellers, that was a toughie. To be honest about it, I had never attempted it before, and I'm not sure that any dog in the whole world had ever attempted it. It was that difficult a trick.

I shot her a glance and noticed that her eyes had wandered. Hmmm. This lady was hard to im­press, but my next variation on the trick would no doubt leave her breathless.

“Okay, Miss Scamper, watch carefully. This next move will knock your socks off.”

It was a backwards flip, if you can believe that. Balanced on one leg, I went into a deep crouch, leaped upward and kicked my hind legs into the air, and . . . BONK!

The crucial part of the maneuver is getting your back feet over your head and then around on the other side, without breaking your neck in the process. I didn't quite get 'er done, shall we say, and came up with a crooked neck and sand in my mouth.

But the good news was that she was smiling. That made it all worthwhile. Anything to please the ladies, I always say.

“Well! What do we call that one?”

“We call it . . .” I tried to straighten my neck. “We call it the One Leg Hop-Circle, with Half a Flip and a Busted Neck. It's a world-class stunt.”

“I'll bet.” She fluffed at her ears. “What's next, or is that all?”

“Well, I . . . actually, that was probably my best trick, Miss Scamper.”

“Oh shucks.”

“But let me hasten to add that I sing.”

Her eyes swung around and struck me, “You sing?”

“Right. I sing, as in la-la-la-la. You know, singing. Music. Songs.”

“And I'll bet we're fixing to hear one, huh?”

“Oh . . . well, sure, I guess I could do one for you.”

“And let me guess. You wrote it yourself, right?”

“Well . . . yes, as a matter of fact, I did. But how did you know that?”

She looked away. “Hon, I've lapped this track before.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, let's hear the song.”

“Well, sure, if you really . . . here we go.”

I'd Like to Be Your Pal

Miss Scamper, we just barely met and I'd like to be your pal,

But I'm not the kind of feller who gets silly over gals.

See, I'm Head of Ranch Security, I call this ranch my own.

I'm used to work and hardship and spending time alone.

A lot of dogs will lose their heads when a lady comes around.

They'll go to howling at the moon and rolling on the ground.

But that's not me, it's not my style, I'm more the silent kind.

I hold my feelings deep inside this calculating mind.

You've got the prettiest beagle face this cowdog's ever seen.

Miss Scamper, you just blow my mind, you're every puppy's dream.

My heart's about to float away like a big old red balloon.

I swear, I'm thinking seriously 'bout howling at the moon.

Oops, let me get control of things before my feelings show.

See, I'm really not the kind of dog who wants the gals to know

That I might be impressed at all by the way a lady looks.

I try to run this ranch of mine strictly by the books.

So don't you expect for me to faint and blush and bow . . .

Did you just wink your eye at me and arch that lovely brow?

Now cut that out, Miss Scamper, I'm trying to stay composed!

Dadgum the luck, I'm a sittin' duck, and totally exposed.

You've got the prettiest beagle face this cowdog's ever seen.

Miss Scamper, you just blow my mind, you're every puppy's dream.

You shouldn't have winked that eye at me, I'm as crazy as a loon.

To heck with pals, I love the gals, I'm howling at the moon.

Chapter Nine: Doctor Buzzard Arrives

W
hen I finished up the song (it was pretty good, didn't you think?), I saw her looking down at me with an odd little half-smile on her mouth.

“What do you think of that, Miss Scamper?”

“Well, it leaves me . . . uh . . . breathless, shall we say.”

“Right. Me too.”

She fluffed her hair. “I can hardly believe that my little wink could have such an effect on a big old hairy thang like you.”

“Yes, right. It's kind of amazing.”

“And you say you're rich, huh?”

“Oh yes ma'am, fabulously rich. I hardly know what to do with all my fortune.”

Her brows twitched. “I think I can help. I wonder if you could hop your bad self up here in my pickup?”

“You wouldn't think me too bold or brazen?”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “I'll try to keep an open mind.”

Heh, heh.

I went into a deep crouch, went flying over the tailgate, and landed right beside her.

She studied me with hooded eyes. “Well, here you are.”

“Yes ma'am, here I am.”

“That rhymes, doesn't it?”

“It sure does. I hadn't thought of that.” A heavy silence moved in between us. “My, this is fun, isn't it?” I began to feel uncomfortable. “I wonder what this weather is going to do.”

“I have a feeling that a storm is fixing to hit.”

“Oh really? I didn't know you . . .”

It was then that I saw the “storm” she had mentioned. It wasn't a cloud, as you might have thought, but rather the furrowed angry face of her master, whose name was Baxter. Apparently he and Jimmy Joe Dogcatcher had finished their conversation about fishing and were ready to leave.

He had a big black mustache and beady little eyes, Baxter did, and he was glaring at me. “Get out of my pickup, you potlicker.”

I heard my claws scratching the bed of the pickup and I went sailing over the tailgate. I landed in a heap in the ditch. It was a little embarrassing, to tell you the truth, but hey, that guy had caught me by surprise and . . .

I saw her looking back at me as the pickup pulled away. Her eyes were filled with sadness and adoration, and I knew that her heart was about to break.

“Good-bye, Miss Scamper! We had our precious moments together and now we must part. Until our hearts are reunited, you must try to be brave.”

Her eyes seemed to roll upward, and I heard her exclaim in a voice filled with sadness and adoration, “Oh brother.”

Ah, what sweet words! I would carry them with me forever and ever . . . or at least for a little while. Anyways, she vanished into the sunset . . . sunrise . . . over the next hill and I was left with a huge hole where my heart used to be.

Jimmy Joe Dogcatcher had fired up his pickup and was pulling away, heading west toward the lake. I saw Ralph's head hanging over the tailgate. I turned on a burst of speed and caught up.

“Did you see that, Ralph?”

“Yup.”

“That's how you charm the ladies. The tricks softened her up and the song finished her off.”

“She looked kind of bored to me.”

“Bored? You don't understand the ladies, Ralph. They try to hide their emotions.”

“Well, she done that, all right.”

“But in fact, she fell madly in love with me, and I would bet that, at this very moment and even as we speak, she's crying her eyes out.”

“I'll bet she's fixin' her hair.”

“Exactly, and learning to cope with her broken heart.”

“Oh brother.”

“What? I'm falling behind, Ralph, and I guess I'll have to sign off. Good-bye, old friend, my old prison buddy.”

“See you around, Harry.”

“It's Hank, Hank the Cowdog. Come back again some time and I'll give you some more tips on charming the gals.”

“Or whatever.”

“Good-bye!”

“So long.”

I slowed to a walk and watched him pull away. It was kind of a touching moment, saying good-bye to an old prison . . .

He fell out!

The driver swerved to miss a chughole in the road, and Ralph fell out the back and landed in the ditch. His ears flew in all directions and he rolled all the way out into the horse pasture.

And there he lay . . . motionless.

Fearing the worst, I rushed to his side. “Ralph, speak to me. It's your old prison buddy, Hank the Cowdog. You've just been involved in a serious acci­dent. I think you're going to be okay, but you need to speak to me. Say something. Ralph?”

Nothing. He didn't speak or move. I began pacing.

“Ralph, I'm feeling personally responsible for this. If I hadn't tried to carry on a conversation with you while the pickup was moving, this never would have happened. I feel terrible about it.

“So would you please wake up? If you won't wake up for yourself, wake up for me. Think of somebody besides yourself for a change. What am I supposed to do now? I mean, I can't just walk away and leave you out here all alone in the pasture. I could never forgive myself.

“But the other side of that, Ralph, is that I'm a very busy dog. I've got a ranch to run, and by the way, it just occurs to me that my Bone Fortune needs to be checked. You see, we've had reports of a Bone Monster on the ranch . . .”

I gazed down at him. He still hadn't moved. I lowered my right ear to his nose and listened. Yes, he was breathing.

I sat down and began what I feared would be a long virgil. Vigil. I sat down and waited for something to happen.

Nothing happened. The minutes crawled by. I hate waiting. It drives me nuts. I was just about at the end of my rope of patience when, suddenly and all at once, my ears picked up the sounds of flapping wings.

I turned to the left and saw two big black airplanes coming in for a landing. Good grief, they must have been enemy bombers, diving down for low-level . . .

Okay, relax. They weren't enemy bombers. They were buzzards, two of 'em.

The first one touched down, rose again, touched down again with a thud, did three forward rolls, and got up running. He came straight over to me and my injured companion.

He was dragging his wings and yelling. “Git back, step aside, make way for Emergency Air­borne Medical Services!”

The second buzzard crash-landed several feet away and rolled into a cactus patch. The sight of these two crazed birds dropping out of the sky left me speechless.

The first one came right up to my face—and let me tell you, fellers, that was one of the ugliest things I'd seen in a long time.

He was yelling again. “I'm Doctor Buzzard, Emergency Airborne Medical Services. We've been called to the scene of a wreck. Where's the victim?”

I pointed to Ralph. “That's him on the ground. His name's Ralph.”

“Son, we don't care what his name is. The boy's been hurt and that's why we're here. Junior, bring me my bag, and hurry, first chance you git.”

Okay, it was Wallace and Junior, but I'd never known them to do anything like this before. It ap­peared that they had come to . . . well, help, if you can believe that. It seemed a little out of character, but we did need help so . . .

Junior came limping up. “W-w-w-we d-didn't bring a b-b-bag, P-pa.” He saw me there and waved his wing. “Oh, h-hi D-d-doggie.”

“How's it going, Junior?”

“Oh, b-b-busy b-b-busy. W-w-we're w-working wrecks today, today.”

“Yes, I see that. Is this something new for you guys?”

“Oh w-w-well, P-p-pa just thought w-w-we'd . . .”

Wallace's head flew up. “Son, quit talkin' with the customers and give me a hand. Where's my bag?”

“W-w-we d-don't h-h-have a b-bag, P-p-pa, and n-never did, never did.”

“Fine. We don't need a bag. What matters is all this knowledge inside our heads. Get yourself in here and check this dog's vital signposts. We ain't got a minute to spare.”

“P-pa?”

“What!”

“I l-l-landed in a c-c-cactus b-b-bush.”

“And did you get spines and needles in your hide?”

“Y-y-yep, I d-d-did, and they sure h-h-hurt.”

Wallace puffed himself up to his full height. “Son, haven't I warned you about driving too fast? Speed kills, Junior, and the speedier you drive, the killier you get, and one of these day's you'll wake up dead, is what's liable to happen.”

“Yeah, b-b-but . . .”

“And son, it serves you right, crashin' into a cactus bush, and maybe that'll teach you to slow that thing down. Now get in here and take his vital signposts.”

The two of them hovered over Ralph's potsrate form. I watched, hoping for the best.

“Okay, Junior, how 'bout his hoofbeat?”

“Y-y-you mean heartbeat?”

“Whatever. Give me something, and hurry. Supper's a-waitin'.”

“W-w-well, I c-can't f-feel much through m-my f-f-feathers.”

“In other words, he ain't got a heartbeat. How about breathing? Is he breathing?”

“W-w-well . . .”

“Snake-eyes on that too, huh? How 'bout blood pressure?”

“W-well, if h-his h-heart ain't b-b-beating, P-pa, then h-he c-c-an't have a . . .”

“I read the book too, Junior, so you don't need to be showing off like you're an I-don't-know-what, 'cause you ain't.” There was a moment of silence. Then Wallace's head came up. “Boys, I'm afraid we've lost him.”