The Case of the Three Rings (3 page)

Chapter Four: Uncle Johnny's Bottle Calf

W
hen Viola left the house, it was as if…well, it was like being in a big concert hall when the program's over. Everyone leaves, they turn out the lights, and there you are, standing in a dark shell. She had a kind of radiance that just filled up a room.

When she had gone, Slim did something really strange. He opened up his instrument case, brought out his banjo, sat down in his favorite chair, and sang a song. He sang a song to US, his dogs, and what's even more shocking, it was nice…pretty…a love song, if you can believe that.

You probably want to hear it, but we have to get on with the story. Maybe, if things turn out right, we can listen to it later on. But I'll tell you this: it wasn't bad.

Slim put his banjo back in the case and stared at the floor for a long time. “Well, we got that settled, and I
will
be at her house at six o'clock, even if her daddy tries to shoot me.” Just then, the telephone rang. Slim's face fell into a scowl and he grumbled, “That's got to be Loper. What does he want?” He picked up the phone and held it away from his ear, so I was able to hear both sides of the conversation.

Loper said, “Did I get you out of bed?”

“Heck no, been up for hours. I was having some breakfast.”

“You cooked breakfast?”

“That's right. Last week, I boiled up a pot of turkey necks. I keep ‘em in the fridge and they make a dandy breakfast. You want me to save one for you?”

Loper barked a laugh. “No thanks. Listen, Uncle Johnny just called. He's got a little job and needs some help.”

“A little job?”

“He said it won't take long. He's got a calf out in the neighbor's pasture. Why don't you saddle a horse and go help him. I'll feed the cows for you.”

Slim rocked up and down on his toes. “Loper, Uncle Johnny's ‘little jobs' have a way of turning into big jobs. I've got someplace to go tonight and I need to be back here by four o'clock.”

“A New Years party?”

“Not exactly.”

“Where? Is Viola going?”

Slim's face turned red. “I ain't talking.”

Loper laughed. “Holy cow, you've got a date and you're going to a New Year's party! I can't believe this! What's the world coming to? Well, have fun with Uncle Johnny.”

Slim hung up the phone and glared at the floor. “I didn't need this, not today. The last time I helped that old goat, I didn't get home till after dark.” He shot a glance at me. “But this time I will.”

Half an hour later, the sun had climbed over the eastern horizon and Slim was ready to go, dressed for a winter day ahorseback: shotgun chaps, denim jacket over a wool vest, a wild rag around his neck, and his high-top riding boots with spurs attached. Oh, and he'd brought his wind-up alarm clock from the house and set it on the dash of the pickup.

Ordinarily, Slim wasn't a slave to the clock, but today he was watching the time. Good.

He hooked up the sixteen-foot stock trailer and saddled a young horse called Socks (he had three white feet). When he loaded Socks into the trailer, he was ready to go. I followed him to the pickup door.

Where was Drover? Sitting on the porch, watching. He'd said the cold ground hurt his feet and he didn't want to go. Oh brother.

When Slim reached for the door handle, he saw me standing at his feet. “Are you follering me?”

Well, sort of, yes. That's what loyal dogs do.

“You can't go. I've got work to do and you'd get in the way.”

Yes sir. I understood.

“Bye. I know you'll miss me.”

He climbed into the pickup and slammed the door, shifted into first gear and drove away.

Maybe you think it's pretty sad that a cowboy would go off on a big adventure and leave his faithful dog behind, but don't waste any time feeling sorry for me. See, I had tricks that Slim didn't know about. Hee hee.

He'd gotten all the way to the mailbox before he noticed that I was following him. He stopped and rolled down his window. “Hank, go home!”

Yes sir.

He turned right on the county road and picked up speed. After a bit, he glanced into his side mirror and saw me sprinting beside the trailer. He slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and started throwing rocks at me.

“Hammerhead, GO HOME!”

He chunked three rocks and missed every time. He jumped back inside the pickup and drove off again. Hee hee. I followed, and boy, did that make him mad! I knew it would, but, well, what's a dog supposed to do?

He stopped again and I could hear him sputtering inside the cab. He got out and glared at me for a long time. “Hank, you are the most disobedient, ill-trained, ungrateful whelp of a dog I ever saw. I told you to go home.”

Yes, I knew that but…well, I really wanted to go with him and I was pretty sure that, deep in his heart, he wanted me to go too.

He picked up a big rock and threw it with all his might. It missed me but did something to his back. He started walking like…I don't know, like a crab or something, and screamed, “Now look what you've done!”

Well, I was sorry he'd hurt his back, but maybe he should stop throwing rocks at his dog.

He rubbed his back, shook his head, kicked a weed, rolled his eyes up to the sky, opened the door, and pointed inside. “Get in here!”

Oh happy day! I dashed to the pickup and leaped inside, taking my usual place of honor beside the shotgun-side window.

You'd have to say that the atmosphere inside the cab was a little frosty for the first two miles. Slim's glare went back and forth, from the road to me, and I could hear him fuming under his breath. I knew he would find his voice eventually and that I would have to listen to him gripe and roar. Sure enough…

“One of these days, pooch, you're going to pull that trick and I ain't going to stop. You'll follow me five miles and get tired, and then you'll be lost, and I won't go looking for your sorry hide. You know what I'll do?”

Uh…no.

“I'll celebrate! Yes sir, I'll invite all the neighbors and cook a goat, and after we're done eating, I'll stand up on a chair and make a speech. I'll say, ‘I'm proud y'all could come and help me celebrate this happy occasion, ‘cause today I have got rid of a dog that wasn't worth eight eggs.'”

He snapped his head at me, then went back to his main job, keeping the pickup out of the ditches.

Well, he'd vented his spleen, all right, and it had sounded pretty stern, but I knew something about Slim that he didn't know about himself. An hour later, he would have forgotten the whole thing and he'd be glad to have me along.

I'm not saying that a dog should make a habit of being disobedient or that it's a good pattern to establish. It's not. All I'm saying is that sometimes our people don't know what's good for them, and a dog has to…well, take charge.

So off we went to Uncle Johnny's place. He lived up on the flat country, about fifteen or twenty miles northwest of our ranch. Most of the snow we'd gotten on Christmas day had melted off, leaving just a few drifts in the ditches.

Uncle Johnny and his wife Marybelle had a tidy place that consisted of a small white house, a steel round-top barn, and a set of working corrals. We turned off the highway and drove down a lane with barbed wire fences on both sides.

Uncle Johnny, you might recall, was Sally May's uncle, a small, feisty man who carried some age, maybe seventy years or more. When we got there, he was sitting in an old flatbed pickup, smoking a pipe and reading the Twitchell newspaper.

Slim got out of the pickup and gave me a glare. “If I let you out, can you act halfway civilized?”

Oh yes sir, no problem. I was honored to be there and sure didn't want to be a burden.

“Okay, get out and try not to act your IQ. If they've got any chickens, buddy, you'd better leave ‘em alone. Aunt Marybelle might not be as soft-hearted as I am.”

Yes sir. I hopped out and switched all circuits over to Perfect Dog.

Slim walked over to Johnny's pickup, his spurs jingling on the gravel. They exchanged greetings and talked about the weather and the price of feed. Then Slim said, “Johnny, before we get started, I want you to know that I have to be gone from here at three o'clock. I've got a meeting tonight and can't be late.”

Johnny folded up the paper and pitched it up on the dashboard. “Who has meetings on New Year's eve?”

“It don't matter. The point is, I have someplace to go.”

Johnny chuckled and gave Slim a sideways glance. “What's her name?”

“Yankee Doodle Dandy. Now, what's this job I'm supposed to help you with? Loper said something about a calf.”

Johnny nodded and pointed the stem of his pipe to the north. “Bull calf found a hole in the fence and went neighboring. I see you brought a horse.”

“That's what the boss said to do.”

“We won't need a horse. This calf's as gentle as a pup. We call him Winkie. I raised him on a bottle and he's kind of a pet. We can show him a feed sack and he'll follow us all the way home. Get in, we'll take my pickup.”

“What about Hank? I didn't invite him but he came anyway.”

Uncle Johnny looked down at me and smiled. “Bring him. We like dogs around here. He can ride up front with us.” And off we went to find Winkie.

Chapter Five: We Lock Winkie In The Barn

W
e had driven a mile to the north, when Johnny stopped the pickup and pointed to a herd of black cows in a pasture. “There he is, the brown one.”

Slim squinted his eyes and studied the cattle. “Hey Johnny, that's not a
calf
. He's bigger than the cows.”

“Yes, well, Winkie grew up. When you bottle-feed ‘em twice a day, you don't notice.”

“Uh huh. Well, you're right, Winkie grew up.” Slim leaned forward and took a closer look. “Hey Johnny, that thing looks like…a buffalo!”

“Oh yes, he's my pet buffalo. Loper didn't tell you?”

For a moment, Slim seemed lost in thought. “I'm sure it just slipped his mind. So we're fixing to gather a full-grown buffalo bull, is that right?”

“Well, he's only two years old and still has some growing to do.”

“But he weighs about fifteen hundred pounds and has a real big set of horns.”

Johnny swatted the air with his hand. “Oh, don't worry about them horns. He never uses ‘em for anything but scratching at flies.”

Slim stared off into the distance. “I just figured out how come Loper was so anxious to feed cows today.”

Uncle Johnny pointed to a wire gate. “Open that gate and leave it open. We'll be coming back this way.” He must have noticed that Slim's expression had soured. “Now Slim, don't fret. This won't take long, and it'll be easy as pie. You'll see.”

Slim opened the gate and we drove north to the herd of cows—and got a good look at Winkie. He might have been “a cute little bottle calf” at one time, but what we saw was a shaggy beast with a huge head, a hump in his back, a set of sharp horns, and a pair of deep black eyes that were looking us over when we came to a stop.

Uncle Johnny glowed with pride. “That's my Winkie. Watch this.” He got out of the pickup and held out two pellets of feed in the palm of his hand. Winkie lumbered over, sniffed his hand, and ate the feed. Johnny laughed. “What do you say now, Slim? Didn't I tell you?”

Slim said nothing, but I could see that he wasn't convinced. Neither was I.

Uncle Johnny told Slim to drive the pickup back to the house, while Johnny sat on the tail gate and held out cubes of feed. Sure enough, Winkie trotted along behind us, through the wire gate, down a mile of dirt road, and all the way back to Uncle Johnny's corral.

An hour after we'd arrived, Uncle Johnny's pet buffalo was standing in the corral, munching cubes of feed and swishing his short tail. Uncle Johnny was tickled. He rubbed his hands together and said, “Now, wasn't that easy?”

“Yes sir. In fact, it was so easy, it makes me wonder how come you needed me.”

“Well, I needed someone to open the gate and drive the pickup.” He frowned and pulled on his ear. “And sometimes Winkie don't like to stay penned up.”

Slim stared at him. “Oh really?”

At that very moment, we heard a crash behind us. We all turned toward the sound and saw that Winkie had just built a new gate in Johnny's corral—he'd jumped into the middle of a panel made of tube steel and had left an impression of his body in the two top rails. In other words, he'd pretty well destroyed a steel panel, and he'd done it without much effort.

And now he was trotting north down the road, going right back to the pasture where we'd found him. Johnny wagged his head. “I never dreamed he'd do that twice in a row.”

“He did it before?”

“Oh yeah, that's how he got with those cows.”

“I thought you said he ‘went through the fence'. You didn't mention that he wrecked it.”

Johnny shook his head. “He was always such a nice calf. I never dreamed…I guess he just don't like being in a pen.”

“I guess he don't. Now what?”

Uncle Johnny rubbed his chin and gave it some thought. “Well sir, my neighbor sure wants Winkie out of that pasture. I mean, the man is seriously upset. We may need to use that horse after all.”

“Johnny, this might sound like a dumb question, but if we get Winkie penned again, what's to keep him from going over the corral fence again?”

Johnny grinned and tapped himself on the temple. “I've already got that covered. This time, we'll put him in the barn and close the door.”

Slim grunted and checked the angle of the sun. “What time is it?”

Uncle Johnny squinted at his watch. “I don't have my glasses.”

Slim grabbed his wrist and looked at the watch. “It's one o'clock. At three, I'm gone. Let's get this done.”

And with that, we all loaded into Slim's pickup-trailer rig and drove north, following the elusive Winkie.

We arrived at the pasture where the cows were grazing, just in time to see Winkie jump over the neighbor's barbed wire fence, and we're talking about a flat-footed jump without any kind of a running start. One second, he was sniffing the five-wire fence and the next second, he was on the other side, trotting toward the cows. And he didn't even touch the top wire.

Uncle Johnny smiled. “It's kind of amazing, how he can do that.”

“Yes it is, and Johnny, it brings to mind a question.” Slim gave him a hard look. “What in the world are you doing, trying to keep an animal that can flatfoot a five-wire fence? There ain't a fence in the whole Panhandle that could turn Winkie, if he didn't want to be turned.”

Johnny heaved a sigh. “Well sir…I'm attached to him and can't bear the thought of giving him up.”

Slim shook his head and gazed out the window. “Well, what's your plan this time?”

Johnny gave that some heavy thought. “Unload your horse and ride around behind him. Maybe you can ease him away from the cows. I'll drive the pickup and honk the horn. With me in front and you behind, maybe we can steer him back home.”

“Should I take the dog?”

Johnny's eyes popped wide open. “Oh no, don't show him a dog. Winkie don't like dogs at all. I mean, he goes nuts around a dog.”

Yipes. Well, that was good to know, and it didn't even hurt my feelings, seeing as how I didn't have any use for a buffalo. Winkie and I would get along just fine, with me in the pickup and him outside.

Johnny opened the wire gate and we drove out into the pasture, where Winkie had rejoined the cows. Slim unloaded his horse, tightened the cinches, stepped up into the saddle, and rode north in a trot.

Once in the herd, he slowed to a walk and went to work. Uncle Johnny and I watched him. Slim was good at this and had a soft touch with livestock. He eased his horse through the herd, never got out of a long walk and didn't get the cattle stirred up. One by one, he eased the cows out of the herd and pushed them north, until Winkie was all by himself.

That's when Slim's horse took a closer look at the animal he was about to drive back to the barn. When he caught a whiff of Winkie's scent, he snorted and tried to quit the country. I mean, he was no dummy and he knew that shaggy thing wasn't a normal cow. Slim had to calm him down and do some persuading with his spurs.

Then he raised his right hand and made a circular motion. It meant, “Roll ‘em!” Johnny started the pickup, honked the horn, and we drove south, back to the barn, watching Slim and the buffalo in the side mirror. Winkie trotted along behind us, with Slim bringing up the rear, just in case Winkie got any funny ideas.

Johnny nodded and smiled. “Now, that's how it's done. Old Slim makes a hand.” His gaze landed on me. “I just wonder who he's got a date with tonight. I'd pay five dollars to know, but he'll never tell. I'll bet it's old Woodrow's daughter, you reckon?”

I gave him a blank stare and thumped my tail on the seat. Hey, if Slim wasn't talking, neither was I. We dogs know how to keep a secret—and believe me, we have plenty of them. If dogs wrote the history books…well, never mind, but it would make pretty interesting reading, and it would raise a lot of eyebrows.

That drive back to the barn was long and slow. We crept along at about five miles an hour, but at last we made it to the lane. Johnny kept a close watch in the side mirror and when he saw that Slim and the buffalo had gotten into the lane, he sped up and parked in front of the barn.

When he stepped out, he leaned into the open window and gave me a hard glare. “You stay inside, Shep. We don't need any wrecks.”

Well, sure, and neither did I. I had plenty of things to do without getting crossways with a buffalo.

Johnny hurried into the barn and came out with a bale of hay. He cut the twine and scattered the hay in a line from outside the barn, through the big overhead door, and then inside. By that time, Slim had arrived with Winkie, and right away the buffalo caught a whiff of the hay.

Johnny called him, making a cattle call: “Wooooo! Come on, son, come to feed, fresh bright alfalfa.”

The buffalo went to the hay and started eating. Uncle Johnny eased toward the beast and patted him on the shoulder, then flashed a grin at Slim. “He's big but he's just some old cow's calf. Well, that's it, we've closed the deal. You hold him here. I'll park your rig at the end of the lane, block the road, see, just in case he tries to go back to the cows.”

Slim nodded that he understood the plan. Johnny drove the pickup north and parked it sideways in the road, blocking it to all traffic. Once again, he told me to stay in the pickup. Maybe he thought I wasn't smart enough to remember that he'd already told me that.

Of course I would stay in the pickup
! When my life gets so dull that I need some excitement, I'll chew on an electric wire. I WON'T parade myself in front of a buffalo bull that hates dogs. Sometimes these people…oh well.

Johnny hiked back to the barn, and together, he and Slim eased Winkie through the overhead door and into the barn. Johnny pulled on a rope that was attached to the door and it came sliding down. He turned a handle that locked it in place, brushed his hands together, and beamed a smile at Slim, who was still ahorseback.