“So am I.”

  Loper opened the back door and started pitching luggage inside. Sally May called Little Alfred away from his chicken roping, and he came down the hill for the Final Ceremonies.

  Holding the baby in the curve of her left arm, she bent down and hugged the boy with her right. “Alfred, I want you to promise me that you’ll be a good boy while Mommy’s gone.”

  “I pwomise.”

  “And that you won’t do anything Mommy wouldn’t want you to do.”

  “I pwomise.”

  “Mommy will miss you and . . .” So forth.

  I’ve reported only part of the conversation between Sally May and Alfred. It went on for quite a spell and I quit listening to it. You see, my attention had been drawn to a small detail that a lot of dogs would have overlooked.

  It suddenly dawned on me that after packing the luggage into the back seat, Loper had left the car door open. Everything in this old world has a reason. A car-door-left-open is part and partial of this old world, therefore it has a reason.

  It was my job to find the reason. In other words, why had Loper, a careful and precise kind of feller, left that door open? To air out the car? No. To load Baby Molly into the back with the luggage? No. To let Sally May ride in the . . . no.

  I submitted this mystery to the Funnel of Logic (another of the techniques we use in the Security Business) and it funneled down to one and only one simple explanation: For private and unknown reasons, Loper wanted ME to accompany them on their trip to Abilene, and possibly even to attend the wedding.

  Why? I had no idea. The Funnel of Logic does not address why-questions. It only deals with broad general truths and long-term trends.

  Well, a trip to Abilene wasn’t exactly part of my scheduling for the next couple of days. Could I squeeze it in? For anyone else, the answer would have been a big, lymphatic NO. I had much too much work lined up to be running all over the state of Texas.

  But for Loper and Sally May? You bet. Loyalty runs deep in my line of cowdogs. When duty calls, we are there, Johnny-on-the-Spot.

  It happened that Drover appeared at that very moment and said, “Hi Hank, I got bored.”

  “Never mind what you got, Drover. I have been called out on an assignment. Within minutes, I’ll be leaving on a secret mission.”

  “I’ll be derned. Where you going?”

  I glanced over both shoulders and dropped my voice to a whisper. “We’re not sure, Drover. The decoy destination is Abilene. The actual destination could be anywhere: London, Paris, Bangkok, Amarillo. A guy never knows.”

  “Sounds pretty exciting.”

  “Exactly. While I’m gone, you’ll be in charge.”

  “Oops.”

  “I know, but we must take life as it really is. Take care of things, son. Good-bye.”

  Before this emotional parting could get out of hand, I turned away, squared my shoulders, lifted my head to a stern angle, and marched to the transport vehicle, which was waiting for me.

  I hopped in, found myself a place on the seat amidst the suitcases and high chair, and settled down for a long . . .

  Perhaps I had misread the signals.

  The, uh, secret mission was suddenly cancelled, so to speak.

  After thinking it over, Loper must have decided that . . . well, just think about the risks of . . .

  I stayed at the ranch, and never mind the details.

  Chapter Three: Emerald Pond

  As they pulled away from the house, Slim and Little Alfred waved good-bye, and I found myself standing beside Drover again.

  “That was a pretty short trip.”

  I gave him a wilting glare. “My orders were cancelled at the last moment.”

  “There for a second, I thought Loper was going to cancel you.”

  “That was your interpretation of your impression. The actual truth, Drover, often lies hidden beneath the facts.”

  “He looked pretty mad to me.”

  “Drover, I feel you’re trying to make a mock­ery of my misfortune, almost as though you en­­joyed watching me get dragged from the car and pitched into the weeds.”

  “Well . . . it did look pretty funny, I guess.”

  “There we are, a confession! That will go into my report.”

  “Oh drat.”

  “And in the meantime, let me share something with you.”

  “Thanks, Hank.”

  “You’re welcome.” I began pacing up and down in front of him, as I often do when I find myself tugging at deep and difficult concepts. “Drover, in the process of running this outfit and dealing with dim-witted employees, I’ve found that most situations can be improved when the higher authorities, such as myself, employ two simple words.”

  “I’ll be derned.”

  “Just two words, Drover, simple words that have a magic effect.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess.” He rolled his eyes and set his lips into a peculiar shape. “Let’s see. Happy birthday?”

  “No.”

  “Merry Christmas?”

  “Wrong again. You’ll never guess it.”

  “Yes I will.”

  “That’s three words.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it wasn’t a guess.”

  “Oh.”

  “Thank you?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “No, that was my guess: thank you.”

  “Of course. No, that’s wrong too.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s okay, I didn’t expect you to guess it.”

  “No, that was another guess.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good, because this is not the time to be funny. Now, what was your last guess?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I told you not to worry about it.”

  “Yeah, but that was my guess: I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, of course. No, that’s wrong, and we’re just about out of time. I will now tell you the two magic words that are most often used by efficient managers, bosses, top executives, generals, admirals, and Heads of Ranch Security.”

  He sat down and wagged his stub tail in the dust. “Oh good, I can hardly wait. What are they?”

  I stopped pacing and whirled around, facing him with narrowed eyes and a worldly sneer. “The first is SHUT and the second is UP.”

  “Shut up?”

  “That’s correct. Keep those two words before your eyes and near to your heart, Drover. Repeat them, memorize them, and the next time you think you’ve seen me in an embarrassing situation, pull them out of the vast garbage heap of your mind. And in the meantime, shut up.”

  “Okay, Hank, I think I’ve got it.”

  Well, getting the runt straightened out had taken longer than I had expected, but some jobs can’t wait. Once the cat is out of the sandbox, you have to . . . I don’t know, change the sand, I suppose.

  Well, when Loper and Sally May drove out of sight, Slim yawned and checked the location of the sun. Then he looked down at Little Alfred and frowned.

  “Well, Button, it’s me and you against the world. Don’t forget all them things your ma told you not to do, and in case she missed anything, you can just figger that the answer is no.”

  “Okay, Swim.”

  “I didn’t hire onto this outfit as a baby-sitter, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Okay, Swim.”

  “I’m too old and gripey and set in my ways to be puttin’ up with a green colt like you.” His gaze drifted over to me and Drover. I gave him a big smile, and he, well, appeared to curl his lip at me. “You and your two souphounds. I’ve got fifty-three jobs that need doin’ and here I am, playin’ bedpan nurse to the Three Stooges.”

  “We’ll have fun, Swim.”

  “Huh. I have my doubts about that.”

  “Is it time to eat, Swim?”

  “Eat! Good honk, son, your ma’s dust has hardly settled and you’re already wantin’ to eat? How come you didn’t eat yesterday?”

  “I did but I’m hungwy again.”

  Slim growled and shook his head. “What do you want to eat?”

  “Oh, wet’s see. Ice cweam.”

  “No ice cream. Your ma gave me strict orders to give you nourishing feed, with plenty of vegetables. What kind of vegetables do you want with your Vienna sausage? How ’bout some canned peas?” Alfred shook his head. “Canned corn? That’s pretty good stuff, that corn.” Alfred shook his head. “All right, then stewed tomaters.”

  Alfred made a sour face. “I don’t wike stewed dummaters.”

  “Well, you’re too hard to please. I ain’t runnin’ a short-order house for fussy eaters. How ’bout some ketchup?”

  “Okay, Swim, I wike ketchup.”

  “Then that settles it.” Slim hitched up his pants. “I’ll fix us a bait of Vienna sausage, with a side order of ketchup. And crackers. We’ll break out some crackers. Now, that’s a real gen-u-wine cowboy dinner.”

  “And then we’ll have some ice cweam.”

  “No, and then we WON’T have some ice cream. I don’t want your ma tellin’ the neighbors that I corrupted her child with junk food.” Slim yawned and stretched. “Boy, this heat makes me as loggy as a fat pup. Button, we may be forced to shut down the ranch and take ourselves a little nap after a bit.”

  “Aw Swim! I don’t want to take a nap.”

  Slim bent over and looked the boy right in the eyes. “Yeah, but you WILL take a nap, ’cause I’m going to take a nap and I ain’t about to close my eyes while you’re running a-loose.”

  “Okay, Swim, I’ll take a nap.”

  “That’s more like it. I hate to be stern and cruel, but rules is rules, and law is law. Let’s go to the house.”

  Slim yawned again and started toward the back door. Little Alfred gave me a wink and a smile, and he whispered, “I’ll be out to pway, as soon as Swim falls asweep.”

  Hmmm, that was interesting. It appeared that the little snipe had some ideas of his own.

  Well, we dogs weren’t invited to lunch, which was okay. I mean, we had other things to do and if Slim thought he was too good to share his meal with two loyal, hardworking ranch dogs, that was just fine. I wasn’t too fond of Vienna sausage anyway, although if he had . . . but he didn’t.

  Well, it was definitely a hot, still summer day, and I was carrying around this heavy coat of hair, and all at once the timing seemed perfect for a nice roll in Emerald Pond.

  Emerald Pond, you might recall, was my own private bath and spa. It lay about halfway be­tween the house and the corrals, shaded by large elm trees and fed by mineral springs whose life-enhancing trickle could be traced to the overflow of the septic tank.

  Many a time I had dragged myself to the edge of Emerald Pond, wondering if I could summon the energy to wade out into those healing waters—and we’re talking about tired and ex­hausted, sometimes even injured, burdened down by all the responsibilities of running a ranch with very little help or cooperation from anyone else, solving one mystery after another, working day and night and yet somehow finding the time and energy to bark at the mail truck every morning at ten o’clock.

  Really messed up, in other words, but five minutes of rolling in those fragrant waters had never failed to snatch me back from the edge of the brink and restore my spirits.

  And it was into those very waters that I now plunged. I waded out brisket-deep and collapsed, rolled around, kicked my legs in the air, and indulged myself in the kind of joyous barking that comes to a cowdog at such moments.

  That done, I scampered out onto dry land, gave myself a good shake, rolled in the grass, and leaped to my feet—a new dog. In the meantime, Drover had ventured over to the pond’s edge and had tapped one paw into the water.

  I just couldn’t understand . . . I was on the point of giving the little mutt a lecture on Health Care and Beauty Aids when my ears picked up a sound in the distance.

  I froze and listened. “What was that?”

  “Well, I think it was the sewer.”

  “No, no, a sound, an unusual sound.” I lifted my ears and listened. There it was again. “Drover, unless I miss my guess, someone has just come out of the house and slammed the screen door.”

  “And that means they didn’t come out the window.”

  “Exactly. Now the only question remaining is, who could it be?”

  “Yeah, and that depends on who came out the door.”

  “Exactly. And we’re about to find out. Come on, Drover, to the yard gate, on the double!”

  And with that, we went streaking away from the banks of Emerald Pond and made a lightning dash to the house.

  Little did I know or suspect that within the hour, I would be forced to eat strawberry ice cream. And even littler did I suspect that I would be given a ride in a spaceship.

  You probably don’t believe that, but just wait and see.

  Chapter Four: Running Scientific Tests on Strawberry Ice Cream

  It was Little Alfred who had just come out of the house. He was standing on the sidewalk in his jeans and T-shirt and boots, and he was calling our names:

  “Here, Hankie! Here, Dwovoo!”

  You know, there’s something special about a little boy calling his dogs. And it’s especially special if you happen to be a dog, as I happen to be. It makes a guy feel . . .

  As I went trotting up to the yard gate, I was shocked to see that Little Alfred’s mouth was covered with BLOOD! Okay, some unspeakable villain had punched my little pal in the mouth and perhaps even knocked out several of his teeth, and anybody who’d punch a little kid around deserved just what he was fixing to get, and what he was fixing to get was the Head of . . .

  On the other hand, he wasn’t crying, which was a little puzzling. You’d think a boy who’d just been slugged in the mouth by a bully would have . . .

  I went streaking through the yard gate, vaguely aware that the yard was Forbidden Terri­tory but more than vaguely aware that Sally May had left the ranch. In other words, what she didn’t know she would never find out.

  But even more important, if she had known that I was rushing into Forbidden Territory to defend her little boy against the attack of some heartless bully, she would have been the first to put a thorn in my crown.

  I rushed to his side. I barked and wagged my tail, waiting for him to reveal the location of the brute. On the other hand, why was he laughing? And why did he pinch the end of my nose?

  Well, the least I could do, it seemed to me, was to clean up his face a little bit, and so I . . . ketchup?

  Okay, it appeared that we’d gotten ourselves all stirred up over . . . Drover had jumped to hasty . . . sometimes we get faulty readings on our instruments, don’t you know, and . . .

  The boy had been eating ketchup, see, and a fair percentage of it had ended up on his face, is all. No blood, no violence, no bully to take care of. I’d sort of suspected ketchup from the very beginning, but a guy can’t really follow his hunch until he runs a more detailed analysis.

  Don’t you see.

  Well, that was a nice turn of events and I went ahead and cleaned him up, knowing that his mother would have done the same thing if she’d been around. Ketchup is pretty good stuff, and this little task turned out to be more pleasant than I had expected.

  Yes, I just kept cleaning and cleaning until the boy pushed me away and said, “Quit wicking me on the mouff, Hankie!” At that point, I stopped wicking him on the mouff, so to speak, and returned all four paws to the ground.

  Sally May would have been proud. The boy’s face was spotless.

  It was then that he opened the screen door and called us over. And with a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Come on, doggies, wet’s go in the house!”

  I looked at Drover and he looked at me. “Did you hear what he said, Drover?”

  “Who?”

  “Whom do you think?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Little Alfred?”

  “Very good. Did you hear what he said?”

  “I think he said the house is wet.”

  “No. You garbled the translation. He said, ‘Wet’s go in the house.” In kid language, ‘wet’ means ‘let.’”

  “I’ll be derned. What would he say if the house got wet?”

  “He would say, ‘The house is moist.’”

  “I’ll be derned. Do you reckon a pipe broke?”

  “What?”

  “I said, how’d all that water get in the house?”

  I looked deeply into his eyes and wondered what kind of terrible injury had caused such a mess. “Drover, you’ve missed the whole point of this conversation. Little Alfred has invited us into the house.”

  “Not me. I think I’ll pass.”

  “Sally May is gone for the day and she’ll never suspect a thing.”

  “Yeah, but you know about me and water. Just give me the good old dry land, that’s the place for me.”

  I heaved a sigh and shook my head in despair. “Fine, Drover. You stay out here and snap at the flies. I’ll accept Alfred’s invitation and go inside. You’ll be sorry, of course, but you can’t help it that you’re a total moron.”

  I turned my thoughts away from the depressing task of carrying on a normal conversation with Drover. Little Alfred was holding open the screen door and pointing the way inside. I didn’t know to what I owed this honor, but it seemed only decent to accept it.

  I went through the door and sat down in the utility room. Little Alfred closed the screen, being careful not to let it slam. Oh yes, Slim must have been taking a nap and the boy didn’t want to disturb him.

  That impressed me. A lot of these kids would just go slam-banging through the house and never give a thought to anybody else. Alfred had his flies . . . flaws, that is, but you could tell that his momma had tried to teach him some manners.