The Curse of the Incredible Priceless Corncob Page 7

  “Drover! Don’t say a word about the Priceless Corncob!” Every eye turned to me. You might say that I had let the cat out of the sandbox. I turned to Old Man Gut and tried to smile. “You probably thought I said ‘Priceless Corncob,’ but that’s not what I said at all. At the very least, that’s not what I meant to say . . . don’t you see.”

  My explanation wasn’t selling. I could see it in their eyes. A nasty little smile twitched across Scraunch’s mouth and he went nose-to-nose with Little Mister Saucer Eyes.

  “What means, Priceless Corncob? Better you talking fast.”

  “Talking fast . . . oh my gosh, Hank, I think I’m fixing to . . . it’s a Priceless Corncob, it’s worth a fortune, Hank’s the richest dog in the world!”

  Scraunch smiled and walked over to me. “What means ‘fortune’?”

  “Fortune? Oh, it doesn’t mean, you can’t be­lieve anything Drover . . .” He raised his lips and showed me those long, sharp teeth. Pretty impressive at close range. “What I mean is, I’m one of the richest dogs in the entire world. I mean, I have wealth, power, influence, you name it. And I guess you know what that means.”

  Scraunch and Chief Gut shook their heads. “Well, it would be very dangerous for you to mess around with anyone who owned a Priceless Corncob. Don’t you see.”

  Now their heads nodded and I noticed a certain gleam in their yellow eyes. Then Scraunch tapped himself on the chest. “Scraunch own Priceless Corncob now.”

  “Ah ha, to wait one small minute!” said Chief Gut, tapping himself on the chest.

  “Priceless Fortunate Cob belong to Chief, not to son of Chief.”

  Then Snort stepped forward. “Uh! Snort think Snort deserve Cornless Fortunate Cob because Snort catch dog in village!”

  Then another big ugly coyote stepped forward. “Too much being greedy. Cobless Corn Fortune belong whole village, divide up for every coyote rich and famous to become!”

  Well, that did it. You ever see a bunch of cannibals fighting over money? Within seconds, them coyotes had started one of the biggest riots in Ochiltree County history, and we’re talking about men, women, and children, fellers, the whole by George village. The air was so full of dust and coyote hair that you could hardly see . . .

  You could hardly see anything, so why was I just standing there? “Drover, this is it, son, run for your life!”

  I grabbed up the Priceless Corncob and dived off a ledge. While I was in mid-air, I turned to see if Drover was behind me. He was, but not in the way I had expected. He was so scared, he ran around in a circle and . . . I couldn’t believe it. The little runt FAINTED!

  I hit the ground, lost my footing, and rolled all the way to the bottom of the caprock. I got up and shook myself. Up above, I could hear the riot. I considered going back for Drover, but not for very long. It would have been a hopeless, suicidal gesture. The little mutt had had his chance and he’d muffed it.

  I hated to leave my assistant in the company of hungry, unfriendly cannibals, but at least I had saved the Priceless Corncob. I mean, it sounds tacky to put it that way, but when you’ve got wealth, you can always buy new friends.

  And so, with a heavy heart but not as heavy as it would have been if I had lost my fortune, I loped around the base of the caprock and headed north into Blind Canyon. If the coyotes came after me, they would assume I had gone south, back to headquarters. In choosing a northerly course, well, I guess you get the picture.

  It was getting late in the day when I reached the seep springs near the head of the canyon, and I figured it would be safe for me to stop and rest. I laid the Priceless Corncob down in the grass and walked to the edge of the pool.

  The water was clear and still, and I could see my reflection. Not a bad looking guy, in fact, just pretty by George handsome. There was something about the nose that spoke of wealth and power. Or was it the angle of the head? Or a certain sparkle in the eyes?

  Hard to say, but the bottom line was RICH and HANDSOME, and that ain’t a bad combination in this old world. I mean, give me a choice between “good and homely” and “rich and handsome” and I’ll take . . .

  HUH?

  All at once there were two faces in the water, and I was pretty sure that only one of them belonged to me. And . . .

  Uh oh. The second face looked very much like a . . . COYOTE!

  Chapter Twelve: A Wild but Short Romance. Also an Exciting Conclusion

  Well, you know me. When it comes to putting two and two together, I’m pretty rapid. If there was a coyote face reflecting in the water, then surely there was a coyote not far away.

  I whirled, wondering which it would be: Scraunch, Rip, Snort, Chief Gut. I fared my bangs, bared my fangs, that is, and prepared to go into deadly combat.

  Imagine my surprise when I saw . . . MERCY! Very seldom in my career had I seen a lovelier face, a prettier nose, or a more gorgeous pair of yellow-green eyes. My goodness. I was looking into the eyes of a coyote princess!

  “Missy? Missy Coyote? Could it be you?”

  She smiled and blinked her eyes and, holy smoke, my heart and legs just about went out on me. “What Hunk doing in deep canyon?”

  “Well-uh, all of a sudden I don’t remember what I was doing up here and all of a sudden I don’t care. I don’t know my own name or who I was before I saw your face because I was nobody before this moment.”

  She smiled “Hunk talk crazy.”

  “Oh, you talk about crazy! You ain’t seen anything yet. Watch this.” I leaped into the air, did a back flip, and landed on my feet. “What do you think of that? And watch this.” I walked on my back legs, then jumped into the air, landed on my front legs, and walked around on them for a while. “Ever see anything quite like that?”

  “Hunk act crazy as coyote.”

  “You better believe it, but you haven’t heard me sing yet. Wait until you hear me sing, Missy, it’ll knock your socks off.”

  “What means ‘socks’?”

  “It means . . . well, it means that with one single song, and I’m talking about one of my rapturous magnificent love songs, you’ll know once and for all that I’m just by George wild about you.”

  “That mean wild like coyote?”

  “Wild like wild plums and wild grass and wild hairs and a wild wind blowing through the wild canyon of my heart.”

  “That sound,” she widened her eyes, boy, that was cute, “that sound pretty wild!”

  “Sit down, Missy, grab hold of something. I feel that song working its way up to the surface.” She sat down, and I sang her my song.

  My Heart Goes Wild For You

  My heart grows wild for you,

  You’re the soft caress of morning dew.

  My heart just grows wild for you,

  The fragrant earth sustains it,

  The sky just can’t contain it,

  My heart grows wild for you.

  My heart glows wild for you,

  You’re the sun that gives it light and hue.

  My heart just glows wild for you.

  Love’s flame knows no season,

  It burns both rhyme and reason,

  My heart glows wild for you.

  My heart goes wild for you,

  Madness, rushing wind, what can I do?

  My heart just goes wild for you,

  I don’t have words to name it,

  I lack the will to tame it,

  My heart goes wild for you.

  Once I got into the song, Missy came in on some of the parts and we did a nice little duet. My goodness, she had a pretty voice, especially when you consider who her kinfolks were.

  Well, we nuzzled and talked and watched the sun slip below the caprock. I had pretty muchly forgotten everything else in the world. I mean, what else was there in the world? When a guy finds the Missy Coyote of his dreams, he stops dreaming and st
arts living.

  To tell you the truth, I’d even forgotten that I was rich and famous. Somehow that didn’t matter anymore. But most of all, I had forgotten Little Drover.

  It was just about sundown when we heard the rustle of wings and looked up to see a buzzard sitting in a small hackberry tree not far away. It was Junior the Buzzard, and Wallace, his old man, was gliding around in circles high above us.

  “Junior!” the old man yelled. “Are they dead, son? Is this the supper we’ve been waiting for?”

  Junior squinted his eyes at us. “Uh excuse m-me, b-b-but are y-yall d-d-dead?”

  I stood up, gave myself a shake, and walked over to the tree. “Sorry, Junior, but as you’ve already guessed, this particular supper has been cancelled. In other words, no, we ain’t dead.”

  “Oh d-d-darn.” He called up to the old man. “It’s m-my d-d-doggie f-friend and h-h-h-he ain’t d-d-dead.”

  “Then you git yourself back up here,” Wallace yelled back, “it’s almost dark, you’ve wasted enough our, it’s time we went to roost and we still don’t have no dinner, I never should have listened to a danged kid!”

  Junior looked at me and grinned. “H-h-he’s m-m-mad again.” Then the grin disappeared from his . . . well, from his face, of course. “D-d-did you know th-th-that the c-c-coyotes are f-f-fixing to uh uh eat your l-little white f-f-friend?”

  HUH? Holy smokes, I had completely forgotten about Little Drover! I mean, a woman like Missy Coyote can sure take your mind off your work, but still . . .

  “Are you sure they’re going to eat him?”

  Junior nodded “I f-f-flew over th-their v-v-village and th-th-they’re having a b-b-b-big d-d-dance r-right now.”

  Missy had been listening and wanted to know what we were talking about. I told her the whole story. Her face became very serious and she shook her head.

  “Sound berry bad for little friend.”

  “Yeah, that’s lousy luck, all right. In many ways he wasn’t such a bad little mutt. I just wish . . .”

  “Must help little dog. Must help friend.”

  “It’s no use, Missy. If I went back up there, they’d tear me to ribbons.”

  “Maybe Missy Coyote help. Go to village, talk to brother.”

  “It wouldn’t work, Missy. You know how they are. You should have seen the way they were fighting over my . . .”

  An idea popped into my head. I dashed over to the spring pool and looked down at my Priceless Corncob. There it lay: wealth, fame, comfort, influence, everything a dog dreams of acquiring in a lifetime. And over against that—a sawed-off, stub-tailed, pea-brained, short-haired, incompetent little mutt named Drover.

  How much was Drover worth on the open market? Very, very little. Unfortunately, he was my friend, and regardless of the dollars and cents of the thing, I couldn’t sit back and let the coyotes make supper out of him.

  Junior spread his wings and was about to fly off. I snatched up the Priceless Corncob and stopped him just before he lifted off the tree.

  “Hold up a minute, Junior, I’ve got a little pro­position to make you. You want to be a singer when you grow up, right?” He nodded. “And I’m a pretty impressive musician, right? And we’ve sung a couple of duets in our time, right?” He nodded. “Tell you what I’ll do. You perform a little service for me tonight and I’ll give you three singing lessons, absolutely free.”

  His face brightened. “Oh g-g-gosh, w-w-would you?”

  “Not only will I, but I will. And here’s all you have to do to win two free singing lessons.”

  “I th-th-thought y-you said th-th-three.”

  “Did I? How forgetful of me. Okay, three.” Now listen carefully.” I outlined my plan and gave him his instructions. “And remember, don’t do anything until I’ve climbed the caprock and you see me in position. You got all that?”

  “Wu-wu-wu-well . . .”

  “Just say yes, Junior. We don’t have a minute to spare.”

  “Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y . . . okay.”

  Junior flapped his big wings, almost crashed into the side of a hill, but pulled out of it just in time. Then I turned to Missy and looked into her eyes.

  “Well, Missy, it appears that you and I will have to wait for another time and another place. You stay here.”

  “But Hunk need . . .”

  “No, Missy. We’re different, you and I. I have my job and you have your family. We’ll meet again, and until we do, you’ll always be in my heart. It goes wild for you, remember?”

  She nodded and gave me a sad smile. “Missy remember. Good-bye, Hunk.”

  “So long, Missy.”

  Before I could change my mind, I turned and ran down the canyon, leaping rocks, dodging trees, and listening to the crazy beat of my heart. I tried to put her out of my mind, but that wasn’t easy.

  The sun was down by this time and the whole valley was slipping away in deep purple shadows. I stopped at the base of the caprock to catch my breath. Up above me, I could hear the coyote village in wild celebration. I searched the sky for Junior but didn’t see him.

  If he failed to do his part . . . never mind.

  I started up the caprock, darting from bush to bush and rock to rock. Within minutes, I had reached the ledge I had dived off of a few hours earlier. I peeked over the ledge and there they were, ten, twenty, maybe thirty wild savage coyotes dancing in the moonlight. And in the center of it all sat Little Drover.

  I glanced up at the sky and searched in vain for my buzzard friend. He wasn’t there. Our plan was doomed. But then . . . suddenly TWO buzzards appeared, streaking down toward the coyote village.

  “Junior, you come back here, I don’t care what you, we have to go to our roost, now you quit this acting foolish or I’ll . . .”

  Junior was in the lead, followed by his old man. Junior followed my flight plan and made a perfect run. Diving down out of the dark sky, he began to squawk and make your typical buzzard noises. The coyotes stopped their dancing and looked up.

  Perfect! Junior had their attention. At the bottom of his arc, he released the Priceless Corncob and dropped it right in the middle of the cannibals. He wagged his wings in a gesture of farewell and flew away.

  Every coyote head followed the path of the missile as it fell to the earth, and when it hit, three of the biggest and ugliest coyotes pounced on it, and fellers, the riot started all over again. Within seconds, the entire village was in an uproar.

  And what did Drover do? He sat there watching the riot! I leaped up on the ledge. “Drover, come on, son, run for your life!”

  He came padding over to me. “Oh, hi Hank, what are you doing?”

  I didn’t take time to answer. I pushed him over the ledge and jumped off behind him. We half-ran and half-rolled all the way to the bottom, jumped up, and went streaking straight south toward headquarters. We didn’t slow down until we reached the mailbox north of the house.

  We sat down and caught our breath. Then Drover said, “How come you were in such a big rush?”

  I glared at him. “I just sacrificed my Priceless Corncob to save your worthless skin, is what all the big rush was about.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes sir, I did. I guess you know those coyotes were fixing to eat you for supper.”

  “No fooling? I wondered what they were doing. They sure are rowdy, aren’t they? Awful noisy.”

  I told him about my brilliant plan that had saved him from the coyotes. “So, as you can see, Drover, I used their own natural greed against them. It cost me a fortune, but I beat them at their own shabby game.”

  “Well I’ll be derned. I guess we’re both broke now, and I’ve probably lost my valet job.”

  “So it seems, Drover, so it seems.” I looked up at the big harvest moon and sighed. The moon reminded me of Missy’s eyes. “We’re back to the same old job on the same old
ranch.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still the same old place.”

  “But maybe it’s all for the best. You saw what sudden wealth did to those coyotes. It brought out all their nastiness and greed. Who knows? If I had kept that fortune, maybe it would have brought out a couple of bad qualities in me.”

  Drover gave me a funny look. “Oh, surely not, Hank, not you.”

  We trotted down to headquarters. “I know it’s hard to believe, but you never can tell.”

  (There’s more on the next page. Pretty good stuff too.)

  Epiglottis

  We had just passed the east side of the machine shed when I heard a familiar noise: the scraping sound a fork makes when it is pulled across a dinner plate. I called a halt and we crouched down in the weeds and looked toward the sound.

  Sure ’nuff, there was Sally May leaning over the yard fence and scraping supper morsels into Pete’s dish. We waited in silence. Sally May said a few words to Kitty-Kitty and went back into the house.

  When the coast was clear, I pushed myself up, went into my stalking position, and crept down the hill. Speaking of greed and gluttony, Pete was so busy making a hog of himself that he never got the news until I whacked him across the backside and sent him flying into the fence. He hissed and yowled and sprinted for the nearest tree.

  Drover and I fell on the scraps and devoured them. Then Drover pointed to something on the ground. “Hank, look! It’s a . . . it’s a Priceless Corncob!

  I went over to it and sniffed it out. It was in­deed a corncob. “Yes, Drover, but we’ve already learned our lesson.”

  “Which lesson?”

  “The lesson of the corncob. It was a curse, Drover. It brought trouble and misery to everyone who touched it. No, we won’t even be tempted this time, will we?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Come on, we’ve got a night patrol to make.” I started down to the saddle shed but stopped when I realized Drover wasn’t behind me. I looked back. There, in the blue glow of the mercury vapor yard light, Drover was staring down at the corncob, a wild and crazy expression in his eyes.