The Curse of the Incredible Priceless Corncob Page 6
“What?”
“Indeed. It wouldn’t be proper for me to be engaged in common labor, would it now? And furthermore, I must see to my investments.”
He stared at me and twisted his head around. “You sure are talking funny. Where’d you get that British accent?”
“It comes with wealth and high station. Furthermore, my line traces back to noble English blood.”
“All that from one corncob? Mine didn’t work that well on me.”
“Yours, Drov-ah, had less to work with.”
This conversation was curt shot . . . cut short, that is, when all of a sudden we heard a strange jingling sound approaching from the east.
The cowboys had finished their lunch and were coming down to the pens.
Chapter Ten: Early Retirement
Quick as a snake, I pounced on my Priceless Corncob. I mean, I’d never known Slim and Loper to steal anything, but when a guy moves into the higher echelons, he must assume that everyone is a potential thief.
When they came into the corrals, I was there by the fence with my life’s savings between my paws. Loper noticed, and he being the World’s Leading Expert on Everything, he had to make a smart remark about it.
“Look at that fool dog. He had that corncob this morning. Do you suppose he eats those things?”
Slim stopped and stared at me. “Beats me. I think he could use a brain transplant.”
They chuckled and walked down the alley to the back lot. We’re so lucky to have such gifted comedians on the ranch. They’re not real good at digging post holes or working cattle or working at anything, but they do have a gift for making smart-mouth remarks.
I glanced over at Drover. “What are you grinning about?”
“Who me? I don’t know. Just thought it was a good time to grin, I guess.”
“If I had just frittered away my fortune and lost my Priceless Corncob, I don’t think I’d be grinning.”
“I don’t think I would either.”
“Then why don’t you wipe that stupid grin off your face?”
“Oh. Okay.” He ran a paw over his mouth, and as though by magic, the stupid grin was replaced by a stupid frown.
Next thing I knew, a bunch of steers came pounding into the front lot. The cowboys had driven them up from the sick pen. I snatched up my Priceless Corncob and crawled through the fence. Slim backed the stock trailer up to the loading chute and he and Slim started driving the steers into the crowding pen.
They whistled and shouted, and then Slim hollered out, “Come on, Hank, give us a hand!”
Under ordinary circumstances, I’m in charge of loading cattle, which is a sub-division of my overall position as Head of Ranch Security. Over the years I’ve developed a number of techniques that have revolutionized the field of cattle loading.
But that’s under ordinary circumstances. On that particular day, at that particular moment, I was busy guarding my Priceless Corncob.
“Hank, come on!”
Drover was getting nervous and started hopping up and down. “Hank, they’re calling. Don’t you think we’d better go help.”
“You go help. I’m busy. Furthermore, I’ve gone into retirement.”
“Retirement!”
I gave him a disgusted look. “Yeah, retirement. Maybe you’ve forgotten, son, I’m rich. I can do anything I want to do, and you know what I want to do?”
“What?”
“Absolutely nothing. I don’t have to put up with this lousy job anymore. Maybe you have to do menial labor but I don’t. From now on, I’m living on Easy Street.”
“I don’t even know what ‘mean old labor’ is, so how can I do it?”
“Just go bite a steer, that’s all.”
“What if he kicks me?”
“Spit out your teeth and gum him.”
“Oh my gosh!” Drover hopped around in a circle, then went through the fence and crept up to the loading chute. He nipped at one of the steers, and when the brute kicked at him, he went screaming into the calf shed.
I just shook my head. I mean, I had trained the mutt. If I hadn’t already gone into retirement, I would have given him a terrible tongue-lashing.
“HANK, YOU SORRY RASCAL, GET OVER HERE!!”
Sorry rascal? To who or whom were they speaking? I looked around and, seeing no sorry rascals, stayed exactly where I was, with the Priceless Corncob between my paws.
Well, without me in charge of the loading procedure, things went to pot—which, I might add, was not exactly the biggest surprise of the year. Three steers hopped into the trailer, but then they turned around and went back out. Within minutes, the entire bunch was moving in the wrong direction.
Loper picked a hedge apple off the ground and fired it at me. At ME! Well, hey, I had planned to stick around and supervise the rest of the loading process, but I wasn’t going to sit there and put up with their childish tantrums.
I just by George picked up my Priceless Corncob and moved out. I was prepared to leave it at that, I mean, I had no particular objections to retiring on the ranch and giving them the benefit of my advice and presence, but they squalled nasty things at me and threw some more hedge apples.
Okay. Fine. If that’s the way they wanted it, I had other places to go. I pointed my nose to the north, trotted up the hill, past the yard gate, and went out to find the wide wonderful world.
And so it was that I turned my back on the ranch I had managed and loved for many years, never to return, a victim of sharp tongues and misunderstanding. When will people ever learn . . . oh well, what did I care?
“I’m rich, you bet I’m rich,
No more sleeping in the ditch, old pal, this dog is RICH!”
The song said it all. With my fortune, I didn’t need the dumb ranch anymore, or the people or the crushing responsibility or any of the rest of it. I was on my way to Easy Street.
I hadn’t gone more than, oh, a quarter mile when I got the feeling that I was being followed. I glanced around and, sure enough, there was Little Drover behind me, huffing and puffing to catch up.
I didn’t bother to slow down. Why should I? I had important things on my mind. Nevertheless, he caught up with me.
“Hi, Hank, where you going?”
“I han’t halk wuff iss horn hob ing eye owff.”
“Oh. Well, I was headed that way myself. I guess we might as well go together.”
“I han’t halk wuff iss horn hob ing eye owff, you unce!”
“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.”
I stopped and placed my Priceless Corncob on the ground. “I said, I can’t talk with this corncob in my mouth, you dunce.”
He stared at me and twisted his head. “What corncob? I thought you just took it out of your mouth.”
“I did just take it out.”
“Oh. Then why can’t you talk to me?”
“I am talking to you!”
“Oh. I thought you were, but then you said . . .”
“Never mind what I said! Where do you think you’re going?”
“Who me? I don’t know, just tagging along. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to a resort community where I can sit in the sun and enjoy my wealth.”
“What a coincidence! That’s where I’m going too.”
“Oh no you’re not. In the first place, I travel light and alone. In the second place, I don’t want to be responsible for a mental invalid.”
“So far, we agree on everything.”
“In the third place, I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I have my social position to think about now.”
“Okay, you think about that and I’ll think about the clouds, and then we’ll all have something to think about and that’ll make the trip seem shorter.”
I could only shake my head in wondermentatio
n. “You missed the whole point, Drover, but that’s nothing new.”
“No, but that doesn’t make it any less old.”
“I can’t take you with me, do you understand that? Someone might think we were friends.”
“Don’t worry about it, Hank. That’s what friends are for.”
“No! You can’t go, period!” His head began to sink and he got that pitiful look in his eyes. I guess I’m a sucker for pitiful looks. “Unless . . .” His head came up. “Unless you would consider going along as my valet.”
All at once he was jumping up and down. “Oh sure, Hank, that would be just fine! I don’t know much about dancing but I can sure learn.”
“All right. The main thing is, you have to follow orders and address me as ‘Your Lordship.’”
“Sure. I can do that, Hank.”
“Your Lordship.”
“Oh, you can just call me Drover, I don’t mind, just plain old Drover.”
“That’s what I said, you cretin.”
“Oh. I thought you called me Your Lordship.”
“No, that’s what you call ME.”
“I thought I called you Hank.”
“You did, you nincompoop, but you’re supposed to address me as Your Lordship.”
“My Lordship?”
“No, YOUR Lordship!”
“That’s what I said. I thought that’s what I said. What did I say?”
“When?”
“Right before you said what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“You called me a cretin. What’s a cretin?”
“Who cares what a cretin is?”
“Not me, I can tell you that.”
“Then quit asking stupid questions! You’re my valet and . . . by the way, what was that stuff you said about dancing?”
“Me? I didn’t say anything about dancing.”
“You did say something about dancing. Don’t deny it.”
“Okay, I won’t deny it.”
I waited. “Well? Why did you bring up dancing?”
“Who me? I didn’t . . . oh yeah, maybe I did, I sure did, but I don’t think I ought to tell you.”
“Tell me, and be quick about it.”
“Oh rats. Okay. Well Hank . . .”
“Your Lordship.”
“Just call me Drover.”
“GET TO THE POINT ABOUT DANCING!”
“Well . . . I want to be your valet but I don’t know much about dancing.”
I studied the runt for a long time, searching for signs of intelligent life. I didn’t find any. “All right, Drover, I give up. Tell me what being a valet has to do with dancing.”
“I don’t know. I’ve just heard about valet dancing . . .”
“Drover,” I moved closer and looked deeply into his eyes, “is this a pathetic attempt to be funny? Are you trying to make jokes or are you merely wasting my valuable time?”
“Which would you rather?”
Suddenly I felt exhausted, as though I had been walking for ten days through quicksand. “Never mind. Pick up my Priceless Corncob and let’s get out of here.”
He did, and we moved out, heading north toward the caprock. “Now, one last time, Drover, do you understand your job?”
“I han’t halk wuff wis horn hob ing eye outh.”
“No thanks, not until we reach our destination, but I appreciate your asking.”
“I han’t halk wuff wis horn hob ing eye outh, you unce.”
“Very good. At last we understand one another. Communication, Drover, that’s what this life is all about.”
It was a beautiful afternoon for a walk across the prairie. But little did we know what dangers lay ahead. If we had, then we would have known.
Chapter Eleven: Captured by Cannibals
You don’t expect to run into coyotes during the daylight hours. They, being lazy and shiftless brutes, usually sleep all day and venture out at night to find their bloody adventures.
Chances are, we wouldn’t have run into the coyotes at all that afternoon, for just as I suspected, they were lying around in holes and behind rocks, sheeping and being sliftless . . . sleeping and being shiftless, that is, we wouldn’t have run into them at all but for one small accident of coincidence.
In making our way up the caprock, we blundered right into the middle of the coyote village.
There are many places a ranch dog should avoid. Near the top of the list is the coyote village. Not only are these wild brutes unfriendly to civilized beings, they will EAT THEM if given the slightest opportunity. We gave them more than a slight opportunity.
I knew we were in trouble when I stepped on the face of a sleeping cannibal and caused him to squall in pain. All at once I found myself looking into the flaming yellow eyes of Snort. I noticed that he had a particularly nasty expression on his face.
“Well, blow me down!” I said, never dreaming that Snort would give a literal interpretation to what I intended as friendly conversation. But he did. He struck me a blow between the eyes and I went down.
There was a lesson in this. When in the company of savages, never say, “Blow me down.” Say something less inflammatory, such as, “Good afternoon” or “Fancy meeting you here.” Just thought I’d toss that in.
By the time the stars cleared from my head, Snort had sounded the alarm. The village sprang to life as though by magic. Coyotes came from all directions, pouring out of holes in the ground and leaping out from behind rocks, until suddenly, Little Drover and I were not only surrounded by Snort, which would have been serious enough, but also by his uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and business associates.
“Hey Snort, you didn’t need to wake up the whole village. We were just passing by and thought we’d stop in for . . .”
“Stupid dog to step on Snort face. Snort not like face stepping on to be.”
“Right. It was clumsy of me and I have no excuses at all and I’ll have to give you a complete apology and then we’ll be on our way.”
Snort shook his head.
“Oh, maybe we could stay for a while. Do we have time, Drover?”
I glanced at Drover. His eyes were crossed and he was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. This was his first exposure to cannibals at close range, and he was not holding up well.
I turned back to Snort. “Sure we’ve got a few minutes, what the heck, but then we really do have to . . .”
At that moment, an old, scruffy, moth-eaten coyote pushed his way through the crowd, and when he saw me, his eyes lit up. “Ah ha! Ranch dog come at berry good time.”
This was old Many-Rabbit-Gut-Eat-in-Full-Moon, chief of the village, also the father of the beautiful Coyote princess, Girl-Who-Drink-Blood, and her not-so-beautiful brother Scraunch the Terrible. Old Chief Gut and I had done business before, and he wasn’t a half-bad fellow—for a cannibal, you understand.
“Well, thank you, Chief Gut. I was afraid we’d interrupted your naps and we could sure come back another time if . . .”
“Oh no! Time good, yes?” He glanced around the crowd. The other coyotes nodded their heads and licked their chops, which I took to be not such a good sign. “Oh yes, time berry good. Billage not have plans for supper before you coming. Now billage have BIG plan for supper, oh boy!”
The crowd yipped and howled. “Well, as I was telling my good friend Snort, we just dropped in to say howdy and see how the kids are doing and . . .”
“Kids hungry.”
“Yes, I bet they are, growing and everything, but we . . .”
“Need big grub.”
“Boy, they do eat, don’t they, but anyway, as I was saying, Drover, start backing out of here, and whatever you do, don’t drop my Priceless Corncob.”
There is a certain predictability in Drover’s behavior. No d
oubt if I had told him to spit out the Priceless Corncob at once, he would have held it to the death. Since I told him to hang on to it, he let if fall from his lips, and then he fainted. The little dunce.
Quick as a flash, I snatched the treasure out of the dust. I would have preferred being subtle about it, don’t you see, but it didn’t work out that way. I had to grab it, and drat the luck, Old Man Gut noticed.
His eyes widened. “What that?”
“Oh, uthing, ust an ol horn hob.”
“What saying? Not understand.”
I said it again.
“Not talk with mouth full!”
“Oh.” I set the treasure down between my paws. “I said it’s nothing, just a smelly old corn-cob, nothing you’d be interested in. In other words, nothing. Really. Honest. I’m serious.”
Chief Gut extended his neck toward my treasure and sniffed the air. “Not believe it nothing. Must be something.”
I tried to cover it up with my paws. “Oh, not really, Chief. Say, where’s that pretty daughter of yours?”
“Out hunting. What you cover up with paws?”
“Paws? What paws? Oh, these? Heck, they’re the same old paws I had last time I was here.”
Just then, two things happened. Drover woke up, and a big, nasty-looking gray coyote warrior pushed his way through the crowd. He looked a lot like . . . Scraunch. In fact, he WAS Scraunch. Uh oh.
Drover sat up. “Where am I? Which way’s the machine shed? Oh, my leg hurts!”
Scraunch wasted no time with small talk. He lumbered over to Drover and showed him some fangs. All at once Drover’s eyes looked like plates with little black dots in the center.
“Little White Dog answer Scraunch question pretty quick.”
“Oh my gosh!”
“Drover,” I said, “don’t tell them anything. Just keep your little trap shut about the T-R-E-A-S-U-R-E.”
Scraunch growled and Drover began to shake. “Little White Dog talk!”
“Oh my gosh, all right, I’ll talk, what do you . . . ”