The Case of the Blazing Sky Read online

  Junior grinned and shrugged. “Th-th-that’s my p-pa.”

  “Junior, I don’t know how you can stand to be around him all the time. I’d find it a little depressing after a while.”

  “Oh, w-w-well he t-t-takes l-long n-naps.”

  “That would help, I guess.”

  Wallace stormed over to us and stuck his beak in my face. “And I’ll tell you something else, puppy dog. Me and Junior are on Fire Patrol tonight and the last thing we need is to have some jughead dog hanging around and trying to make idle talk.” He jerked his head toward Junior. “Son, get back on duty, I need to rest my eyes.” He whirled back to me. “We’re busy, so run along. Come back when you can’t stay so long.”

  “Buzzards on Fire Patrol? For your information, pal, I’m the Head of Fire—” I stopped talking when I remembered that I had resigned from my post.

  “Yes sir, Fire Patrol. Me and Junior have started the Buzzard Volunteer Fire Patrol and we’re a-watching for fires in the night. See all that lightning over yonder? If any one of them forks of lightning was to hit the ground, we’d have ourselves a prairie fire, is what we’d have.”

  This was pretty funny but I tried not to laugh. “Let me get this straight. You’re keeping the lightning from starting a fire?”

  Wallace puffed himself up. “That’s right, mister. See, I’m the fire chief around here and I’ve put out the word: no fires allowed while I’m on duty.”

  “No kidding? So you just . . . what? Talk to the lightning?”

  “That’s right. With this lightning, you have to lay down the law. It ain’t a job for the faint of heart, I can tell you that. Watch this.” Wallace turned toward the northwest where flashes of lightning were coming closer. “Listen up, all you lightnings up yonder! This here is Wallace Q. Buzzard, chief of the Fire Patrol. Y’all can twinkle and flash and play around all you want, as long as you stay up in them clouds, but the first rannihan that tries to strike the ground is going to be in a world of hurt!” He turned back to me with a smirk. “What do you say now, pooch?”

  “That’s very impressive, and it seems to be working.”

  Wallace draped a wing on my shoulder. “Puppy, let me tell you something. There ain’t many creatures on this Earth that want to mess with a buzzard, and that goes double for bolts of lightning. They know what happens when a buzzard gets mad. Do you know what a buzzard does when he gets mad?”

  “Uh . . . let me guess. He throws up on whoever made him mad?”

  “That’s it, yes, and we ain’t talking about rosebuds and apple pie. We’re talking about . . .”

  “Right. I’ve seen some of your work and I’d rather not discuss it.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Good, good. Then we’re on the same page, as they say, and you can probably guess what’s fixing to land right on top of your head if you don’t buzz off and leave me and Junior alone.”

  I backed away from him. “You know, Wallace, this has been fun, but I really need to be moving along.”

  “It ain’t that we’re being unfriendly, we just have things to—”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. Suddenly we were blinded by a brilliant flash of lightning, followed seconds later by a blast of thunder. BOOM! It shook the earth and knocked Wallace to the ground.

  “Help! Junior, they’re shooting back at us, son! Don’t just stand there like a goose, do something!”

  It took a moment for my eyes to recover from the flash, and when they did, I found myself staring at . . . “Hey Wallace, you said you were out here scouting for fires? Well, look right in front of you.”

  Wallace picked himself up off the ground and peered into the darkness—darkness that had begun to show a flicker of yellow light about five feet from where Wallace was standing. “That ain’t a fire.”

  “It is a fire, and it’s getting bigger by the second.”

  “It ain’t a fire, dog, ’cause if it was a fire, I would have seen it first. You know why?” He tapped himself on the chest. “Because the fire chief always finds the fires.”

  “P-p-pa?”

  Wallace whirled around to Junior. “What!”

  “I think h-h-he’s r-r-right. It’s a f-f-f-fire, a fire.”

  Wallace craned his neck and squinted at the flames. “Junior, you know that lightning bolt that pret’ near fried us all?”

  “Y-y-yeah.”

  “Son, it has started a fire and I’m turning in the first report. What do you reckon we ought to do?”

  “Oh, m-maybe you’d b-b-better p-put it out.”

  “Me? Junior, the last time I tried stomping out a fire, it sure did blister the bottoms of my feet. How about you handle this one?”

  “F-f-forget th-that.”

  Wallace whirled around to me. “Shep, how’d you like to join the fire department? We’ve never hired a dog before, but we’re a little short-handed right now, is what we are, and there’s a good job just a-waiting for the right dog.”

  “No thanks.”

  While the flames reached higher and higher, Wallace jerked his head toward Junior and back to me. “Well, I’ve never seen such a bunch of gold-bricking, half-stepping, yellow-bellied chicken livers! If y’all don’t get yourselves out there and stomp out that fire . . .”

  Just then, the wind picked up and fanned the flames into a pillar of fire that set Wallace’s tail feathers ablaze. He jumped straight up in the air and started running in circles, slapping at the fire with his wings.

  “Hyah, fire, hyah! Junior, don’t just stand there gawking like an I-don’t-know-what! Jump in here and do something!”

  “P-p-pa, s-s-sit d-down!”

  “Dummy! I ain’t going to sit down, that’s where the fire’s at!”

  Junior turned to me with a weary expression. “D-d-doggie, y-you t-tell him. H-h-he n-never listens to m-me.”

  I turned to Wallace and yelled, “Listen, birdbrain, if you’ll sit on the fire, you’ll put it out!”

  Wallace stopped in his tracks, stared at me, and sat down. Moments later, he stood up and studied his smoking tail section. “Well, you didn’t need to screech and call names. Buzzards are pretty sensitive, down deep.”

  I tried not to laugh. “Sorry, Wallace.”

  “No, you ain’t. You ain’t sorry at all. I seen that grin on your face. You thought it was funny, but let me tell you something, puppy dog.” He stopped talking and stepped away from the burning grass at his feet. “Junior, that fire is fixing to get out of hand.”

  “Y-yeah. You r-r-reckon we b-b-better p-p-put it out, put it out?”

  “Put it out? Son, I’m taking early retirement and it’s time to get airborne.” He jerked his head back to me. “We’ll leave this one for you, Shep, but try to remember this.” He moved closer and whispered in my ear. “It takes only one fire to make a hot dog. Hee hee!” He yelled out to Junior. “Come on, son, last one in the air’s a rotten egg!”

  Wallace spread his wings, trotted into the breeze, and flapped off into the night. Junior gave me a grin and waved his wing. “I g-guess he’s d-d-done playing f-f-fire chief. B-b-bye, d-doggie, and b-be c-careful.”

  “See you around, Junior.”

  I smiled to myself as I watched him fly away. They were quite a pair, those two, and seeing Wallace’s tail on fire had kind of raised my spirits. But I didn’t have long to think about that because, just then, the wind made a sudden shift and began blowing hard out of the north.

  I guess you know what strong wind does to a fire. In dry weather, it will turn a little fire into a roaring monster and that’s just what I saw in front of me, a roaring, leaping, hissing monster of a prairie fire that sent a spray of sparks shooting up into the dark sky.

  Fellers, if you’ve never seen a prairie fire up close, you can’t understand how scary it is. It touches something deep inside a dog and makes him want to do jus
t one thing: get as far away as possible and run for his life! It’s the natural, normal response and I’m not ashamed to say that I . . . well, turned and ran like a striped ape.

  Chapter Ten: Lost in the Smoke

  After I had put two hundred yards of pasture between me and the awful hissing prairie fire, only then did I dare to stop and look back. I had reached the upwind side, so I was no longer in any danger, but then I noticed . . .

  HUH?

  Holy tamales, the fire was moving on a course that would take it straight to the ranch house! And a voice inside my head was saying things I didn’t want to hear, such as, “That thing could burn down the house! What kind of rat would walk off and leave his friends at a time like this?”

  It was a pretty good question, but I had already answered it: this wasn’t my problem and besides . . . well, big prairie fires are really scary. Running from a fire was the normal thing to do, and I could find nothing shameful or disgraceful about . . .

  But you know what? It WAS disgraceful! Maybe my people didn’t deserve my help, but cowdogs don’t just cut and run when things get tough. Ordinary mutts might do that, but not cowdogs.

  I studied the eerie red glow on the clouds above the fire. Gulp. In thirty minutes or less, the fire would sweep across the pasture and flames would be leaping around the house. I didn’t have a moment to lose . . . or to think about it.

  Before I knew it, I had pushed the throttle all the way to Turbo Five and was racing south across the pasture. To reach the house, I would have to run around the east edge of the fire and then put myself in the very path the blaze was following. Could I do it? Yes, because I had to.

  On and on I raced. Three hundred yards from the house, I checked instruments and was pleased to see that all systems looked good. I was on a straight course that would take me directly to the house, and then I would . . .

  Uh-oh. You know what happens when you get downwind from a prairie fire? You’re right in its path, see, and that’s where all the smoke goes, downwind. I didn’t happen to think of that and it came as a nasty surprise when I found myself . . . arg, gasp . . . lost in a choking cloud of smoke.

  I mean, one second I could see the house up ahead, and the next I could hardly even see the end of my nose! I was surrounded on all sides by red-glowing billows of smoke and somewhere in the distance I could hear that awful roaring sound.

  I stopped. I had lost all sense of direction and I could hardly breathe! Was this how it would end, with me stumbling around in a cloud of smoke, unable to warn my people of the danger that was heading their way? Yes, it appeared that my life would end in failure.

  Gasping and choking, I sank to the ground. The roar of the fire filled my ears as it moved closer, ever closer. Strength ebbed out of my body. I had nothing left. I melted into the grass, rolled over, and took one last look at . . .

  Huh? Buzzards? Was I dreaming or had the smoke parted for just a second and allowed me to catch a glimpse of two buzzards flapping overhead? In a flash, the vision was gone, swallowed up by a swirl of smoke and sparks.

  It must have been a dream, perhaps my last. I couldn’t resist a bitter laugh at such a cruel fate, that one of my last thoughts on this Earth had been about buzzards. I closed my eyes and waited for the drama to play itself out. But then . . .

  “Pooch, you can lay there like a dead log if you want, but if it was me, I’d get up and run!”

  I opened my eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of a big black bird swooping through the smoke, and then he was gone. I lifted my head and blinked my stinging eyes against the smoke. “Wallace? Is that you?”

  A voice came out of the smoke above my head. “Heck yes, it’s me, and I ain’t just flapping around for my health! Do you want me and Junior to lead you out of this fire or would you rather lay there and get roasted?”

  I struggled to my feet and gasped for air. “I’ll choose number one, but I can’t see you in all this smoke!”

  “Well, dog, I can’t do a thing about the smoke, so try to follow the sound of my voice! Reckon you can do that? I mean, I ain’t going to take you by the hand and lead you out of there. Me and Junior are going to sing you out of the fire.”

  “What? You’re going to sing, is that what you said?”

  “Yes sir. This is Junior’s big idea, not mine, and you can either follow the sound of our voices or sit there and fry!”

  Hmm. Okay, I was about to be sung out of a crisis by a couple of buzzards. That struck me as pretty strange, but I didn’t have any better ideas. I still couldn’t see them through all the smoke, but a moment later, I heard them strike up a song. Musically speaking, it wasn’t all that great, but don’t forget, they were only buzzards. A guy doesn’t expect great music to come from the mouths of buzzards.

  Call in the Dogs, Put Out the Fire

  Dark night, summertime, dry as a bone.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  South wind moans like a saxophone.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Dry grass waiting like gasoline.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  One little spark . . . it could sure be mean.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Old Shep’s a faithful dog, all right.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  He sleeps all day and barks all night.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Old Shep stands guard at the chicken pen.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  He eats him one every now and then.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Here, Shep, you better come home!

  This ain’t the night for you to roam.

  Old Shep, you’ve barked the whole night through.

  You’d better come home, I’m a-telling you.

  Shep barks at thunder, mean and loud.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  He ain’t a-scared of a thunder cloud.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Shep barks at lightning just for fun.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  One of these days, gonna catch him one.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Watch out, Old Shep, that lightning struck!

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Prairie fire rolls like a ten-ton truck!

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  That fire, it’s roaring like a mob.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Old Shep, you didn’t do your job.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Shep, Shep, you better come home!

  This ain’t the night for you to roam.

  Old Shep, you’ve barked the whole night through.

  How’d you like to be barbecue?

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Call in the dogs, put out the fire.

  Well, what can you say about that? As buzzard music, I guess it wasn’t too bad and it did get me through the smoke and out of the fire, but other than that . . . well, it wasn’t a great work of art.

  So, yes, I stumbled and staggered through the cloud of smoke, following the sound of the Singing Buzzards, and not for one second did I ever know where I was. This was what you’d call Blind Faith in action. Then, all at once, I popped out of the cloud and found myself about fifty yards north of the machine shed. Overhead, Wallace and Junior were floating around in the updrafts.

  I yelled, “Well, thanks for the help, guys. I’ll sure remember this.”

  Wallace yelled back, “You do that, pooch. Next time, maybe we’ll have you for supper, if you get my meaning. Hee!”

  “I get your meaning, but don’t hold your breath. It takes more than one little prairie fire to
bring me down.”

  “Yeah, we noticed. If it hadn’t been for me and Junior, you’d be charcoal. Now let’s see if you can put out the fire, pooch.”

  “Yeah? Well, you watch, ’cause that’s what I’m fixing to do.”

  I sprinted down to the yard. At the fence, I paused a moment, wondering if I dared to enter Sally May’s yard. Yes, surely she would want to know that her house and home were about to be torched to the ground, if someone didn’t do something in a big hurry.

  I coiled my legs under me, leaped upward and outward, and landed inside Sally May’s yard. There, I sprinted toward the back porch and was about to launch my Warning Barks, when I saw . . . hmmm . . . a cat was sitting in the middle of the porch, with his tail wrapped around his body. Oh, and he was smirking.

  “Well, well!” said Pete. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice the fire.”

  “Oh yeah? Did you wonder how I got trapped in the chicken house?”

  “Actually, Hankie, I didn’t wonder about that.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “I had inside information, you know. Tee hee. You certainly got everyone stirred up.”

  “That’s right, kitty, and I’m fixing to stir you up.”

  “Now, now, don’t be bitter.”

  “And by the way, Pete, if you saw the fire, why didn’t you sound the alarm, huh?”

  He gave that some thought. “You know, Hankie, I did think about it, but, well, cats don’t do that.”

  “So you were just going to sit here and let the fire burn down the whole ranch?”

  “Well, Hankie, we cats always seem to land on our feet”—he flashed an insolent smirk—“no matter what happens to everyone else.”

  “Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!”

  In a flash, I snatched him up by the scruff of his neck and pitched him as far I could throw him. Heh heh. I’ll give you a hint: he didn’t land on his feet. He crashed headfirst into the fence. I paused a moment to enjoy his hissing and yowling, but had to return to the urgent mission that had brought me there.