The Case of the Missing Birddog Page 7

  His head came out of the sand. His eyes were as big as pies and his teeth were chattering. “Is it safe?”

  “I can’t guarantee that it’s safe to do anything, son, but we need to get out of here, real fast, before that mother hog decides to come after us.”

  “Oh my gosh! What about my bad leg?”

  “Bring it. I have a feeling you’ll need it before we get out of this deal!”

  And with that, we went to Full Flames on all engines, and went roaring up the sand draw, crash­ing through sagebrush and plum thickets and bending huge trees in the wake of our jet engines. Boy, you should have seen us. No dogs in recent history had ever made such an amazing escape from danger.

  Oh, and you might be interested to know that Drover ran just as fastly as I did. There was no trace of a limp on his so-called bad leg. Are you shocked? Not me. See, sometimes I think that leg of his is just . . . oh well, we made our escape, that was the important thing.

  We must have run, oh, half a mile, before we dared to stop and catch our breath. “Nice work, son, but that was a little too close for comfort.”

  The little mutt rolled his eyes around. “Yeah, but don’t you think we should have run south instead of north? Now we’re farther away from Billy’s house than ever.”

  I ran my gaze around the immediate vicinity. Hmmm. He had a point. “Drover, every once in a while you come up with a good idea. I just wish you would speak up sooner.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Never mind. It won’t matter. We’ll find our way back in due time. The important thing is that we’ve escaped the wild hog.”

  “You don’t think she’ll follow our scent?”

  “Scent? Drover, it’s common knowledge that hogs can’t follow a scent. Do you know why? Hogs smell so bad, they can’t smell.”

  “Yeah, and they can’t count past five either.”

  “What? I wish you wouldn’t mutter.”

  Rrrrunt, rrrrunt!

  “What? There you go again. If you have something to say, step up to the plate and pick up the fork and speak your mind.”

  “Yeah, but . . . that wasn’t me.”

  “Of course it was you. Who else . . .”

  Rrrrrunt! Rrrrunt! Rrrrrunt!

  My eyes popped wide open. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, I heard it.”

  “And it wasn’t you? Are you sure? Hey listen, if it was you, just say so and forget what I said about muttering.”

  “It wasn’t me. And you know what I think?”

  “You think that maybe pigs have a better sense of smell than you thought, right? I’m beginning to have that same feeling, Drover, and furthermore . . .”

  Rrrrunt! Rrrrrunt! Rrrrrunt!

  The sound was coming from a spot down the sand draw, and it was getting closer. Gulp.

  “Drover, the pieces of the puzzle are falling to pieces. We need to move our camp and get the heck out of here, because you see, the sounds we are hearing might very well be coming from . . .”

  ZOOM! He was already gone, streaking north up the draw. I had to run hard to catch up with him.

  “Drover, I didn’t give the command to leave, and I notice that your leg is doing much better.”

  “Yeah, even a blind hog can cure a limp.”

  “What? Come back on that, son, it didn’t make much . . .”

  HUH?

  You won’t believe this. I could hardly believe it myself. It was a stroke of incredibly bad luck. See, at the very moment when it appeared that we had made our escape from the crazed mother hog, I looked up ahead and saw—oh no!

  It was the Coyote Brotherhood, Rip and Snort the cannibal brothers, sitting out in the middle of the sand draw. Pretty scary, huh? You bet it was. I mean, if a guy was alone in a big pasture, miles away from the nearest outpost of civilization, the last thing he’d want to see . . .

  We came to a screeching halt and managed to get things shut down. The brothers hadn’t seen or heard us, which was good. What wasn’t so good was that somewhere down the sand draw, a relentless, indestructible wild hog was following our scent. Within minutes, she would find us.

  Gulp. I turned to my assistant. “Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but our situation seems to be getting worse by the minute.”

  “Yeah, I was afraid of that. I want to go home!”

  “Great idea, Drover. Why don’t you do that? Head for the house and maybe that wild hog will help you find the way.”

  “Help, murder, Mayday! Oh my leg!”

  He was worthless. I tore my attention away from Mister Moan and Groan and peered through some bushes that stood between us and the coyote brothers. It was then that I noticed . . .

  “Holy smokes, Drover, do you see what I see?”

  “No! All at once everything’s dark. I think I fainted. Help!”

  I glanced back at him and saw that he was lying on the ground with his paws over his eyes. “Get up, Drover, and pay attention. Do you see who’s with the coyotes? It’s Plato, and unless I’m badly mistaken, he’s teaching them how to hunt quail.”

  Rrrrunt! Rrrunt!

  My ears flew up. Mother Hog was getting closer.

  “Drover, if you had a choice between being torn to shreds by a herd of wild hogs or being eaten by cannibals, which would you choose?”

  “Is there a third choice?”

  “I’m afraid not. No, it appears . . . wait a minute, hold everything. Why shouldn’t there be a third choice? Why should we be limited to two choices, both equally bad? Recent studies show that there are a hundred and forty-seven choices in this world, so yes, Drover, let’s choose Number Three!”

  There was a moment of silence. “Okay, but what is it?”

  “Well, I was hoping you might have something in mind. Something. Anything. Hurry, Drover, I hate to rush you, but those hogs . . .” I could see them now, coming up the draw with their snouts to the ground. “Okay, Drover, we’re about to take some drastic action. I don’t know what it’ll be, but stick with me and follow my lead.”

  I took a big gulp of air, rose to an upright position, smeared a calm smile across my mouth, and marched right into the middle of the Coyote Brother­hood. Rip and Snort were sitting near a wild plum bush, staring with expressionless yellow eyes at Plato, who was demonstrating the proper techniques for hunting quail.

  “Okay, fellas,” said Plato, “the next thing on the list is the Sniffing Position. Very important, very important. I can’t emphasize that enough. Technique is everything. Here, watch this.” He went into this hunting stance. “You see? Throw that tail out, stiff and straight. Stretch out the body like this, and then drop the nose to a point just inches above the ground. Try it, fellas.”

  The brothers grumbled and exchanged whispers, but then pushed themselves up and went into their Sniffing Positions. Plato watched them, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

  “Okay, fellas, that’s not bad for a first try, but we’ve got some room for improvement.” He walked over to Snort. “Bend those front legs . . . what was your name again?”

  “Name Snort.”

  “Great. You’ve got to bend those front legs, Snork. Crouch. Get into position. That’s better, and stiffen that tail. It needs to be as straight as a stick.”

  “Snort not have stick tail like bird dog. Got fluffy tail.”

  “Right, I understand, Snork. We all have our own unique gifts, but the tail must be stiff. And get that nose down closer to the ground.”

  Plato pushed Snort’s nose down and drove it into the sand. Snort’s head shot up and his eyes were burning. “Bird dog not shove Snort nose into stupid sand!”

  Plato heaved a sigh. “Sorry, but listen, fellas, you wanted the quick course on birding and we’ve got a lot of material to cover in a very short time. I’m on a tight schedule her
e and I need to get back to the ranch.”

  Rip and Snort exchanged grins. “Ha, ha. Bird dog got plenty time. Not need to get in big hurry-up.”

  Plato’s smile began to wilt. “Now fellas . . . we talked about this and I made it perfectly clear that I had to . . . you’re laughing. Did I say something funny? Fellas?”

  The brothers stood up and turned menacing eyes on Plato. “Fellas not give a hoot for perfectly clear. Fellas not give a hoot for bird-finder stuff. Fellas thinking about . . . eat teacher, ho ho.”

  Plato’s eyes bugged out. “Now wait just a darn . . . that was not in the bargain we made. We agreed . . . I remember this very . . . you said . . .” He took a step backward. “Fellas, eating me was NOT part of our arrangement, and let me be very candid here. If I had known . . .”

  His words were drowned out by their laughter. “Ha, ha! Bird dog pretty dumb for make deal with Rip and Snort. Bird dog pretty dumb for leave house and boom-boom. And bird dog make snack for Rip and Snort, ho ho.”

  “Snack? Listen, fellas, I’m sure we can . . . this wasn’t . . . you can’t . . . HELP!” Plato was so scared he couldn’t say another word.

  It was time for me to make my move, even though I still wasn’t sure what it would be. I took a deep breath, put on my most confident air, and marched right into the middle of them.

  “Oh, Plato, there you are. Listen, bud, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a couple of coyotes named Rip and Snort, have you? Big guys, dashing and handsome, very intelligent? We’ve got to find them right away. I’ve got some terrific news for ’em.”

  Plato stared at me with huge disbelieving eyes. Then he made a grimace, jerked his gaze toward the brothers, and croaked, “There. Help!”

  I turned to the coyotes and beamed them a smile. “Oh, there you are! By George, I’ve been looking all over for you guys. Where have you been?”

  Snort gave me a suspicious scowl. “Been here. Been busy learning bird-find. Been hungry and fixing to eat dummy bird dog, oh boy.”

  “Eat the bird dog? That’s pretty crude, guys. I mean, the whole idea is to find quail.”

  “Quail-bird too little and hard to catch, always run and fly away. Bird dog easy to catch.”

  “Yeah, but he’s too skinny. What you guys need to find is a covey of . . . of Giant Snout-Nosed Quail.”

  There you are, and now you know the plan I had hatched to get us out of there. Would it work? Would Rip and Snort fall for my trick? I held my breath and waited.

  You’ll just have to do the same. Or else you could keep reading.

  Chapter Twelve: Unbelievable Ending! No Kidding

  I studied the coyotes to see if they would take the bait. Their faces showed . . . nothing. Zero. Not a hint of thought or emotion.

  I turned to Plato. “You did tell ’em about the Giant Snout-Nosed Quail, didn’t you?” I gave him a wink.

  “Help.”

  “I guess not.” I turned back to the brothers. “Plato forgot to tell you. Giant Snout-Nosed Quail are what you want. Don’t waste your time with these little bobwhites and blues. If you’re really hungry, go for the big ones.”

  Snort stepped up to me and stuck his sharp nose in my face. “Rip and Snort not see Big Snot-Nosed Quail-birds, only little chirp-chirps.”

  “Well, let me describe them. They’re big, Snort, huge. They have ears, long floppy ears, and their feathers look like bristles. And they have a long . . . uh . . . beak that looks very much like a snout. Honest. No kidding.”

  The brothers glared at me, then shook their heads. “Brothers not believe Hunk, ’cause Hunk always telling coyote brothers big stupid whoppers. Maybe Rip and Snort eat bird dog, then eat Hunk and little white dog too, ho ho.”

  “What? You don’t believe me? After all the years and the good times we’ve . . . okay, guys, you want me to tell you how to find these giant quail? I’ll tell you, but you must promise never to reveal this to anyone. Promise?”

  Snort clubbed me over the head with his paw. “Snort promise to break Hunk face. Hurry up.”

  “Okay, fine. Here’s the scoop. These giant quail make an unusual sound. They don’t whistle or chirp like your ordinary quail. They make a bigger, deeper sound, kind of like . . . let me see if I can make the sound. Runt, runt. That’s it. If you ever hear that, you’ll know that Giant Snout-Nosed Quail are close.”

  The coyotes stared at me with empty yellow eyes. “Runt runt? Ha. Rip and Snort not fall for Hunk stupid story about snot-nose runt-runt bird.”

  Just then . . . you won’t believe this, I mean the timing was perfect . . . just then, we heard a sound coming up the sand draw. Rrrrrunt! Rrrrrunt! Rip’s ears shot up. Snort’s ears shot up. They exchanged puzzled glances.

  I pushed on with this incredible fraud, hoping that somehow . . . “There! Did you hear that? Didn’t I tell you? There’s your proof, guys. Those huge juicy quail are coming up the draw this very minute. Oh, but there’s one other thing, Snort. They’re not only big, but they’re tough. They don’t fight like ordinary quail, so we’d better let Plato show you how to handle them. What do you say, Plato, are you ready to go?”

  “Help.”

  “He’s ready to go, so just stand back and let him . . .”

  Snort swept me aside with his paw and gave me a big toothy grin. “Rip and Snort not need help from skinny bird dog, and not scared of big runt-runt birds.”

  “I don’t know, guys, they’re pretty tough.”

  “Ha! Rip and Snort meaner and meanest, tear up whole world in fight, not scared of nothing.” They flexed their muscles and cut loose with chilling howls. Just then, Momma Hog rounded a bend in the draw. She saw them and they saw her. They all froze. Then Snort said, “Uh. That pretty big runt-runt bird, all right.”

  I rushed over to them. “Now Snort, if you think she’s too big . . . the important thing here is to remember your lessons. Technique. Throw out that tail, crouch down low, and put your nose—”

  You know what he did? He pushed my nose into the sand!

  “Hunk talk too much. Coyote not give a hoot for techneep, just beat ’em up and eat, ho ho.”

  Rip muttered his agreement, and the two of them started slouching down the draw toward Momma Hog and her brood. When the little piggies saw what was coming their way—two big scruffy evil-looking coyotes—they squealed and took cover in the nearest bush. That left Momma Hog to face the approach of the brothers.

  Rip and Snort had no idea what they were walking into, but I did, and it was time to prepare for Phase Two. I turned to Plato, who was staring off into space with glassy eyes. “Plato, get ready to run.”

  He was frozen by fear and croaked, “Help.”

  “When the fight starts, we’ve got to haul the mail out of here, understand?”

  “Help.”

  I lifted the flap of his right ear and stuck my nose into it and yelled, “Listen, birdbrain, we’ve come to save you!”

  His eyes came into focus. “What? Where am I? Hank? Is that you? Listen, I just met two of the biggest, meanest stray dogs—”

  “They’re coyotes, Plato, and they have every intention of eating you.”

  He frowned at me for a moment. “Coyotes? Oh my gosh! I knew there was something strange about those two. I’m scared to death of coyotes, did you know that?”

  “Can you run?”

  He gave that some thought. “You know, Hank, I don’t think so. I mean, the trauma of this is so great . . .”

  Off to the right, we heard the first sounds of battle: first, the piercing squeal of Momma Hog, then loud crashing and banging and growling, and then . . . the squealing of two very surprised cannibals.

  I looked Plato in the eyes. “We’ve got to get out of here, fast, and I’m not going to carry you. For some weird reason, Beulah wants to see you again.”

  He smiled. “Really? Bunny Cakes? You know, Hank, m
aybe the memory of her will propel me back to the ranch.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  “I really appreciate this, Hank, and I mean that from the bottom of my—”

  “Will you dry up? Drover, get up, we’re moving out. Go, go, go!”

  Can you believe it? Plato was still trying to make idle chatter! “Hank, I know that our relationship has—”

  I gave him a shove and got him started in the right direction. I hated to be rude, but this guy was about to get us all killed. With the sounds of the battle echoing in our ears, we set sail for civilization and didn’t slow down until we saw Billy’s wind­mill up ahead.

  There, we stopped and spent several minutes catching our breath. I noticed that Plato was watching me, and after a while he said, “Thanks a bunch, Hank. I wish there was something I could do to show my appreciation.”

  I stared at him for a long moment, this ridiculous buffoon with the skinny tail and the long floppy ears. “Maybe there is, Plato, old buddy, maybe there is.”

  “Hank, I know what you’re thinking. It was pretty dumb of me to go off in the pasture alone.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “I bungled the whole thing and could have gotten us killed.”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t know why I do such things, Hank, but I do. All I can say is . . . I’m a bird dog, and sometimes bird dogs do . . . silly things.”

  “So it seems.”

  He looked off in the distance. “You don’t understand that, do you? No, you’re a cowdog. You don’t know how it feels to be awkward and frightened, how it feels to make stupid mistakes all the time. Well, I do. It just seems to be my fate.”

  “How interesting.”

  “But you know, Hank, the one thing that keeps me going . . . the one light that shines in my darkest hours is . . . Beulah.” My eyes rolled up inside my head. He went on. “We’re fond of each other, you know. I can’t imagine what she sees in a blundering idiot like me, but . . . she sees something, Hank. Isn’t that a miracle?” He turned to me. “By golly, Hank, I think something’s wrong with your eyes. They seem to be rolled up in your head. Here, let me help you lie down.”