Lost in the Dark Unchanted Forest (3 page)

Chapter Four: Another Triumph over the Cat

W
hen Sally May had gone, I turned back to the cat and noticed that he was smirking. I never did like a cat who smirked. I've never even cared for cats who didn't smirk.

I don't like cats.

“What are you smirking about?”

“Hi, Hankie. You got in trouble again, didn't you?”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn't, but you got throwed in the water. That's what really matters.”

Drover was right behind me. “Yeah, that's what really matters.”

“How was your swim, Pete? Tell us all about it. Did you enjoy the water or was it a
terrible experience?
We want to know because your unhappiness is the most important thing in the world to us.”

“Yeah,” said Drover, “and we want to hear all about it.”

Pete lifted a front paw and gave it a shake. And he continued to grin, which didn't set too well with me. He was trying to pretend that he had control of the situation, but I knew better.

“It was really very nice, Hankie.”

“Oh no it wasn't. You hated it.”

“Yeah,” said Drover, peeking around my back side, “you hated it and we know you hated it, and since you hated it so bad, we love it.”

Pete stood up and stretched. “No, I was surprised how much I enjoyed it.” He began slinking our way with his tail stuck straight up in the air. “Oh, I didn't care too much for the water itself, but there were other benefits.”

I could hear him purring now. My lips began to twitch as my autonomadic nervous system kicked in and struggled to take over my snarling responses.

“Oh yeah? What so-called other benefits? I don't believe you.”

“Well, Hankie, I shouldn't tell you because it would only make you mad.”

“Oh yeah?” said Drover.

“Quiet, Drover, I'll handle this.” I turned back to the cat. “Oh yeah? I don't think there were any benefits. I think you hated every second you spent in the water. I think your subterranean mind is seething with anger and thoughts of revenge. Isn't that right?”

He was coming closer, and still smirking. “Oh no, Hankie, those are the crude emotions you might find in dogs, but we cats aren't made that way.”

“I have two words to say to that, Pete:
HA, HA!
”

“Yeah,” said Drover, “and HA, HA again!”

“Well said, Drover. So there you are, Pete. Four ha-ha's in response to your outrageous lie. As you can see, no one here believes you.”

“But it's true, Hankie.”

By this time he was right in front of me, rubbing on my front legs and feather-dusting my nose with his tail, which I didn't like.

“Get that tail out of my face, cat.”

“Do you want me to tell you the two benefits I received from being thrown in the water?”

I thought seriously about amputating his tail, but decided to postpone it for a moment. “Yes, I'd like to hear that, Kitty, but be quick about it.”

“Oh, I will, Hankie. The first benefit was that Sally May came to my rescue.”

“Yes, of course she did. You have her completely bluffed out. She doesn't know what a sneaking little weasel you are.”

“Um hummm, and the second benefit is that I can do almost
anything
to you now, Hankie, and if you do anything back to me, you'll be in big trouble with Sally May.”

HUH?

My ears shot up. My lips curled. A growl began to rumble in my throat.

Pete flicked his tail across my nose. “Isn't this fun, Hankie? You'd probably like to jump right in the middle of me, wouldn't you? But you know what would happen if you did, don't you?”

“You're bluffing, cat, you can't . . . get that tail out of my face!”

“I'm impressed with your self-control, Hankie, but I know a little trick that will just drive you crazy.”

“No you don't. Get away and leave me alone! You can't . . .”

“Here, let's try it and see.”

He stuck his smirking mug right into my face. Then he hissed and slapped me on the tenderest part of my nose with his claws.

Well, you know me.
Do unto others but don't take trash off the cats.
He had hissed in my face and slapped me across the nose, and that threw his behavior up into the Trash Category.

And what did I do? I just by George buried him!

“REEEEEEER!!”

“Git 'im, Hankie, git 'im!”

I was well on my way to teaching Pete the error of his ways when all at once I heard the back door slam up at the house. Then the yard gate slammed. Then . . . heavy footsteps coming our way.

“All right, Hank, you've done it now! I warned you to leave my cat alone and now . . .”

That was Sally May. She sounded . . . I glanced at Pete who was suddenly limping around in circles and moaning and dragging one back leg behind him. But in spite of his so-called “injuries,” he managed to smirk back at me.

“I told you there were benefits, Hankie, but you didn't believe me.”

Sally May began shelling us from twenty yards out, and the rocks were falling very close to the mark. In fact, one hit me right in the back.

“Ooooof! She got me! Come on, Drover, it's time to sell out and head for the brush! There's a crazy woman . . . ooooof! . . . coming our way!”

And with that, we went streaking down to the creek where we vanished into the willows and tamaracks that saved our lives. I had only one regret about the . . . no, I had several regrets about the incident, but I'd rather not discuss any of them.

Let's just drop it.

Well, I had taken two direct hits from Sally May and I was in the process of trying to lick my wounds, so to speak, when all at once . . . 

My ears jumped to the Full Alert position. I had heard an odd noise. I turned to Drover. “Did you hear something?”

“What?”

“I said, did you hear something?”

“Oh. No, I didn't.” But just then he heard it—a kind of low moan or cry. “Oh yeah, there it is.”

We listened. “Holy smokes, Drover, do you suppose Sally May has followed us down into our hiding place? No, wait. She wouldn't have left her baby, and furthermore, she's probably too busy fawning over her stupid cat.”

“I thought only deers could fawn.”

“Exactly. So it couldn't be her.”

“And it wasn't me.”

“And it wasn't me.”

“And that doesn't leave anybody we know. Maybe it's a deer.”

“I doubt that, Drover. Deer don't make the kind of low, moaning sound I'm picking up. Come on, let's slip through the brush and establish a forward position. Stay behind me and don't get hurt.”

“You don't need to worry about that.”

I went into my Stealthy Crouch Mode and slithered through the brush. I peered out into a small clearing, and there, sitting beside the creek, was a small boy dressed in striped overalls.

It was Little Alfred, and he was crying his little heart out.

Let me pause here to point out that, even though Little Alfred had pulled my tail only hours before, even though he—at the age of four—had turned into an ornery little stinkpot who didn't deserve to have a loyal dog as a friend, in spite of all that, when I saw the boy sitting there alone and crying my wicked old heart just melted.

You talk about cowdog instincts? Well, most of our instincts are directed towards being tough and hardboiled, towards protecting the ranch and doing a job, but fellers, we also have an instinct that responds to a little boy with tears running down his face.

I had to go to him, I couldn't help it. No matter what he'd done, I forgave him because . . . 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I loved the kid. I know, I'd helped raise him and everything, but when you're big and tough and about half-mean, you don't . . . 

I liked him, that's all I'm saying. And I cared about him. And by George, if he needed a friend, I was just the dog for the job.

I raised up and started towards him. Drover stayed where he was. “Hank, you'd better keep away from him. He'll pull your tail again and make you yelp.”

“Then let him.”

“He's mean and naughty.”

“Maybe he is, Drover, but he's my boy.”

“I don't think anybody else wants him.”

“He's my boy, and Duty calls.”

I went down to the creek bank and sat down beside Little Alfred and started licking the tears off of his cheeks. He looked up, kind of surprised, and there for a second I didn't know what he would do.

Then he threw his arms around my neck and cried and told me all about his troubles.

Chapter Five: Running Away from Home

M
y mommy doesn't wuv me anymore,” Little Alfred told me as we sat on the creek bank. “She bwought home a new baby and she doesn't care about me. I don't wike her dumb old baby, and I don't wike her anymore either, because she was mean and spanked me.”

I listened and wagged my tail. He went on.

“I'm going to wun away fwom home, Hankie, far, far away. I'm never coming back and they'll never see me again. Then they'll wish they had Wittle Alfred back, but Wittle Alfred will be gone, gone, gone away.”

I stood up and cleared my throat and began pacing. “Well, I have several points to make, pardner, and since you wanted to know what I thought about all this, here goes.

“In the first place, your ma did in fact bring home a new baby, but that doesn't mean she's stopped caring about you. In the second place, I can testify that you've been something less than a perfect child today, and some of us might even say that you deserved a spanking.

“Don't get me wrong, son. I've had my tail pulled before and it ain't killed me yet, but you've got to understand that those of us with tails don't enjoy tail-twisting as much as other forms of entertainment.

“And as for that business with the cat, I kind of agree with you that your ma went overboard. You and I know that Pete needed a bath anyway, but your ma has strange ideas about cats. She's just built that way and she can't help it.

“In the third place . . .” I turned and was about to sum up my case when . . . 

HUH?

He was gone. Little Alfred had vanished!

Drover was still sitting in the brush, a few feet away. “Where did he go?”

“Who?”

“Little Alfred, you dunce! Who else was sitting here just a minute ago?”

“I don't know. All I saw was you and Little Alfred, and he left.”

“I realize that, Drover, which is why I asked you where he went.”

“Oh. Well, he just got up and walked away in the middle of your speech. I guess he got bored.”

“I doubt that. I was giving him good, sound, fatherly advice and . . . which way did he go?”

“Well, let's see.” He rolled his eyes. “Did he go across the creek or did he go back towards the house? Did he go up the creek or down the creek? I'll be derned, I can't remember.”

I lumbered over to where he was sitting and gave him a growl. “You'd better start remembering, son, because taking care of that boy is our primary mission of the day.”

“Oh gosh. Well, he . . . he went somewhere, I'm almost sure of that, because if he'd stayed where he was, he'd still be there.”

I increased the volume of my growl. “Reach into the huge vacuum of your mind, Drover, and pull out the answer, and be quick about it, because if anything happens to that kid . . .”

“Well, let me think here. He went . . . yes, he did, he went across the creek, Hank, I'm pretty sure he did.”

“What? And you just sat there and watched him go?”

“Well . . . sort of. I thought about barking but I've had this sore throat all day and . . .” 

“Sore throat! Is that all you can say for yourself?”

“My allergies have been acting up on me.” He sneezed. “Kind of hurts my throat to bark.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Drover, do you realize what lies on the other side of this creek?”

“Sand?”

“Yes, sand, but do you realize what lies beyond the sand on the south bank? The Dark Unchanted Forest on the Parnell Ranch! And if Little Alfred gets lost in there, we might never find him again!”

“Gosh.”

“Huge trees, Drover, draped with hanging vines. It's dark in there, and scary. On every side, thorny plants and stinging nettles, and no one knows what kind of creatures you might find in there: coyotes, coons, snakes, monsters, bobcats . . .”

“Bobcats! You know, Hank, this leg of mine . . .”

“That's where Little Alfred has gone, Drover, into the Dark Unchanted Forest, and I guess you know what that means.”

“Yeah, he was a nice kid in many ways.”

“It means that we must prepare ourselves for a very dangerous journey.”

“Back to the house, I'll bet.”

I stared at the runt. “No, not back to the house, into the woods. For you see, Drover, what we have here is The Case of the Lost Child in the Dark Unchanted Forest.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“And the task of finding Little Alfred has fallen upon our shoulders.”

Drover pushed himself up and began limping around. “Boy, speaking of shoulders, this old leg of mine is sure giving me fits.”

“Never mind your leg. We've got a mission to make, a very dangerous and important . . .”

“Oh my leg! Hank, I just don't think I can make it, maybe you'd better go on without me, I'll try to crawl back to the house and sound the alarm!”

“You'd actually do such a thing? You'd let me go into the Dark Unchanted Forest all alone?”

“Oh heck yes, I wouldn't worry about you, 'cause you're big and strong.”

“That's true.”

“And you're Head of Ranch Security.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And you're not afraid of anything.”

“Yes . . . well, that might be a slight overstatement. Actually, I wouldn't mind having you . . .”

He started backing away. “And I'll just slip on back to the ranch and sound the alarm, and you can find Little Alfred and that'll be the end of it.”

“Now hold on, Drover, let's talk this . . .”

“Bye, Hank, and good luck with the snakes and monsters!”

“Wait . . . Drover, come back here!”

Too late. The little mutt disappeared into the brush, and I didn't notice that his so-called bad leg slowed him down very much.

So there I was, all alone. All at once I noticed a restless wind moaning in the tops of the trees. It was a damp wind, out of the southeast, and overhead dark clouds were beginning to gather.

This was the stormy season, and unless I missed my guess, we were in for some bad weather. A shiver ran down my backbone. I wasn't looking forward to this job, and . . . 

Come to think of it,
my
leg was beginning to act up on me. I walked around on it and tested it out.

By George, it was pretty sore, didn't know what I'd done to make it hurt so bad, but all at once it started shooting terrible hot pains all through my . . . and it suddenly occurred to me that it would be foolish of me to go off on a dangerous . . . 

No question about it, fellers, I was pretty badly crippled up, and the worst thing a guy can do is to go off on an important mission with a bum leg; I mean, you run the risk of messing up the whole deal, and although I hated the idea of . . . 

Holy smokes, that limp was getting worse by the second. I mean, you talk about pain! And I knew in my deepest heart that if Little Alfred had been there he would have advised me to go on back to the ranch and take it easy and give that old leg a chance to heal up, because . . . 

I started back to the house. I was sure the boy would find his way home.

Somebody would find him.

Kids don't just disappear.

Surely . . . 

I heard Sally May's voice in the distance. “Alfred? Alfred? Where are you? Come home!”

I stopped in my tracks. I looked up at the dark sky. I looked back at the dark forest. I listened to the moan of the wind. I sure wanted to go home.

But dern it, I just couldn't do it! No sir, my little pal was lost out there and he needed me, and even though I didn't want the job of finding him, there was nobody else to do it.

I turned around, made a run for the creek, dived into the water, swam across, and came out on the other side. My old heart was banging like a bass drum and I could feel little needles of fear pricking the back of my neck, but I tried to put it all out of my mind.

I trotted up and down the creek bank, sniffing the sand and looking for Little Alfred's tracks. Even though Pete had done some damage to the leathery exterior portion of my nose, the interior mechanisms were still functioning at full capacity, and it shouldn't surprise anybody that I picked up the scent right away.

I mean, my nose is a pretty impressive piece of equipment. Not only is it the most striking feature of my face, but it's also . . . 

That was odd.
Two
sets of tracks! I bent down and gave the ground a thorough sniffing. One set of tracks had been made by Little Alfred, and it went off in the direction of the Dark Unchanted Forest. The other set of tracks led off in the same direction, almost as, though . . . 

HUH?

Those were bobcat tracks.
Sinister the Bobcat was on the prowl. Holy smokes, that pain in my leg . . . 

I lifted my head and tried to swallow. My mouth was dry all of a sudden. I didn't know whether bobcats ate little boys or not, but the tracks in the sand suggested that one of them had just followed Little Alfred into the woods, and unless I did something pretty fast . . . 

I didn't stop to think it through. I headed south in a dead run and went plunging into the Great Unknown, barking at the top of my lungs and trying to warn my little pal.

“Alfred, watch out, son! There's a bobcat on your trail!”