So I zeroed in on the alleged mirror and began creeping toward it on ultrasilent paws: tail straight out, ears up in Max G (shorthand for “Maximum Gathering Mode”), and nose-radar working at top capacity.

  Closer and closer I moved, hardly daring to breathe. The mysterious feeling that someone or something was present in the shed grew stronger with every step. Cold chills began rolling down my spine and the pulse in my ears was pounding like a drum.

  Was I scared? Not really. I’ll admit to feeling a certain sense of excitement. Tension. Aloneness. Foreboding. The awful silence of the place seemed to be closing in on me, and, all right, I might have been just a bit scared, but not much.

  I had drawn to within six feet of the mysterious looking glass when suddenly I found myself staring into HIS eyes.

  I, uh, didn’t bark a challenge right away, but rather went to Full Reverse on all engines. After running backward for a moment or two and stumbling over the stupid welding leads, I regained my composure and issued a stern bark.

  At that point I faced a heavy decision. Should I return to the point of my deepest penetration into the machine shed and confront the Phantom Dog in the Looking Glass? Or should I leave the machine shed and go on about my business, confident that I had fulfilled the minimum requirements of a routine check?

  Your ordinary run-of-the-ranch mutts would have shut ’er down right there, or maybe gone to the house to bark an alarm. Me? I wasn’t quite ready to go public with this case until I had confronted the villain.

  I mean, that guy in the mirror might have some crazy notions about taking over my ranch, and if that’s what he had in mind, I figgered we might as well cross that bridge before we came to it.

  And the sooner the quicker.

  I went back for a showdown.

  Chapter Five: Okay, Maybe Pete’s Story Wasn’t So Stupid

  As I approached the mirror, the Phantom Dog approached it too, but from the opposite direction. I stopped and barked and . . . maybe I retreated a few steps, but so did he. In other words, my barking had served notice on him that I wasn’t a dog to be trifled with.

  I studied his face and began the process of piecing together a profile. He had a big nose, much too long and crude to attract women in any large numbers. It might have made a good anvil, but it wasn’t likely to take him far in the romance department.

  The mouth told me a lot. It was drawn in the shape of a rainbow. At the ends of this rainbow were not two pots of gold but two hanging jowls. The mouth and the jowls combined to say that this dog took himself pretty seriously and didn’t spend much of his time smiling.

  There wasn’t a lot of humor in that mouth.

  His ears were no work of art, a little on the floppy side, seemed to me, but they were perked in such a way as to suggest that this guy was alert. In other words, I couldn’t count on catching him off his guard.

  Then I studied his eyes. They had a hard set about them that reinforced my observation of his mouth. His eyes contained a deadly combination of utter seriousness and arrogance. My guess was that this guy was vain, self-centered, self-preoccupied, and above all, a rather boring personality.

  Oh, and one other thing the eyes revealed. For all his pretensions, this dog was not very smart. I felt much better on turning up this clue, knowing that I would be dealing from a position of superior intelligence.

  At that point, after completing my profile, I decided that the time had come to open lines of communication with this arrogant fraud—and to order him off of my ranch.

  I pulled myself up to my full height and massiveness and stepped up to the mirror, looked him squarely in the eyes, and beamed him a no-nonsense glare. I noticed that he tried to give me back the same kind of glare, but his wasn’t very convincing.

  “Hey, you. Give me your name.”

  He didn’t answer, and at that point it occurred to me that he might not speak my language.

  Have I mentioned that I’m flatulent in many languages? It’s true, many languages. That’s one of the things a dog must master before he becomes a Head of Ranch Security. And since I had this talent in my bag of tricks, I decided to address him in Ancient Egyptian, just to see if he would respond.

  Here’s what I said, in perfect Ancient Egyptian: “Utt-whey izz-yeah oor-yeah aim-nay, ogg-day? Eek-spay!”

  (Translation: “Tell me your name and be quick about it, pooch, or you’re liable to be picking up teeth all afternoon.”)

  He didn’t answer—too scared, I would imagine—but I got the feeling that he understood this dialect, so I continued to use it. Here’s what I told the imposter:

  “Okay, the first thing you should know is that my name is Hank the Cowdog, Head of Ranch Security. This is my ranch and I’ve had you under surveillance from the moment you set foot on it. I’ve been watching you for days, and the only reason you’re still here is that I’ve been busy with other matters.

  “Point two: I’ve done a complete background check on you. I know, for example, that you call yourself The Phantom Dog, and you claim to live in this mirror. Don’t bother to deny it, pal, I’ve read your dossier from start to finish.”

  He must have known that I had the goods on him. He didn’t say a word, just stood there looking simple. And vain. By this time I had begun to feel more confident, and I bored into him with another piece of drill-bit evidence.

  “Point three: Our background check tells us that dogs from your part of the world eat a lot of chickens. You might be interested in knowing that I saw your tracks in front of the chicken house this morning.”

  Now get this. I hadn’t actually seen his tracks, but he didn’t know that. I tossed it out to see how he would respond.

  He responded just as I had predicted: his eyes wavered ever so slightly, and he ran his tongue over his chops. Both reactions are 100% accurate indicators of a dog who would like a nice chicken dinner.

  I pressed on with my interrogation.

  “So as you can see, Mister Phantom Dog, I have exposed your plot to raid the chicken house. The way I’ve got it figgered, taking over the chicken house was going to be the first step in your drive to take over the whole ranch. Am I right or wrong?”

  He didn’t answer. I mean, that dog was so shook up, he couldn’t say a word.

  “That’s fine, you don’t have to answer. I’ll supply the answers and you can follow orders. I’m giving you two choices for your next move. You can either pack up and leave this ranch immediately, or you can stick around a while and risk the consequences. Which will it be?”

  He just sat there, looking vain and arrogant and about half-stupid. Then, all of a sudden and you won’t believe this, he STUCK HIS TONGUE OUT AT ME.

  Hey, I might have considered working out some kind of peaceful solution that would have allowed him to leave with his dignity intacted, but that tongue-sticking-out deal kind of narrowed my options. I couldn’t let him get by with that.

  “Did you just stick your tongue out at me? You needn’t bother to answer, pal, because I saw you, and you’re now in deep trouble.”

  I pushed myself up on all fours and squared my enormous shoulders. And I’ll be derned, he did the same thing.

  “This could be your last chance to take it back. If you refuse, then I can’t be responsible for what happens next.”

  He didn’t take it back. Instead, he leered and sneered at me, which was further proof that he wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought he was.

  Okay, he’d been warned. I’d given him a chance to avoid a showdown. Now it was time to go to Sterner Measures. I paced back and forth in front of the mirror. So did he. I stopped and growled. So did he. I showed him teeth, and he did the same.

  This was turning into a waiting game, a war of nerves. Apparently he lacked the guts to make the first move, while I, on the other hand, didn’t want to make any rash decisions that I might regret later on.

  There’s a big difference between those two, believe me.

  This must have gone on for several minutes, until I got tired of waiting. At that point I began a barking maneuver that was calculated to test his resolve. I began diving and lunging in front of him, while barking at the same time.

  You’ve seen world champion cutting horses at work? Same deal, only cutting horses, even your very best ones, have never quite mastered the trick of barking at the opposition.

  I barked and I snapped and I snarled. I lunged and weaved and dodged and parried, and when I was sure that I had confused him with this flurry of motion, I hit the Go Button and launched my . . .

  B O N K !!

  When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying in a heap on the machine shed floor. Above me stood Drover, wearing his usual silly grin.

  “Hi Hank, what are you doing down there on the floor?”

  “I’ve just been mauled by the Phantom in the Mirror, you dope, and where were you when when I needed you?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. What’s the Famine of the Murr?”

  “He’s one of the biggest and most dangerous dogs I’ve ever encountered, Drover, and he tried to sneak onto the ranch through that mirror. I caught him in the act and gave him a terrible thrashing.”

  “I’ll be derned. If you gave him a terrible thrashing, what did he give you?”

  I glared up at the runt. “I had him whipped, Drover, but he landed a lucky punch.”

  “Must have been a pretty good lucky punch.”

  “I just hope that he hasn’t taken over the ranch.”

  “Well, I just came from the gas tanks and I didn’t see him down there. What does he look like?”

  “Big, huge, arrogant, cocky. Covered with blood and scars and bruises, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was missing one of his ears.”

  “No, I didn’t see him.”

  “I must have scared him off, Drover, which is the best news of the day. While you slept, this ranch had a narrow escape with disaster.”

  “Boy, I sure hate that I missed it. I wonder where he went.”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position. My head and neck were very sore from the fight, and so was the tip-end of my nose.

  “I don’t know where he went. Peek into that mirror and tell me what you see.”

  “Peek into . . . you know, Hank, I’d be glad to do that, but this old leg of mine sure has been . . .”

  “Peek into the mirror! That’s an order.”

  “Oh rats.”

  He went creeping up to the mirror and very slowly poked his head around the side of it. At first he gasped and jumped back, but then he looked again.

  “Oh my gosh!”

  “What is it, Drover? Give me a complete de­scription. Is it the Phantom of the Mirror?”

  “Well, I saw a dog, but I don’t think it’s the one you saw.”

  “Oh? There must be two of them in there, perhaps even more. That could be bad for us, son. Give me a complete description.”

  He moved himself in front of the mirror, cocked his head to the side, and smiled.

  “Drover, what are you grinning about? Tell me what you see, and hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  “Oh my gosh, Hank, it’s a handsome prince!”

  Chapter Six: Something Lurking in the Weeds

  “A handsome prince? How do you know that?”

  “Well, I can just tell by looking. He’s hand­some and brave and kind, and he looks like a prince. Hello there, Mister Handsome Prince. My name’s Drover, and when I grow up, I want to look just like you.”

  In spite of my wounds and injuries, I pushed myself up on all-fours and hobbled over to the mirror. “Out of the way, Drover, I’ll handle it from here. I happen to speak their language, whereas you can hardly speak your own.”

  “Well, he seemed to understand what I was saying.”

  “He was just being polite, Drover, and we can’t risk blowing this historic opportunity. Now move aside before I have to go to more drastic measures.”

  “Well, okay.”

  I pushed him aside and stepped in front of the mirror. I was about to address this Handsome Prince fellow, when . . .

  HUH?

  “Drover, you moron, that’s no handsome prince. That’s the same guy who just beat me up!”

  “I thought you . . .”

  “Never mind what you thought. If he gets out of that mirror, we’re in deep trouble.”

  “Oh my gosh, let’s run to the machine shed!”

  “We’re already in the machine shed!”

  “Oh, my leg!”

  While Drover squeaked and limped around in circles, I decided that my best shot would be to speak to the Killer Phantom Dog and try to run a bluff on him.

  “Okay, Phantom Dog, just stay where you are and don’t try any funny stuff. This place is surrounded. I’ve got fifteen huge Doberman pinschers waiting in reserve, right outside the door. One word from me and they’ll be in here, ready to attack.”

  He didn’t say a word, just stared at me.

  “I’m willing to withdraw my troops if you’ll swear on your Word of Honor that you won’t set foot on my ranch. That’s the best offer I can make. What do you say to that?”

  He looked pretty scared, I had a feeling that he was ready to make a deal, and it came as no big surprise when he nodded his head and began backing away.

  It happened that I began backing away at just about the same time. He backed and I backed. “That’s right, mister, just keep moving and we won’t have any bloodshed. Come on, Drover, let’s get out of here!”

  I wheeled around and dived out into the sunshine.

  We went streaking away from the machine shed and took refuge behind the chicken house. In the process of making good our escape . . . retreat . . .

  In the process of executing our Reverse Attack Procedure, we bulldozed several chickens who were foolish enough to stand in our way. They were pecking gravel and seeds and other garbage that chickens eat, and you should have seen them scatter when we went zooming across the gravel drive!

  “BAWK, BAWK, BAWK!”

  I loved it. Nothing in this line of work brings quite as much satisfaction as scattering chickens, unless it’s treeing cats. That’s fun too.

  On the west side of the chicken house, we collapsed and caught our breath. Only then did we dare to celebrate our victory over the Phantom Dog in the Mirror and his comrade, whom we knew only as “The Handsome Prince.”

  “That was a close call, Drover. One false move and those guys might have taken over this ranch. I figger they had a whole army in that mirror, just waiting to attack.”

  “No fooling? How did they get a whole army into a mirror?”

  I couldn’t help chuckling at his nativity. “Son, maybe you don’t understand about mirrors. A mirror appears to be a flat surface, but it’s actually a black hole that leads to another dimension of reality.”

  “I’ll be derned. I knew something was funny, ’cause I felt more like I did then than I do right now.”

  “What?”

  “I said, I feel more like I do right now than I did a while ago.”

  “Hmmm, yes. Obviously you fell under the influence of the mirror’s powerful gravitational field, so it was natural that you noticed something odd.”

  “Yeah, that was quite a field of gravel. Kind of hurt my feet.”

  “Yes, it was a feat to remember. What’s even more impressive is that we sent their entire army fleeing into the bottomless depths of the mirror.”

  “We sure taught ’em a lesson.”

  “Exactly. They won’t forget us, Drover, We made them look pretty silly.”

  He rolled his eyes around. “Gosh, I hope they don’t come back and try to even the score.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Drover.” In the silence, I found myself, uh, rolling my eyes around. “Yes, I hope we weren’t too hard on them, Drover, do you ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you have that feeling at this particular moment?”

  “Well . . .”

  “If you don’t, just say no, that will be fine. In fact, I’d rather you said no.”

  “Well . . .”

  I rose to my feet and backed myself against the side of the chicken house, just in case they tried to take me from behind.

  “Something fishy’s going on here, Drover. I don’t want to alarm you, but I KNOW we’re being watched by someone or some thing.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to alarm me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then quit talking like that!”

  “I’m merely stating . . .”

  All at once Drover’s eyes bugged out. “Hank, oh my gosh, THERE’S SOMETHING IN THOSE WEEDS OVER THERE!”

  I, uh, tried to run through the side of the chicken house, in hopes of building a new door, but the chicken house proved to be a little stouter than I had supposed.

  I bounced off, hit the ground, leaped to my feet, and turned to face the attack of . . .

  “Drover, unless I’m badly mistaken, someone or something is lurking in those weeds.”

  “Oh my gosh, I knew it, help, it’s the Famine Dog and, oh my leg!”

  “Quiet, Drover. Stop spinning in circles and listen to me.”

  He stopped spinning but continued to shiver.

  “Chances are it’s only a weed blowing in the wind, I’m almost sure it is. In fact, I’m so sure about it that I’m willing to let you check it out.”

  “Me!”

  I placed my paw on his shoulder. “That’s right, Drover. But always remember: I would never send you on a mission that I wouldn’t take myself.”