The Case of the Double Bumblebee Sting (2 page)

Chapter Two: Tricked by Pete but Not for Long

W
e had gone only a few steps when Drover said, “What's the business?”

I glared at the runt. “We've got a rattlesnake to kill, you brick. What do you think we've been talking about?”

His eyes blanked out, and suddenly he began to limp. “Boy, I'd love to help, Hank, but all at once this old leg just went out on me. Oh, my leg!”

“Never mind the leg. Stay behind me and stand by for some serious combat.”

“The pain's terrible!”

To no one's surprise, I was the first to reach the Staging Area in front of the machine shed. Drover and his so-called limp had fallen behind and I had to wait for him to catch up.

“Hurry up, Drover. We haven't a minute to spare. This could turn out to be a very serious affair.”

“Yeah, I know, and that's the kind that really sets off this leg. I haven't felt pain like this in years.”

“Spare me the details.”

At last, he joined me at the Staging Area. I studied the Target Zone, an area dominated by medium-to-tall weeds and various hunks of pipe, angle iron, channel iron, and so forth. Collectively, we referred to this material as “welding scraps,” for the simple reason that Slim and Loper used it for their welding jobs.

If you want to know why their welding jobs always look junky, it's because they draw their raw material from a pile of junk. And also, they're not such great welders.

Where was I? Staging Area. Combat. Drover and I were fixing to go into deadly combat against an enormous rattlesnake that had been terrorizing the entire ranch and threatening to bite and eat all the little children.

Well, you know where I stand on the Children Issue. Early in my career, I took a Solemn Cowdog Oath to protect and defend innocent little children against all manner of monsters and crawling things, and the fact that this snake had been reported to be twelve feet long and as big around as an inner tube, capable of swallowing children whole and armed with huge fangs and poison that was so vehement that a single drop could kill a charging rinoserus . . . rhinoserous . . . a charging buffalo—all that didn't bother me in the least.

Okay, it bothered me some. A little bit. I've never been fond of snakes, especially rattle­snakes, and maybe I'm scared of 'em, but in this old life, what matters is not what you're scared of, but what you do about being scared.

And it was at that point that I began thinking, “Aw, what the heck, one little snake isn't going to hurt anything.” But that was a cowardly thought and I swept it out of my mind immediately. If Drover had known that I was even the least bit afraid, there's no telling what might have happened.

He might have had a blowout on all four legs at once and been crippled for life. We couldn't risk that. He was enough of a nuisance with one bad leg, and the thought of listening to him moan and groan about FOUR was more than I could bear.

So I summoned all my courage and faced the difficult task that awaited me.

“Drover, I'll go first in what we refer to as ‘the first wave.'”

“Yeah, and I'll stay here and wave good-bye.”

“No, you'll come in the second wave and watch the rear.”

“Yeah, and if you're not the lead dog, the view never changes.”

“Exactly. You'll guard the rear and the left flank. Do you know what to do if you hear a rattle­snake?”

“Oh, you bet.”

“What?”

“Run like a striped ape.”

“No, that's exactly wrong. You freeze, hold your position, and try to get a fix on his position. Is that clear?”

“This leg's killing me.”

“I understand that you're in pain, Drover, but just remember that disgrace is the worst pain of all.”

“But you never know until you try.”

I curled my lip at him. “Take my word for it, Drover, and don't even think about retreating from the field of battle until I give the signal. Is that clear?”

“I hope I can stand the pain!”

“You'll find a way, Drover, because at this very moment, even as we speak, your conscience is talking to you.”

“It is?”

“Yes, and what it's saying is that if you run off and leave me alone on the field of battle, I will make hamburger meat out of your worthless carcass. Now, let's move out.”

And with those touching words, I turned toward the west, took a deep breath of air, lifted my head to a stern angle, narrowed my eyes, and marched off to war.

“Oh boy, this leg is even worse than I thought!”

I tried to ignore the noise behind me and concentrate on every weed and shadow in the Combat Zone, behind any one of which might lurk the huge and deadly rattlesnake. I took one step, and then another.

And another. And another. And then five more. And then . . .

Suddenly there was a blur of motion in the corner of my periphery, a rapid blur of motion. I froze. Drover ran into me.

“Oops.”

“Stop that! Didn't you hear me say halt?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I didn't say halt, but even more important was the fact that I halted, and when I halt, you halt! And stop running into me when I'm tense and alert. Do you understand that?”

“I guess so. Did you see something?”

“Affirmative. I saw something, but it wasn't a snake.”

“Oh good! What was it?”

“A cottontail rabbit. He jumped into that fourinch pipe over there. In other words . . .”

Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. I shot a glance down to the yard gate. Sally May was there in her housecoat, scraping my morning scraps off a plate and giving them all to . . .

“Drover, we've been duped.”

“We have?”

“Yes, we have. We've been duped by the cat who sent us up here on a fool's errand.”

“You mean . . .”

“Exactly. He sent us up here to look for a snake that doesn't exist.”

“Oh, I'm so glad!”

“But you won't be so glad, Drover, that Pete is getting all the breakfast scraps, including the juicy fatty ends of bacon we're so fond of.”

“Oh darn. I'm not so glad about that.”

“Just as I predicted. Well, we have no choice but to go streaking back to the yard gate and give Kitty-Kitty the pounding he so richly deserves. Are you ready for that kind of combat?”

“Well, let me think here.” He rolled his eyes and studied the clouds. “I'm so glad the snake turned out to be a rabbit that I can't feel sad or mad.”

“Pete lied, Drover, that's why we're mad.”

“Yeah, but that was the best lie I ever heard.”

“All lies are bad, especially when they cost us our breakfast scraps. You should be outraged.”

He grinned at me. “Yeah, but I'm not. I'm the happiest dog in the whole world.”

“In that case, I have no choice but to pull rank, slap an injunction on you, and force you to shut up.” I slapped him on the bohunkus. “There's the injunction.”

“Thanks, Hank. I can stand the junk as long as there's not a snake in it.”

“The junk is in your brain, Drover.”

“No, it's right over there in the weeds.”

“An injunction has nothing to do with junk. It has to do with . . . you've got me so confused, I don't know what we're talking about.”

“Rabbits.”

“Yes, of course. Rabbits are an excellent source of entertainment for ranch dogs and they never bite. Any more questions about rabbits?”

“Yeah, just one. How come Pete got all the scraps?”

I blinked my eyes, cut them from side to side, and tried to shake the vapors out of my head. “Drover, have you ever felt that you might be going insane?”

“No, but I sure wonder about the rest of the world. It's a pretty crazy world.”

“Yes, and you account for 90 percent of it. Now hush, don't say one more word!”

“Okay.”

“That's better. Let's move out.”

And with that, we went streaking down to the yard gate to claim our true and rightful share of the scraps.

Chapter Three: Pete's a Cheat

T
he lightning dash down to the yard gate went a long way toward clearing my head. Talking with Drover had just about wrecked my mind. He has this incredible ability to take a normal conversation and turn it into mush and confusion.

I never met anyone just like him. Thank goodness. Two Drovers in the same world at the same time would . . . I don't know what it would do, but it would be crazy.

Trees would start growing upside down.

Birds would fly backward.

I'd be counting the number of pink elephants dancing on the head of a pin.

Drover is a weird little dog, and I don't know how he keeps drawing me into meaningless conversations.

Where was I? My brains were scrambled, is where I was. Oh yes, the lightning dash down to the yard gate. It saved me from the Black Hole of Drover's meaningless conversation.

When I reached the gate, Pete had his tail stuck straight up in the air. He was purring and chewing on a juicy fatty end of bacon. He turned his head ever so slightly and grinned at me.

The entire left side of my lips snurled into a carl, exposing huge fangs that were ready to . . . on the other hand, Sally May was standing on the other side of the fence. Her arms were crossed. She held a big wooden spoon in her right hand. Her eyes were pointed at me like . . . I don't know, two cannonballs.

Laser beams.

Rifle bullets.

I, uh, wagged my tail and gave her a friendly smile, as if to say, “Oh . . . well, good morning, Sally May. What a pleasant surprise, meeting you here with the, uh, cat. Your kitty.”

The sounds of Pete slurping over the juicy fatty ends of bacon reached my ears. They leaped up to Full Alert Position—my ears did, not the juicy fatty ends of bacon. My ears leaped upward and my eyes darted to the stupid, greedy cat.

A growl began to rumble in the deepest caverns of my throat, which sort of exposed my true thoughts on the subject of Kitty-Kitty. Up until that moment, I think I had fooled Sally May into believing that I had merely come to observe.

And, of course, to wish her a good morning. Which was true. I had, in fact, wanted to wish her the very best and most sincere good morning, because . . . well, she's a fine lady and she's often in charge of distributing scraps and . . . well, being kind and thoughtful in the morning is right and proper.

But then that growl came ripping out of my . . . hey, I didn't intend to growl. It just slipped out, honest, and gosh, I guess she took it all wrong, thought that I had come to beat up her snotty little . . .

A joke, that's all it was, just a harmless joke. I mean, Pete and I joked around all the time. That growl meant nothing, almost nothing at all.

Pete's smacking filled my ears and I could see him grinning up at me. He was doing it just to inflame me. I knew that, and because I understood his shabby little game, I . . . the growl grew even louder and I found my guidance systems locking onto Target Kitty.

He would pay for this!

Sally May spoke. “Don't you dare! Don't you even think what you're thinking.”

What . . . I . . . but . . . how had she known what I was thinking, read my most private thoughts? Oh yes, the growl. That had blown my cover.

Okay, so I stopped growling, wagged my tail, and turned my sweetest, most innocent face toward her. Here was your basic, carefree ranch dog, happy to be alive and just delighted to see his master's wife.

It took so
little
to bring meaning into my life, just a little love and affection, a smile, a kind word here and there, a few tiny morsels of breakfast bacon, and—I found my gaze pulled back to her greedy glutton of a stupid cat and . . .

Oh boy, there was that growl again. It seemed to have a mind of its own and I couldn't control it. There I was, doing Sincere Dog, and that growl just wrecked it.

“I'm sorry, Hank, but you weren't here when I put out the scraps.”

What! I'd been . . . Pete had . . .

“If you want scraps, you have to be here.”

Yeah, but . . . hey, her sniveling, scheming cat had . . .

“Pete was waiting here at the gate like a good kitty.”

Oh yeah, right! And he'd lied and cheated, and then he'd cheated and lied!

I turned back to the cat. “Wipe that grin off your face, Pete, or I'll wipe you all over this ranch!”

He grinned. “The bacon's delicious, Hankie.”

“I'm sure it is, but you lied about the snake.”

“No, he was there, Hankie, honest. I saw him with my own two eyes, and he even buzzed at me.”

“It was a rabbit, Pete, and you know it.”

“Whatever you want to think, Hankie, but the bacon is wonderful. I just hope I can hold it all.”

The growl returned again, even louder this time, and I was about to drop a bomb right in the middle of . . .

“Hank, stop that! Leave the cat alone.”

Leave the cat . . . but he . . . I . . .

“Now go on. Next time, if you want some scraps, come when I call.” She leaned forward and looked directly into my eyes. “And maybe, if you're a good dog, I'll give you some. Maybe. Now scat.”

Okay, fine. I could take a hint. I could scat. A few measly scraps meant nothing to me, and just to prove how mature I could be about such a trivial matter, I turned to leave and whispered to the cat, “You'll pay for this.”

You know what he did? He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes! I paused for a moment, hoping that Sally May had seen it and would understand at last that Pete had been the cause of the entire misunderstanding.

But no. Her gaze was still locked on me. Her eyes were always locked on ME. She never saw anything Mister Perfect Kitty did wrong, but there was plenty of it and . . . phooey.

I didn't care. At least I had won a moral victory and had proved once again that . . . something. I had proved something very important and I had won a moral victory, and I marched back up to the machine shed with my held head high.

Head held high.

Drover followed me. “It's too bad we missed the scraps.”

“Yes, Drover, but it's too badder that Pete had to cheat to get them. At least we're not cheaters.”

“Yeah, and we still have a rabbit to chase.”

I stopped and stared at him. “You know, you're right. We do have a rabbit to chase.”

“I was just fixing to say that.”

“And don't you see what this means, Drover? Chasing rabbits is much more wholesome and meaningful than sitting around and eating fatty bacon. Ha! Let Pete get fat eating bacon. We'll go chase rabbits and contribute something to this world.”

“Yeah, and I hope there's not a snake around.”

I couldn't help chuckling. “Don't worry, son. That snake business was just a filament of Pete's imagination, another of his sneaky tricks. I can assure you that if anything bites us this morning, it will be a rabbit, not a snake.”

“Oh good.”

“Come on. Let's loosen up and have some fun, forget about Pete and scraps and injustice, and just experience the savage joy of being a dog.”

“Yeah, it's wonderful.”

“It truly is. Now, study your lessons on how to flush a rabbit out of a piece of pipe.” I marched over to the joint of six-inch casing where I had last observed the alleged rabbit. “Pay close attention, Drover. The first thing we do is . . .”

“That's the wrong pipe.”

“What?”

“The rabbit went in that pipe over there. I think.”

“No, he went into this pipe here. I saw him. This is the correct pipe. We always begin with the correct pipe, otherwise . . . what? What would happen if we began with the wrong pipe?”

“Well . . .” He rolled his eyes around. “. . . let's see. There might be a rattlesnake inside it?”

“Ha, ha. No, Drover. That's close, but not quite right. If we chose the wrong pipe, it would be
empty,
in the sense that it would contain nothing.”

“I'll be derned. Did that pipe just buzz?”

“This one? No, not at all. You see, this pipe contains a cottontail rabbit, Drover. These little creatures have been known to squeak on a few rare occasions, but mostly they are silent. And no, rabbits do not buzz.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Rattlesnakes buzz. Rabbits do not.”

“That's what I was thinking.”

“And this pipe contains a rabbit. Therefore, by simple logic, we see that it did not buzz.”

“I thought I heard a buzz.”

“It's probably coming from inside your head, Drover. Empty space sometimes generates a buzz­ing sound.”

“I guess that's what it was.”

“Now, observe and take note. The first thing we do to flush out a rabbit is to stick our nose inside the pipe, like this.” I crouched down and stuck my nose into the pipe. “Then we . . .”

HISS, BUZZ, WHOOSH!!

Huh?

Something had . . . suddenly I felt a . . .

It was probably just a bumblebee.

They live in pipes, you know.

And they sting.