The Mopwater Files (5 page)

Chapter Eight: Higher Duty Calls Me to Battle

Y
ou probably think that I went into deadly com­bat against Rufus and got myself thrashed. Or maybe you think that I thrashed him—a long shot, I'll admit, but strange things happen in this old world.

Well, the truth is that neither happened. Rufus and I were in the Preliminary Growls Stage of the big fight when, much to my surprise and relief, Slim and Billy came walking out of the machine shed and saw us.

“Say, Slim, you'd better get old Hank out of my pickup before Rufus eats him up.”

Slim came at a run—okay, not exactly a run but maybe a trot. He reached over the tailgate, grabbed me by the tail, and began pulling me backward.

I must admit that his sudden appearance had made me feel somewhat bolder. When he began pulling me backward, I locked down all four legs, leaned toward Rufus, and added a little volume to my growling. It had kind of a nice effect, the growling plus the screech of my claws on the floor of the pickup bed.

“Well, it looks like they've saved you this time, Rufus. One more minute and they never would have pulled me off.”

“Ha! One more minute and they wouldn't have found you, jerk, 'cause you'd have been sawdust.”

“You're a big talker, Rufus, and we know you're the champ at beating up widows and orphans, but one of these days . . .”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah? One of these days . . . what? Come on, cowdog, don't stutter. Name the day and time.”

“Well, I . . .”

“Meet me this afternoon on the hill above my place.”

“Today? I'd have to, uh, check my . . .”

“Four o'clock. That gives you two hours to get there.”

“Well, I . . . that's the hottest part of the day, and don't you think . . .”

“Be there. And if you ain't there, you're nothing but a yella chicken and I'll be twice as mean to your girlfriend and it'll be your fault.”

By that time Slim had gotten a good grip on me and lifted me out of the pickup. Billy said good-bye and drove away. Rufus was sitting on his spare tire, looking like a king on his throne, while Beulah waved a sad good-bye and Plato squeezed himself deeper into his corner.

When the sounds of the motor faded in the distance, Slim looked down at me and shook his head.

“Well, you dodged a cannonball there, pooch. If I hadn't come out just when I did, we'd be searching for your bodily parts right now.”

Yes, I . . . uh . . . realized that, although . . .

“It ain't smart to pick fights with the heavy­weight champion of the neighborhood, and some people would even say it's dumb.” He reached down and scratched me behind the ears. “But just between us dogs, I'm kind of proud of you for thinkin' about it. I never did care for that hateful thing. How about a little reward?”

I perked up at that. Yes, a little reward would be nice. Or even a big reward.

“I'd sure like to buy you a steak.”

A steak? That might work.

“Only I ain't got one, so how about doubles on dog food?”

Plain old ordinary dry dog food? Gee, I had hoped . . .

“Special Deluxe Co-op Hot Rod Ration. How does that sound?”

Well, not as good as a steak but . . . Hot Rod Ration, huh? It might be all right.

We went to the machine shed.

As you may know, we dogs ate our dog food from an overturned Ford hubcap. Slim poured it full of this exotic new type of dog food and I began crunching.

I soon realized that he had been exercising his sense of humor. It was the same old stuff—hard dry kernels that tasted like a mixture of sawdust and stale grease.

I beamed him a wounded look which said, “This is it? No steak?”

“That's the best we've got, pooch. Take it or leave it. Just because you had one heroic thought don't mean you get to dine at Mrs. Astor's table.”

Fine. I would collect my measly little reward and go on about my life. Double dog food wasn't a steak, but it beat a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. And who was Mrs. Astor anyway?

I was crunching my way through the heap of dry tasteless kernels when Drover poked his head out of the machine shed. He glanced to the left and to the right, then came creeping out.

“Hi Hank. What you doing?”

“I'm trying to eat . . .” Crunch, crunch. “. . . petrified camel droppings.”

“I'll be derned. It looks just like dog food to me.”

“Some people call it that.”

“Can I have a bite?”

“No.” Crunch, crunch. “By the way, Drover, where were you when the fighting broke out?”

“Well, let's see. I guess I took a wrong turn and sort of ended up in the machine shed.”

“I see. Did it occur to you that I might need your help?”

“Oh yeah, but by the time I made it to the machine shed, this old leg was about to kill me. See?” He limped around in a circle. “Terrible pain. But I heard the whole thing.”

“What did you think?”

“I thought . . .” He looked up at the sky. “I thought you'd lost your mind and were fixing to lose your life, is what I thought.”

“As a matter of fact, Drover, that's closer to the truth than you might suppose.” I told him the whole story about the root stimulator.

“I'll be derned. I thought you got all that energy from the grasshopper.”

“No, the stupid grasshopper almost strangled me, thanks to you and your bonehead ideas.”

“Mine was pretty good. Tasted like chicken.”

“Mine did NOT taste like chicken, and it did NOT give me one bit of energy.”

“Oh well. Everything turned out all right. You didn't have to fight Rufus and now it's all behind you.”

I lifted my head from the bowl and stared at the runt. “What do you mean, it's all behind me?”

“Well, let's see here. The world's divided up into what's up front and what's behind. What's behind is over and what's up front is under, and . . . I think I'm getting confused.”

“Didn't you hear what he said? He challenged me to a duel in two hours. In other words, it's not over yet.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I heard it but I knew you wouldn't be dumb enough to show up. Tee hee hee. Boy, that would be about the dumbest thing in the world, going down to . . .” His eyes popped open. “Hank, you wouldn't do such a thing . . . would you?”

I paced several steps away and looked off into the distance. “Drover, what I'm about to say might shock you.”

“Then maybe we could talk about something else.”

“There are times when my position as Head of Ranch Security becomes a heavy burden. It's not just a job, you see. It's a calling, a mission.”

“I went fishin' once.”

“I'm judged by standards unknown to ordinary dogs, standards that are sometimes almost impossible to attain.”

“Yeah, and that's time to quit.”

“Exactly. It's a heavy load indeed. Drover, have you ever heard of the ancient Samurai?”

“Oh yeah. It's a steak house in Amarillo.”

“What?”

“I said . . . well, let's see here. I said, ‘they house snakes in Amarillo.'”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with snakes.”

“Oh good. I'm scared of snakes.”

“And they don't operate out of Amarillo. The Samurai were a society of warriors who lived in some strange faraway land.”

“California?”

“Right. Something like that. And they lived by a higher code than ordinary people, Drover. They were warriors who protected the innocent, fought for justice, and devoted their lives to righting wrong.”

“I always wanted to be a writer.”

“And so it is with the Head of Ranch Security. We are droven, Drivel, by a higher duty.”

“My name's Drover.”

“We must do, not merely what is safe and comfortable, but what is right.”

“I think I've got a novel in me somewhere.”

“What?”

“I said . . . well, let's see here. Oh yeah. I think I've got a novel in me somewhere.”

“Open your mouth.” He did and I looked inside. “No, that's called the Ulterior Punching Bagus, so named because it resembles a little punching bag.”

“I'll be derned. Maybe I ought to try boxing.”

“Exactly.” I tried to pick up my train of thought. “What were we talking about?”

“Mopwater, I think.”

“Oh yes. It was once believed that mopwater could restore energy and so forth, but that's not what we were talking about, Drover, and I'm begin­ning to wonder if you've been listening.”

“Oh yeah, I heard it all. Something about a guy named Sam who traded snakes in Amarillo.”

“No, not Sam. Rufus. And let's skip to the bottom line because frankly, Drover, I'm beginning to find this conversation a little confusing.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“The bottom line is that honor and duty demand that I accept Rufus's challenge and fight a duel to the death.”

“That's the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

“What?”

“I said, oh boy. Good. Yippee.”

“Thanks, Drover, but there's more.”

Do I dare reveal the rest? Hang on and let me think about it.

Chapter Nine: Madame Moonshine Is Captured by Cannibals

T
hink. Think. Think.

Heavy duty contemplation in progress.

Please hold.

Caution: dogs at work.

All circuits are busy at the moment.

Hot tamales for ninety-eight cents.

Thought session completed.

Okay, there we go. I guess it wouldn't hurt to let you in on the startling revelation I revealed to Drover.

I began pacing back and forth in front of him, as I often do when my mind is racing. “You see, Drover, I am driven by this devotion to truth and honor.”

“Yeah, and that beats walking.”

“Exactly. And truth and honor demand that I accept Rufus's challenge. To do otherwise would be . . . what's the word I'm searching for?”

“Smart?”

“No.”

“Beet farmer?”

“No.”

“Pineapple?”

I gave him a withering glare. “Drover, if you can't contribute anything to this conversation, just be quiet.”

“Well, you asked.”

“I'm sorry I asked.”

“That's okay. I couldn't help it.”

“Shut up.” I probed the vapors and smoke upon the volcano of my . . . something. “Okay, here we go. I must accept the challenge and go into combat against Rufus. The problem is that I'm totally unprepared for such an ordeal and would probably be slaughtered.”

“That's a problem, all right.”

“Hence, to prepare myself for this fateful mission, I must leave the ranch, go out into the wilder­ness, and search for strength and courage, just as the Samurai did in Ancient California.”

“Rotsaruck.”

“And Drover, I'd like for you to go along as my second.”

“Your second what?”

“My second. That's what it's called. You'd be my second.”

“That's not much time.”

“It has nothing to do with time. It's a position. You'd be my second in command.”

“Oh good. I think I can handle that.”

“Great. I like your attitude. In the event that I'm slaughtered in the early going, you'll take my place.”

His eyes crossed and suddenly he began limping around in a circle. “Oh my gosh, this leg just went out! Oh, the pain! Rush me to the machine shed, stand back, I'm fixing to . . . ”

My goodness. He fainted. I mean, he just collapsed on the ground, with all four legs sticking straight up in the air. I rushed to his side.

“Speak to me, Drover. What's happened?”

“Leg attack. Worst one ever. Terrible pain. Don't think I can make the trip to the wilderness. Go on without me.”

“And leave you here in this state?”

“Yeah, I'd rather suffer in Texas. I'll be all right . . . if I can stand the guilt. That's the worst part of staying home, trying to live with the guilt.”

“Well, be brave. And Drover, if I should happen not to return . . .” I ran my gaze over the place I had loved and protected for so many years. “. . . take good care of the ranch. Good-bye, old friend, and good luck.”

And with that, I tore myself away from home and friends, turned and ran away from the voice inside my head that urged me to take the path of leased resistance. Sure, it would have been easier to stay home and forget about Beulah and Plato, honor and duty, and the higher calling of my profession.

But that's not what cowdogs do.

I ran until I could run no more. Finding myself alone in brush along the creek, I stopped and caught my breath. I was panting. The heat was terrible. Who could think of fighting a duel in such heat?

And what the heck? Maybe I could . . .

No. I had to fulfill my mission, even if that meant . . . I walked to the creek's edge and drank my fill of cool sweet water. It was a refreshing change from mopwater.

Having drinked my fill . . . having drank . . . having drunk . . . having lapped up all the water I could hold, I set a course to the east, threading my way through the dense underwear of tamaracks and willows.

Undergrowth, actually. Dense undergrowth.

All the familiar sounds, sights, and smells of civilization faded into the distance, and were replaced by others that were new and strange: dark shadows, the cries of birds overhead, the swish and slither of I-knew-not-what in the brush around me.

I had reached the wilderness, an area into which I had seldom ventured during my career—and for good reason. Here, I was unknown and unwanted; a stranger, an intruder into an ancient rhythm of which I was not a part. Of which.

I hurried along. Suddenly a twig snapped. I whirled to my left and faced . . . not much, just a clump of brush. Perhaps I had stepped on the twig myself, but my nerves were on edge, don't you see, and . . . it was kind of spooky, and I'll admit that I was feeling a bit uneasy.

Nervous.

Alert to danger.

Okay, scared, but if you'd been there, you would have been scared too. A guy never knew what manner of creature or monster he might encounter in this part of the ranch.

I continued my journey. I knew where I was going: to Madame Moonshine's cave in those bluffs just west of the Parnell water gap. If you recall, Madame Moonshine was a wise little owl who claimed to have magical powers. I'd never been entirely convinced that she had “magical” powers, but she had gotten me out of a few scrapes in the past, and I hoped she might help me out of this one.

I slowed my pace and began studying the land­marks. There was the big cottonwood tree that had been struck by lightning. That was familiar. And yes, there were the bluffs on the south side of the creek. I was getting close.

I began to feel somewhat better, now that I had . . . huh? I stopped in my tracks. Unless my ears were playing tricks on me, I had just heard . . . something. I lifted my ears to Maximum Gathering Mode and homed in on the sound.

Voices? Laughter? Impossible. Nobody laughed out here in this wilderness . . . unless . . . gulp. I began to realize to who or whom those voices might belong—a couple of renegade outlaws who were right at home in the wilderness, and the wildernesser it was, the better they liked it.

I crouched down, peered through the tamarack brush, and listened. And yes, there they were—Rip and Snort, the dreaded cannibal brothers. That in itself was bad enough, me stumbling into their camp in the middle of a trackless wilderness.

But there was more. I had come to seek advice from Madame Moonshine, right? Well, guess who was sitting in the middle of the cannibals—tied up with a piece of grapevine.

Madame Moonshine herself, and it appeared that she might need my help even more than I needed hers, because the cannibals were wearing huge grins and licking their chops, as though they were working themselves up for a big feathery feast.

The thought crossed my mind that I should creep away from here and go flying back to headquarters. They hadn't seen me yet and seemed pretty absorbed in heckling Madame Moonshine. And didn't I have enough problems of my own without taking on any of Madame's? And besides, she was supposed to have magical powers, right? So why didn't she use them to save herself?

In the interest of truth and so forth, I'll admit that I did take two steps backward . . . three steps . . . okay, five or six steps backward, but then I caught myself and felt ashamed. Was I really enough of a cad to run away and leave that poor little owl to her fate?

Well, I was enough of a cad to
think
about it, but not enough of one to actually do it. I returned to my listening post and . . . well, listened, of course.

What else would you do in a listening post?

I guess you could watch and listen both, and in fact, that's exactly what I did. I crouched down in the sand, peered through the low branches of a tamarack bush, and observed the proceedings.

As you will see, that turned out to be a fitful decision.

Faithful.

Fateful.

Phooey.

You'll find out soon enough, and it just might scare you out of your wits.

No kidding.

See, I know what's fixing to happen and you don't. If I were in your shoes, I'd . . . well, look pretty funny, wouldn't I, because dogs don't wear shoes.

A little humor there.

But I'd also think twice about going on with the story, is the point, because we're coming to the scary part.

Maybe you'd better quit and go on to bed.