The Case of the Black-Hooded Hangmans Read online

  Hang on, you’ll never believe this. The report said that we had us a couple of buzzards up there, and we even had their names. Wallace and Junior.

  Are you shocked? Surprised? Heh, heh. Not me. I’d suspected all along that . . . okay, I was a little surprised too.

  Anyways, this was a good turn of events. I was feeling a whole lot better about the future, for while two buzzards can make noise and talk a lot of trash, they are fairly harmless birds.

  “Okay, guys, it’s time for show and tell. I can now reveal that I know your names—not only your names but who you are and what you do for a living. Shall I continue?”

  In the gloom, I could barely see Junior’s head peek over the loft. “Oh M-m-mister G-ghost? M-m-mister G-g-g . . . P-pa, I can s-s-see h-him now, and h-he ain’t a g-g-ghost.”

  “What do you mean, he ain’t a ghost?”

  “I m-mean, h-h-he ain’t a g-g-ghost, ’cause h-he’s a d-d-d-dog.”

  “A dog? Son, I talked to that ghost myself, and I know for a fact that he ain’t a dog.”

  “Is t-t-too a d-d-dog.”

  “Is not a dog.”

  “Is t-t-too a d-d-d-dog. Just I-look for y-yourself, yourself.” He gave me a shy smile and waved the tip of his wing. “H-hi there, D-d-doggie.”

  “How’s it going, Junior?”

  “Oh w-w-well, w-we c-came here b-because of the s-s-snow s-storm, and w-w-we th-thought we s-s-saw a g-g-g-g-g . . . a ghost.”

  Wallace’s ugly bald head came into view. “Son, that is a ghost in a dog suit, is what that is, and we are still in serious trouble.”

  “N-n-no. He’s our d-d-doggie f-f-friend.”

  “Our . . .” Wallace craned his neck and squinted his eyes at me. I gave him a little wave. He snapped his head around to Junior. Then he snapped it around to me. Then he puffed himself up and yelled, “Son, that there is a DOG!”

  By this time Little Alfred could see the two buzzards up in the choir loft. The tears stopped flowing down his cheeks and he even managed a smile.

  “Why, it’s buzzoods, Hankie, two big old buzzoods!”

  “That’s right, son, and I hope you’ll remember who unhaunted the haunted house and unhooded the Hooded Hangmans. I’m not one to brag and boast, but . . . well, you know your ma and how she gets mad at me, and everyone needs a friend, if you know what I mean.”

  He nodded and grinned. But then a shadow passed over his face. “Hankie, I miss my mommy. Wet’s get Eddy and go home.”

  “Good idea. Hey, Eddy! Come on out and let’s go home. Hurry up, before the snow gets too deep.”

  Wallace glared down at me. “Who’s Eddy? We’ve got no Eddies up here, just me and Junior, so there’s no call for you to be a-yelling about . . .”

  Just then Eddy came monkey-walking into view. Wallace stared at him for a moment. His eyes popped open and so did his beak. He jumped backward and flapped his wings.

  “Hyah! Go on, git outa . . . Junior, what is that thing that just come walking out of the darkness and . . . son, it’s that ghost with the mask and . . . hyah, ghost, hyah!”

  Pretty exciting, huh? And you probably think the scary part is over, right? Not quite. Just wait and see what happened when we left the haunted house.

  Chapter Eleven: This Chapter Will Give You the Shivers, No Kidding

  The old man took cover behind Junior.

  “Oh P-p-pa, d-d-don’t act s-s-so s-s-silly. H-he’s only a l-l-l-little c-coon.”

  “A cocoon? Son, butterflies come from cocoons, and that is no butterfly. He ain’t near big enough and . . . why Junior, that is a raccoon, a cute little old raccoon.”

  “I t-t-told y-you so.”

  “And we haven’t eat a good wholesome meal in three days, Junior, and . . .” Wallace came waddling out into the open. He wore a crazy grin and was rubbing his wings together. He spoke to me. “Say there, neighbor, I don’t reckon y’all might consider a trade for that little old raccoon, would you? We’d have to take him on credit, of course.”

  “Nope. I’m afraid you guys’ll have to stick with dead skunks and smashed rabbits on the road.”

  “Well, don’t you think we can’t, Mister Smarty Pants! We’ve been doing just fine without friends like you, and since you’re gonna be so stingy, maybe y’all better just leave our house, right now this very minute. Junior, tell ’em to git out of our house.”

  Junior shook his head. “P-p-pa, p-please h-h-hush.”

  Wallace gave him an angry glare. “Junior, did you just tell me to hush?”

  “Y-y-yeah.”

  “All right, fine, I’ll hush but you’ll be sorry.”

  And with that, old Wallace crossed his wings over his chest, turned his back on us, and pouted.

  Eddy the Rac hurried down the stairs, casting puzzled glances back at Wallace. He went straight to Little Alfred and crawled into his arms. As he passed me, I heard him say, “Weird guy. Take me home. Lock me up. No more roaming for me.”

  Well, we had just about completed our mission and it was time to head back to the house. Eddy crawled up on the back of Alfred’s neck and I called to Mister Hide-Under-the-Sack.

  Alfred struggled with the door until he got it open. We were greeted by the cold north wind and a dusting of snow.

  “Well, Junior, it was fun. And of course it’s always a pleasure to spend a few hours with your old man.”

  His face burst into a huge grin. “Huh, huh, huh!”

  Wallace squawked some kind of tacky reply but I didn’t stick around to hear it. I had better things to do than stand around and listen to the complaints of a gripy old buzzard. I’d heard enough already to last me several months.

  What a grouch.

  I caught up with the other guys and took my position at the front of the line. We needed me out front in the Scout Position, don’t you see, because it was snowing pretty hard and our trail back to the house had been covered up.

  In that kind of situation, we needed our best tracker and trailblazer out front, and that was . . . well, ME, you might say.

  We spread out in a line and marched through the snow: me out front, Little Alfred and Eddy in the middle, and little Mister Scaredy Cat bringing up the rear.

  We were the conquering explorers. We had braved the storm, unhaunted the haunted house, and rescued Eddy from a couple of hunger-crazed buzzards, and around here, we call that a pretty good day of ranch work.

  Yes sir, we had become famous heroes, and when famous heroes return home from an important mission, they don’t just walk or slouch along. They march, and we’re talking about picking up their feet and marching in step.

  Hencely, I passed along the order for the entire column to stay in line, pick up their feet, and march in step. Yes, we looked pretty snappy, marching through the snow, and at that point I figgered we needed to sing “The Famous Heroes Battle-Marching Song.”

  Do you know it? Maybe not, if you’ve never been a Famous Hero, but here’s how it went.

  The Famous Heroes Battle-Marching Song

  We are Famous Heroes, y’all.

  (We are Famous Heroes, y’all.)

  We are proud and we stand tall.

  (We are proud and we stand tall.)

  Haunted houses scare us not.

  (Haunted houses scare us not.)

  Hush your mouth and thanks a lot.

  (Hush your mouth and thanks a lot.)

  Sound off (Famous).

  Sound off (Heroes).

  Famous Heroes, one two,

  One two . . . three four!

  Left, left, left right left.

  Left, left, left right left.

  (HANK)

  We left the ranch in the snow,

  You’re right!

  The girls all cried when we left,

  You’re right!

  We hike
d all over the universe and we’re just out of sight,

  You’re right!

  Sound off (Famous).

  Sound off (Heroes).

  Famous Heroes, one two,

  One two . . . three four!

  (LITTLE ALFRED)

  My mommy’s my favowit gal,

  You’re right!

  I know she’s going to be pwoud,

  You’re right!

  She’ll be my fwiend through thick and thin, we always will be tight,

  You’re right!

  Sound off (Famous).

  Sound off (Heroes).

  Famous Heroes, one two,

  One two . . . three four!

  (DROVER)

  This hero’s life is new,

  You’re right!

  It’s something I rarely do,

  You’re right!

  And my best friend’s a gunnysack, it keeps me warm at night,

  You’re right!

  Sound off (Famous).

  Sound off (Heroes).

  Famous Heroes, one two,

  One two . . . three four!

  (EDDY)

  I hardly know what to say,

  You’re right!

  I usually sleep in the day,

  You’re right.

  I’m just a slug ’til midnight comes and then I go wild at night,

  You’re right!

  Sound off (Famous).

  Sound off (Heroes).

  Famous Heroes, one two,

  One two . . . three four!

  Well, as you can see, it was one of the best marching songs we’d ever come up with on the ranch, just right for a bunch of Famous Heroes going home from a huge success on the field of battle.

  Yes, if Beulah had been there, no doubt she would have fallen madly in love with me and forgotten all about her stupid, stick-tailed, spotted, dumb-bunny bird dog friend—Plato. What she saw in that guy, I just didn’t know, but . . . oh well.

  Too bad she wasn’t there to see me in my moment of greatest . . .

  “Hank, what’s that over there?”

  It was Drover. He tore me away from delicious thoughts of my One and Only True Love and brought me back to the present moment, marching through the snow with my comrades.

  “What?”

  “I thought I saw something up ahead.”

  I halted the column and went back to the rear. “You thought you saw something up ahead? Well, you probably did, Drover, because there are many things up ahead, such as trees, rocks, shrubs, and snowflakes.”

  “No, it was something big, with four legs.”

  “I’m sorry, Drover, but that’s impossible. You see, I am in the Scout Position. I am in that position because of my superior . . . Drover, something’s happened to your eyes. All at once they look like two fried eggs.”

  His mouth moved but no words came out. And just then I heard Little Alfred say, “Uh-oh, twouble up ahead.”

  I whirled around and . . .

  HUH?

  A bull? The neighbors’ Jersey bull?

  Okay, let’s pause here to . . . uh . . . pull a few loose threads together, as they say. See, I had been very busy directing the guys . . . the members of the Famous Heroes Symphonic Chorus, don’t you see, and perhaps my attention had also drifted into thoughts of . . . well, Miss Beulah, and . . .

  I had more or less forgotten that we were marching across the Parnells’ Bull Pasture, and what would you expect to find in a bull pasture but a . . . well, a bull?

  No big deal.

  Okay, maybe it was a bigger deal than you might have supposed, because it was a big bull.

  Real big bull.

  Monster bull, and have we discussed Jersey bulls? They are famous for their nasty disposition. They love to fight and attack helpless creatures such as your cowdogs, your little boys, and your raccoons.

  Yipes.

  What lousy luck. We’d almost made it to the fence between the Parnells’ and our home pasture. I mean, we could see it up ahead, not more than twenty yards away. The only trouble was that the bull stood between us and the fence.

  And, fellers, he appeared to be loading up for an attack. He bellered and shook his horns, lowered his head, and began throwing snow up over his shoulder.

  Any one of those symptoms would have been serious. All of them together spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

  Drover began to squeak. “Oh my gosh, Hank, what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to . . . I don’t know what we’re going to do, Drover, if you must know the truth.”

  “Oh my gosh, this leg’s killing me! I knew I should have stayed home!”

  “Well, go stick your head under a sack.”

  “I don’t have a sack!”

  “Go buy one.”

  “I’m broke!”

  “Then maybe you could dry up and let me think.”

  Just then, as if things weren’t bad enough, we heard the voice of an angry ranch wife. All eyes shifted to the north, and yes, standing on the other side of the fence with both hands parked on her waist, was . . . Sally May.

  Hmmm. This presented us with a thorny problem. Which was the more dangerous: an angry Sally May or an angry bull?

  It was just about a toss-up, seemed to me.

  Chapter Twelve: Famous Heroes for Sure!

  Alfred Leroy, where on earth have you been!? I’ve been worried sick about you. I had to call Viola to come up and watch Molly while I tramped around in the snow for thirty minutes, and young man, someone’s been in my chicken house!”

  I turned to the boy. “Let’s see. According to that verse you sang, she’s your ‘favorite pal,’ right?”

  “Uh-huh, becept when I’m naughty.”

  At that point, Sally May stepped over the barbed wire fence and came toward us in a style of walking that I had seen many times before: short steps, fists clenched, and arms pumping at her sides.

  I must admit that I hadn’t expected her to cross the fence. I mean, the bull was standing right there in plain sight, but she showed no more fear of that bull than if he’d been a hummingbird—which he wasn’t.

  She stalked right up to the bull, kicked him on the leg with her snow boot, and said, “Scat, you nasty thing! Shoo! Hike!”

  And then she breezed past him and zeroed in on us with a pair of eyes that seemed to be on fire. The bull’s head shot up and he stared at her in disbelief.

  But then he went back to pawing up snow and snorting arrows of steam out of his nostrils. Unless I was badly mistaken, he was taking aim at someone’s mommy.

  She marched up to us and stopped. In the glare of her eyes, we wilted like so many lettuce leaves on the Fourth of July. I mean, she had a talent for making Famous Heroes look and feel like . . . I don’t know what. Famous worms.

  “Alfred, where on earth have you been, what on earth have you been doing, child, can’t you see that we’re having a snowstorm? I just don’t . . . how can you . . . sometimes I . . .”

  Alfred cut her off. “Hey Mom, I think that bull’s fixing to come aftoo us.”

  She whirled around and turned the Laser Look on Mr. Bull. “You silly bull, go on home. Scat!”

  For several throbbing seconds, they glared into each other’s burning eyeballs. At that point the bull rumbled and took a step toward us, and it was then that Sally May realized the true dangerousness of our situation.

  Slowly, she knelt down on one knee. Her right hand reached out and pulled Little Alfred to her. Her left hand reached out and . . . found my collar? My goodness, she dragged me out from behind . . .

  Okay, I had more or less stationed myself behind her. I mean, that seemed a good safe place to be. Not that I was afraid of the alleged bull, you understand, but . . . it just seemed a good place to be, that’s all.

/>   And I’ll admit that I went to Full Air Brakes and locked down all four legs, but you might say that didn’t work and my paws dug little trenches in the snow.

  She hauled me out into the open, is what she did, and then she spoke to me in a voice that was soft but very firm. And while she spoke she never took her eyes off the bull.

  “Hank, my child is in danger. Help me now and I’ll forgive all your many sins.”

  Sins? Me? Now wait just a . . . all right, maybe I’d run up a small tab in the Sins Department. Not many, just a few, such as . . . okay, eating eggs in her chicken house, and you know, Little Alfred still had those broken shells in his coat pocket and no doubt she would . . .

  I swung my gaze around to the bull and be­came spaghetti. THAT WAS A HUGE BULL, and she wanted ME to go out and . . .

  The Moment of Truth had arrived. She was waiting for an answer. The bull was waiting to see which one of us he would tear to shreds.

  Gulp.

  You know what made up my mind? It was Sally May herself. I mean, here was your average ranch wife who weighed . . . what? A hundred and twenty-five pounds? And that bull probably weighed a ton, but her first thought was to protect her child, not to save herself.

  Fellers, I admired that. It was the sort of thing a cowdog would do . . . or hope to do. Heroes come in many shapes and sizes, right? Well, this little ranch mom was handling herself the way heroes are supposed to.

  By George, she was an inspiration to me and all at once I didn’t care how many times she had screeched at me and accused me of terrible crimes and told me that I stunk.

  Me, go out and fight a bull for Sally May? You bet! For that courageous mom, I would put it all on the line, and if things didn’t turn out well and I got made into cottage cheese . . . so be it.

  That’s what cowdogs do. That’s why we’re a little bit special.

  I stood up. Our eyes met. She knew. I knew. She patted me on the head. I gave her a lick on the ear. She didn’t want that but she got it anyway.

  I mean, sometimes a guy can hold back his emotions and sometimes he can’t, and when he’s fixing to go into battle, why bother to hold it back?