Читать книгу The Case of the Measled Cowboy - John R. Erickson - Страница 5

Chapter One: Strange Things Afoot on the Ranch

It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. It all began in the fall of the year. November. Yes, it was November, a day or two after Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving always comes in November. I don’t know why, but it does.

Drover and I were standing near the yard gate. All at once the back door of the ranch house flew open and out came Loper. He breezed through the gate and didn’t even bother to speak to us. He seemed deep in thought. Preoccupied. In a hurry.

He went up the hill to the machine shed, opened the west door, and backed Sally May’s car out of the shed. This was odd. Loper seldom drove Sally May’s car.

I turned to my assistant. “Drover, something’s going on around here.”

He gave me that goofy smile of his. “Yeah, and aren’t we glad? Gosh, if nothing went on, nothing would ever happen and that would be pretty boring.”

“I think you missed the point. The point is that something highly unusual and out of the ordinary is about to happen. Would you care to hear the evidence?”

“Oh . . . not really. I’m kind of busy right now.”

I glared at the runt. “Busy? You’re just sitting there.”

“Yeah, but I’m watching the clouds, and they keep moving around. About the time I get one cloud watched, it moves away and another one comes along, so I have to keep watching. It sure keeps me busy.”

“Oh brother.”

“What do you reckon clouds are made of?”

“They’re made of . . . how should I know what clouds are made of?”

“I thought you knew just about everything.”

“You thought . . . hmmmm. Good point, Drover. I mean, I’ve never pretended to know everything about everything, but I do know quite a lot about many things.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I guess we can take some time out of our busy schedules for a few questions. Fire away.”

“Oh good. I wonder what clouds are made of.”

“That’s not a question, Drover, it’s a statement. I can’t give an answer to a statement.”

“I wonder why.”

“That’s another statement and I can’t answer it either. If you want an answer, ask a question.”

“Okay. How long’s a piece of string?”

“Two feet.”

“How about a centipede?”

“One foot.”

He turned to me and twisted his head around. “I thought a centipede had a whole bunch of feet.”

“A centipede has a whole bunch of feet, Drover, but is only one foot long. You see, the word ‘centipede’ is made up of two parts: ‘centi’ and ‘pede.’”

“I peed on an electric fence one time.”

“‘Don’t interrupt.”

“It sure woke me up.”

“Hush. ‘Centi’ comes from the root word ‘cent,’ and a cent is one penny. Therefore, it follows from simple logic that a centipede is only one foot long.”

“I’ll be derned. How does he walk on one foot?”

“I didn’t say he had only one foot. I said he was only one foot long.”

“Boy, what a miracle. All those legs and only one foot.”

I gave him a withering glare. “Drover, sometimes I get the feeling that you’re not paying attention.”

“Yeah, I keep watching the clouds, but that gets kind of boring.”

“Then why do you keep watching them?”

“I don’t know. Can’t think of anything else to do . . . I guess.”

I marched several steps away and tried to clear the vapors out of my head. “Drover, sometimes I feel you’re trying to lead me into a state of chaos.”

“I thought it was Texas.”

“Please don’t say another word.”

“Okay.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You just said another word.”

“I did? Gosh, I didn’t hear a thing. Maybe I’ve got some wax in this ear.” He sat down and began scratching his left ear with his left hind leg. “No, the ear’s okay, but this leg’s killing me.”

“We should be so lucky.”

“What?”

“I said, nothing’s wrong with your leg. You’re a hypodermiac, that’s all, and you’re about to drive me batty.”

“Yeah, and Loper’s driving Sally May’s car out of the machine shed. Something must be going on around here, ’cause he doesn’t drive her car unless they’re going on a trip.”

I cut my eyes from side to side. Somehow the little moron had brought this senseless conversation right back where it had started, and had even managed to point out the first important clue in the case—a clue I had observed and had been trying to mention, only he had pulled me into the swamp of his blabbering.

I don’t know how he does it.

He’s the weirdest little mutt I ever knew.

And it really burned me up that he’d stolen my clue, but I didn’t have much time to think about it because at that very moment Loper swung the car into the gravel drive. I was just sitting there, minding my own business and trying to recover from Drover’s latest assault on my mental health, and . . .

Loper blew the horn and stuck his head out the window. “Get out of the way! We’ve got places to go and you’re sitting in the way of progress.”

Fine. I could take a hint, but he didn’t need to screech at me and blow the horn.

Dogs have feelings too.

I moved, but not before he blew the horn again. That really wasn’t necessary, but when he gets in a hurry . . . oh well.

He jumped out of the car and dashed into the house. Hmm, very strange. It appeared that someone was fixing to leave on a trip. The evidence was certainly stacking up that way.

I took this opportunity to do a quick Wash and Clean on the car tires. They were pretty dusty and needed to be shined up. That done, I drifted back to the yard gate to watch the loading operation. Slim had come up from the corrals by then and was leaning against the car, cleaning his fingernails with a pocket knife.

Have I pointed out that Slim always seems to be leaning against something or other? It’s true. Once his legs quit moving, he just naturally slumps against whatever is handy—a post, a tree, the side of a building, or a car. It’s no big deal, I suppose, but it’s the kind of detail a Head of Ranch Security is likely to notice.

You never see us dogs leaning against things.

He was leaning against the car. I went over to him and sat down. I gave him Friendly Wags and he said, “Howdy, pooch.”

At that very moment the back door burst open and Loper staggered out, loaded down with suitcases, Molly’s diaper bag, and Molly’s high chair. The expression on his face would have caused a grizzly bear to run. His brow had formed a maze of wrinkles. His eyes were bulging out and that big vein in the middle of his forehead was showing.

He saw Slim. “Hey! Would it be too much trouble for you to open the gate?”

Slim looked up from his fingernail business and grinned. “Y’all moving?” He put away his knife and opened the gate. With all this baggage, Loper didn’t quite fit through the opening of the gate, but he managed to smash his way through, causing things to scrape and snap.

“Thanks. How about the car door? I know you’re busy, but maybe you could work that into your schedule.”

Slim opened the back door. “Shore. Be glad to, you being so sweet and everything.”

Loper pitched the stuff inside. “How can one woman and one baby need so much junk? Do you think we’re going on an ocean cruise for a month? No! This is for two days in Abilene! And this is only half of it. I’ve still got another load.”

Slim nodded and tried to bite back his smile. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Sure. You go to Abilene and let me stay at the ranch where I belong.”

“Gosh, I wish I could.”

Loper stabbed him with a pair of ice pick eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“No, I hate to see a fellow cowboy suffer.”

“Ha! The Lord loves a cheerful liar.” He glanced at his watch. “We should have been on the road thirty minutes ago.” Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, he stalked back into the house.

Instantly, and I mean immediately, Slim slumped against the car and fished a toothpick out of his shirt pocket. “He sure gets gripey, don’t he? I can’t imagine why his in-laws would want him around. I’ll be glad to be rid of him for a couple of days.” He took a big yawn and stretch. “I plan to have me a nice restful holiday, pooch.”

The back door flew open and out came Loper again, loaded down with more bags and suitcases. He struggled down the sidewalk and yelled for Slim to open the gate for him. Slim did, at his usual speed.

“Now, get the keys and unlock the trunk, would you?” Slim did, again at his usual speed. Loper stood there, holding all the bags and watching Slim move in slow motion. He gave his head a shake. “Slim, Abilene’s going to be in ruins before you get the dadgum trunk unlocked. Would you hurry?”

Slim nodded and came around to the rear of the car. He held up the key ring, which had about fifteen keys on it. He tried one and it didn’t work. He tried another and it didn’t work. When the third key didn’t work, Loper dropped the bags and trotted back to the house.

“You load the trunk and I’ll see if I can get that woman out of the house.”

The door slammed. Slim shifted his toothpick over to the other side of his mouth and looked down at me. “Well, there ain’t but one key that’ll open the trunk, and I don’t figger he’d want me to use a can opener. Everything takes time.”

Just then the back door flew open again and Loper stepped out on the porch. He looked up at the sky, took off his hat and fanned his face, and heaved a deep sigh.

“Never mind the trunk, Slim. The trip’s been called off.”