The Case of the Secret Weapon

by John R. Erickson

  “Got it. I’ll be right behind you.”

  For the record, let me point out that Drover not only stayed “right behind” me, he stayed right behind the chair. In other words, he didn’t move, and I had to greet the meter man all by myself.

  I stepped out from behind the chair and waved my tail back and forth. He saw me and smiled. “Oh, there you are. I figured you were around somewhere. I’m Leland. You remember me?”

  Uh . . . no.

  “You don’t? Shucks, I come down here every month.” He came through the gate and walked up to the porch steps. There, he stopped. “You remember me now?”

  Well . . . okay, maybe. My memory was a little hazy.

  He motioned with his fingers. “Come here and I’ll give you some sugar.”

  I crept toward him, and he began rubbing me behind the ears. They were good rubs. I was liking this guy better all the time. Then he started scratching me along the backbone, ha ha, and I guess you know what that does. All at once my right hind leg coiled up and started pumping.

  It’s kind of mysterious, how that happens, and I can’t say that I understand it, but people who know dogs can do it and it’s really fun. He scratched and I pumped, and we had definitely become good pals.

  He laughed and gave me a pat on the ribs. “Well, I’d better get back to work. I’ll step inside the house, read the meter, and get on my way. It’s kind of a bummer to work on a holiday, but that’s my job.”

  Yes, I understood about working on holidays. I had one of those jobs myself: never a day off, never a moment’s rest. It was a hard life and we had to take our little pleasures where we could find them, mostly in the pride that came from doing the job right.

  My new friend walked up the steps and went inside the house. I marched over to the chair and glared down at my . . . whatever he was, my assistant who never seemed to get around to assisting.

  “Well, what do you say now?”

  “He’s wearing a wrinkled shirt.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “’Cause I saw it. It looks like he slept in it.”

  “Oh brother! You’re going to hold that against him? Look, he’s a working man. Those of us who work get dirty and wrinkled. You ought to try it sometime.”

  “He’s got snake eyes. I don’t trust him.”

  “Drover, you are the most . . . snake eyes! I can’t believe you said that.”

  We heard noise coming from inside the house and naturally Drover had to make a big deal out of it. “If he’s checking meters, how come he’s making so much noise?”

  “Because . . . because meters are sometimes hard to find.”

  “Yeah, but it’s on a power pole beside the barn.”

  “Well, there you are. He’s trying to find it.”

  Drover rolled his gaze around. “But if he’s a meter man, how come he doesn’t know where the meter is?”

  I stared into the vacuum of his eyes. “Drover, that is one of the dumbest questions you’ve ever asked. The poor man has to work on a holiday, and all you can do is . . .”

  At that moment, the door opened and Leland stepped outside. Hmmm. That was odd. He seemed to be carrying several packages of . . . was that frozen beef?

  He beamed us a smile. “Say, you’re getting low amperage and the deep freeze ain’t working right. I’m going to take some of this meat back to the office and put it in cold storage. Otherwise, it’s liable to spoil in this heat.” He started down the porch steps. “I’ll call your master in the morning and explain everything. Y’all have a good day.”

  He walked with rapid steps down the sidewalk and out the gate.

  I whirled around to Drover. “Snake eyes, huh? Drover, I’m ashamed of you.”

  He was staring straight ahead and whispered, “Hank, do you remember what the deputy said?”

  “Deputy? What deputy? Oh, him. Of course I do. He said that Slim looked ridiculous, sitting out on the porch in his drawers. And you know what? He was right.”

  “No, I mean . . . about the man who tried to rob the store?”

  Huh?

  It hit me like a cinderblock falling out of the sky. All at once my mind was reeling’ and I thought I might faint. “Holy drokes, Smoker, do you remember what the deputy said?”

  “The robber steals food out of ranch houses.”

  “Right, exactly.” I paced a few steps away and tried to control the whirlwind inside my head. “Drover, if the electric meter is on a power pole, why did he need to go inside the house?”

  “Well, I wondered about that.”

  “And why would a meter man walk out of a house with an armload of frozen beef?”

  “I guess he doesn’t like canned mackerel.”

  I whirled around and faced my assistant. “Don’t you get it? He’s no more a meter man than I am. He’s a crook, and he stole food right under our noses!”

  “I think it was your nose.”

  I began pacing back and forth. Thoughts, clues, and ideas were pouring through my mind like a raging river. “Drover, something about that guy told me not to trust him.”

  “Yeah, the snake eyes.”

  “He had snake eyes, did you notice? And he was wearing a wrinkled shirt, and he had long stringy hair.”

  “Yeah, I tried to tell you.”

  I marched over to him and stuck my nose in his face. “If you tried so hard to tell me, then why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you never listen.”

  For a moment of heartbeats, I thought I might explode right there in his face, but a voice inside my head told me to be mature. “Drover, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that, but if it happens again, I’ll have to put it in my report.”

  “Thanks. What are we going to do now?”

  “That’s a great question, and I’m glad you asked.” I laid a paw across his shoulder. “Drover, when Slim figures out that somebody walked into his house and stole beef, he’s going to throw a hissy fit.”

  “Yeah, he’ll probably blame it on us.”

  “Exactly. It would smear the reputations of all of us in the Security Division. Why, it might take us years to win back his trust. But I think there’s a way out of this.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes, and the really good part is that it could give your career a boost.”

  “Gosh, no fooling?”

  “Honest, and I mean a BIG boost—stripes, stars, medals, commendations, the whole nine yards of career-enhancing so-forths. I mean, this could put you on an elevator to the top.”

  “I’ll be derned. What would I have to do?”

  “Well, that’s the best part: not much. Just sneak up behind the crook, bite him on the hip pocket, and then bark like you’re the baddest dog in five Texas counties. What do you think?”

  To my complete amazement, the runt narrowed his eyes into cruel slits and began rolling the muscles in his shoulders. “You know, I think I can do it!”

  “That’s the spirit! Now tell me, who’s the baddest dog in five Texas counties?”

  “Me!”

  “Who’s going to protect this ranch?”

  He started jumping up and down. “Me!”

  “Are you mad enough?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Are you bad enough?”

  “Oh yeah!”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I can do it!”

  I whopped him on the back. “All right, soldier, go out there and take care of business. No prisoners!”

  “No prisoners!”

  And with that . . . well, you’ll have to keep reading to find out.

  Chapter Seven: The Secret Weapon

  What a miracle! I had never seen this side of Drover and, well, it was pretty amazing. I mean, for years the little mutt had dodged every dangerous mission and av
oided every kind of productive labor, but now . . .

  You know, when you see this kind of attitude change in the troops, you have to chalk it up to . . . well, great leadership. Don’t let anyone kid you, it all starts at the top. If you’ve got the right kind of leadership at the top, by George, it filters down through the ranks and you can see it in the performance of the men.

  I don’t want to take too much of the credit, but we need to be honest. Drover’s fighting spirit didn’t come out of a can of chopped liver. And I was SO PROUD of the little mutt, I was about to bust my buttons.

  So there was my First Assistant, hopping up and down, throwing punches, and growling like . . . I don’t know what. Like a second-string scrub who’d suddenly found the desire to go into the game and turn things around.

  “All right, son, go out there and show us what you can do!”

  In a burst of pure raw power, he tore away and . . . why was he going toward the house? And what . . .

  Huh?

  Okay, forget all that stuff about Drover’s big change in attitude. Strike it from the record. It was a bogus report. Somebody was badly misquoted.

  You know what the little mutter-mumble did? HE RAN TO THE DOOR, HOOKED HIS PAW UNDER THE BOTTOM, AND VANISHED INSIDE THE HOUSE!!

  I was stunned, speechless. It took me a whole minute to find the voice of righteous anger.

  “Drover, report to the front immediately!” I banged on the door. “Drover, come out of there, and that is a direct order!” Not a sound. No doubt he had already burrowed two miles deep under Slim’s bed. “All right, you little traitor, you will be court-martialed for this! If I ever get my paws on you . . .”

  Gulp.

  Now what? I whirled around and saw that the crook had almost reached the saddle shed. If someone didn’t do something fast . . . well, the reputation of the Security Division would go down in flames, and we could say good-bye to our jobs, friends, nights in the house, free dog food, and all the other benefits we enjoyed as ranch employees.

  There are times when a dog has to reach deep inside and grope around for something that resembles courage, and sometimes it’s not easy to find. Like now. With all my heart and soul, I didn’t want to do what I had to do, but it had to be done.

  I filled my lungs with a big gulp of carbon diego, squared my enormous shoulders, and marched off to war. I passed through the gate and kept going. Outside the gate, I flipped several switches and raised Data Control on our Emergency Frequency.

  “DC, we have the target in sight.”

  “Proceed to target and acquire.”

  “Target is acquired, and the signal is strong.”

  “Lock it into the computer.”

  “Computer is locked.”

  “Arm the weapon.”

  “The weapon is armed and ready. Request permission to fire.”

  “Roger that. Fire the weapon!”

  In a burst of fire and smoke, I launched the weapon and went streaking toward the crosshairs on the enemy’s left hip pocket. The thief suspected nothing, never saw me coming, and fellers, when I fitted my jaws around his pocket, he just sort of went off in all directions, and we’re talking about arms flying and packages of frozen meat falling like hailstones.

  Holding his bitten hiney, he whirled around and saw me for the first time. “You! Now, why’d you go and do that?”

  I gave him a snarl that said, “Because you’re a liar and a thief, and I don’t like either one of those things. Get off my ranch and don’t ever come back, or you’ll get the rest of what I started.”

  Pretty impressive, huh? You bet. I didn’t cut the guy any slack. When they push me over the line, they get no mercy.

  What did he do? Heh heh. You’ll love this. He raised his hands in the air and started edging toward the saddle shed. “All right, doggie, you’ve got the goods on me. I give up. Keep the meat. You won, fair and square, and I’ve got no hard feelings. In fact, I’m going to give you a prize.”

  A prize? How about that, huh? Wow, what a triumph! The creep darted inside the shed and . . . what was that thing? A cat on a leash? Cats don’t have black and white stripes, do they? Or long bushy tails?

  Huh?

  Oops. All at once I remembered the rest of the deputy’s story, the part about the, uh, Secret Weapon. You’d probably forgotten all about it, but . . .

  A skunk. He brought his pet skunk out of the shed and pointed a finger directly at me. “Rosebud, that dog just said your momma’s a skunk. Are you going to take that from a dog? Huh? No? Then git ’im!” He put a little plastic whistle between his lips and blew. TWEET!

  Before I could think or move, Rosebud hopped up into firing position and sent a ball of something yellow rolling in my direction. It wasn’t a ball of fire. It was something a whole lot . . .

  SPLAT!

  . . . worse. We’ve talked about skunks, right? And all the damage they can do? Big damage, especially if they land a direct hit. This one did. I mean, it happened so fast . . .

  Boy, you talk about STINK! You talk about toxic air and going blind and gasping for breath! Fellers, when you get ambushed by a skunk, you know you’ve been ambushed. I mean, this was the same little monster that had shut down a grocery store, and I promise, anything that can shut down a store can shut down a dog.

  I staggered and stumbled through the cloud of poisonous yellow fog. “Hank to Drover, over. We have a dog down! Repeat, dog down, dog down! Activate all units, launch the second wave, send a chopper, help!”

  You probably think Drover rushed out of the house and came to my rescue, right? Ha. What a joke. He didn’t rush out of the house. He probably didn’t even hear my distress call. Don’t forget where he was hiding—under Slim’s bed. There were so many spiderwebs under that bed, sound waves had no chance of getting there.

  He didn’t come to my rescue, and to be honest, even if he had, I don’t know what he could have done. I mean, the damage had been done and I was WEARING it, because every cell and fiber of my body had been embalmed with skunk.

  I staggered through the poisoned cloud and went straight into Skunk Countermeasures. Have we discussed SCM? Maybe not, because it’s classified information and . . . well, we don’t want our enemies to know how we deal with exotic weaponry such as your skunk attacks.

  I’m sure you understand. See, Security Work is really a giant game of chess, played against adversaries who are clever beyond our wildest dreams. They would love to know our secret countermeasures for detoxifying a dog that has been seriously skunked, and if I revealed it here . . . well, they might intercept the message.

  See, they’re watching us all the time and listening to every word we say. They never sleep, never rest, never give up. The secret war goes on around the clock and we have to . . .

  I guess it wouldn’t hurt to reveal our secrets, because the terrible truth is that WE DON’T HAVE ANY SKUNK COUNTERMEASURES. When you get skunked, you’re skunked, buddy, and you wear it until it falls off. The best you can do is roll around in some tall grass and try to figure out how to live with yourself for the next week.

  The only good news about skunking is that it sort of melts the wiring in your nose and, after a while, you can’t smell much of anything. That’s not great news, but it beats nothing, right?

  What happened to the crook and his Secret Weapon? Whilst I was choking and gasping and staggering through the yellow fog, they just walked away—probably laughing their heads off. They vanished without a trace.

  Wait. They left one trace, a package of frozen hamburger. Once the fog had lifted and I was able to breathe again, I found the package in front of the saddle shed. You probably think that after such a terrible ordeal, I had no interest in collecting evidence or working up the case. Wrong.

  See, most of your ordinary ranch mutts would have dropped the case right there, I mean, quit in shame and disgust. Not me, fellers.
As I’ve said before, cowdogs are just a little bit special and for us, “quit” is a four-letter word.

  Hmmm. You know what? It really is a four-letter word. Oh well.

  Where were we? Oh yes, we cowdogs don’t consider ourselves ordinary and we don’t know how to quit. When the going gets tough, we get going. When the other dogs go to the house, we’re still out there working the case. And when we find an important piece of evidence . . . well, sometimes we eat it.

  Heh heh.

  Why not? I hadn’t stolen it out of Slim’s deep freeze or left it in front of the barn. Out there in the hot sun it would spoil, so I did the only sensible thing and wolfed it down. Okay, there wasn’t much “wolfing,” because you can’t “wolf” a block of frozen meat, but I sure as thunder chewed and hacked my way through it and, uh, sent it to the lab, shall we say.

  It was delicious, best meal I’d had in months.

  Burp.

  And at that point, after collecting and cataloging the evidence and taking careful notes about the cream sign . . . the crime scene, that is . . . after taking measurements and photographs and careful notes about the cream sign, I was ready to move to the next stage of the investigation.

  I had to get an urgent message to Slim that his deep freeze had been burgled, and I mean fast, before the crook and his Secret Weapon struck again.

  Here, we encountered a problem: Slim wasn’t around to be warned. He had left the premises and was attending a picnic at Loper and Sally May’s place, two miles up the creek. In other words, I would have to run two miles in the blazing heat of July.

  Could I handle the job? You bet. A lot of your ordinary mutts would say, “Forget this,” and retire to a shady spot beneath some trees. Not me. I taxied into the wind, made one last check of the instruments, closed the canopy, and pushed the throttle all the way up to Turbo Six.

  Within seconds, I leveled off at thirty thousand feet, trimmed the flaps, and pulled the throttle back to cruising speed. Looking down at the Earth below, I heard a voice inside my head. It said, “It’s really hot out here, and two miles is a long way. Forget this.”