The Case of the Saddle House Robbery

by John R. Erickson

  The words stung, but there was no way I could explain that I had tried to stop him. At least I had intended to try to . . . oh well.

  “Pooch, do you have any idea how it feels to be a cowboy, and to be afoot? It’s a terrible feeling. And you know what else? To replace that saddle with one just as good would take a thousand bucks. And last time I checked, I had thirty dollars to my name. It makes me sick, and if I ever get my hands on that . . .”

  He’d gotten so carried away with lecturing me that he’d forgotten about the gas he was pumping into his tank. All at once it was full and some of the gas shot out and sprayed his hand.

  “DAD-gum gas! Now I’ve done it. When am I going to learn to pay a-dadgum-’tention?”

  He hung the nozzle on its baling wire hook. I knew what was coming next, but instead of slinking away, as I had done in happier times, I went to him and offered myself as a grease rag. He seemed a little surprised.

  He wiped his hands on my back and then scrubbed his fingernails on my ears. “Thanks, pooch.” Then he smelled his hands. “Good honk, I’m not sure I done myself much good on that effort. You may smell worse than gasoline.” He took my head in his hands and looked into my eyes. “How do you get yourself into so much trouble, Hank?”

  I didn’t even try to answer. It was too complicated. Jake. The phony little cobbler. The bogus trip to Mogadishu.

  “You’re dumb. You was born dumb and you’ve spent your whole life gettin’ dumber.” For a long throbbing moment, we stared into each other’s eyes. “And you know what else? I’ve got the same problem, like spraying myself with gas. I never learn. I do it every cotton-pickin’ time I fill up.”

  He straightened up and rolled a kink in his back, adjusted his hat and looked up at the sky. Then his gaze came back to me. I thumped my tail.

  “You feel pretty bad, don’t you?” Yes, I did. “It sure hurts when you mess up, don’t it?” Yes, it did. “Tell you what let’s do, pup. You stay down at my place for a couple of days. The scarcer you are around here, the better it’ll be for everyone, especially you. Come on, let’s load up.”

  Well . . . sure, okay, why not? I didn’t have any better offers. I ran to the pickup door and waited for him to open it. He came up behind me, shaking his head.

  “Uh-uh. I’ll try to forgive your many sins, bozo, but I can’t hack your smell in the cab. You ride in the back.”

  Sure, fine, no problem there. Actually, I had always preferred riding in the back, but I was just trying to be, uh, sociable.

  I leaped into the back—and by the way, he didn’t even have to let down the tailgate. I was so happy to have a friend and a place to go, I just flew over that rascal. As we pulled away, Drover crept out from under his gunnysack and waved good-bye.

  “Are they going to hang you?”

  “Not this time, Drover. I think we’ve worked something out.”

  “Oh good, I’m so happy.”

  “I’m going into exile for a couple of days.”

  “Boy, I love eggs. Hurry back.”

  I waved good-bye and off we went. At that point I sat down and prepared to enjoy the . . .

  HUH?

  I found myself staring right into the eyes of . . . someone. You’ll never guess who or whom it was.

  Chapter Eleven: I Pry a Confession out of Jake—the Wrong One

  Give up? I knew you’d never guess.

  It was Jake.

  He was curled up in a ball of hair and bird dog bones, but he wasn’t asleep. His eyes were open, and he was looking at me.

  Maybe he knew what was coming. Maybe he saw my entire mouth turn into a wall of fangs, and maybe he heard the growl of righteous rumbling in my throat.

  He said—and this is an exact quote—he said, “Don’t strike me. I’m old and decrepit.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, you’re fixing to be worse than that. I ought to tear you limb from tree.”

  “I want to be alone and quiet, with no one to bother me.”

  “Hey, I’ve heard that before, bud, only this time it won’t cut bait. Jake, you’re under arrest.”

  “I’ve done nothing. I’m an innocent dog.”

  I towered over him. “You’re under arrest, and I think you know why.”

  He studied me with narrowed eyes. “All right. I did it. I’m glad I did it. I’ll always be glad I did it. Nothing you can do will change me.”

  “Jake, I just don’t understand creeps like you. How could you stoop so low?”

  “I have nothing more to say.”

  “Slim picked you up on the road and gave you a place to stay. He trusted you. I trusted you. We opened our home to you, and then you used our kindness against us.”

  “Yes, and I would do it again.”

  “You ought to be ashamed.”

  “I am not ashamed.”

  I stuck my nose right in his bird dog face. “How could you not be ashamed? What kind of low-life creep are you?”

  “The treasure was mine. I merely took it back.”

  I stared at him. “What are you talking about? You mean the saddles?”

  “The treasure, you fool! The buried treasure on the coast of Madagascar!” He glanced around, as though someone might be listening. “We found the treasure, on the beach, just where I had left it. The pirates came. Then we were attacked by monkeys.”

  “Throwing coconuts?”

  “Who told you? I demand to know!”

  I walked a few steps away to clear my head. “Jake, let me ask you one small simple question. Were you involved in a plot to steal saddles from our ranch? Were you working with a little guy with a stringy mustache?”

  “Saddles? Ha! What would a bird dog do with a saddle?”

  “I don’t know. Answer the question.”

  “I know nothing about saddles. I know that the treasure is mine, all mine—diamonds, pearls, emeralds, rubies, gold, and silver. Your friend Drover thinks the pirates took it, but, ha ha, they did not. I led them to an empty chest and the fools took it. And now I am . . . rich.”

  The air hissed out of my body. “You’re a lunatic.”

  “I am rich, and soon I will become the Emperor of Madagascar.”

  “You are so full of baloney, I can’t believe it.”

  “Yes. And now I must leave. They are waiting for my return. Good-bye.”

  And then, before my very eyes, he crawled beneath a canvas tarp, until only the tip of his long stick tail was showing. I knocked on the tarp.

  “Hey. Where are you now?”

  “The coast of Spain. Tomorrow, we sail with the tide. Leave me alone. Good-bye.”

  Well, so much for my case against Jake. For a while there, I had thought . . .

  Actually, I had suspected all along that he . . . to tell you the truth, I was thoroughly confused. Nothing made any sense. My entire investigation had fallen to pieces.

  In deepest despair, I curled up beside the spare tire, closed my eyes, listened to the hum of the motor. I was bushed. It had been a long day, and one I would do my best to forget.

  Slim drove north to the county road, then turned east. I didn’t know where we were going and I didn’t care. After all I’d been through, spending a few days in the back of a pickup seemed a pretty good deal.

  Slim sped up and went through his gears. The rumble and bump of the caliche road beneath the tires was like music, and I felt myself drifting off and surrendering my iron grip on the world. Since I was in a rather low frame of mind, I chose a Bone Dream instead of the usual Beulah Dream. I cued it up and settled back to watch.

  It was pretty good. Singing T-bones, thirteen of ’em in a long line of . . .

  The hum of the tires changed pitch. So did the motor. We were slowing down.

  Anyway, there was this line of singing T-bones, see, and . . .

  The pickup pulled over to t
he side of the road and stopped. Slim’s door opened. He stepped out and slammed the door. Gravel crunched beneath his feet.

  He spoke. “Howdy. Are you having trouble?”

  A man’s voice answered. “Howdy, neighbor. Yes sir, this old pickup just quit on me.”

  “Uh-huh. You from around here?”

  “No sir, just passing through the country. I’m from Oklahoma, over around Snaky Bend on the Canadian River. Ever been there?”

  “Nope. I’ve heard they make moonshine whiskey over there.”

  “Heh. I’ve heard that myself, but I can’t hardly believe it.”

  “What you got in the camper?”

  “Say what?”

  “You got anything in your camper?”

  “Oh, that. No sir, just my camping stuff. Tools. Spare tire. Junk. You in the market for a camper?”

  “Nope. Just curious. There’s been some saddles stolen around here.”

  “No! Well, ain’t that terrible! This world just seems to get wickeder and wickeder. People don’t have respect for nothing anymore.”

  “Yalp. What seems to be wrong with your pickup?”

  “Well, it quit. All at once, it just quit, like it wasn’t getting gas or spark.”

  “I’m not much of a mechanic, but pop the hood and let’s take a look.”

  “I’d sure appreciate that.” They raised the hood. Then the stranger said, “Well, lookie here. I’ve got a couple of pieces of chocolate candy left. Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “They’re kindly hard to chew. Sure would gum up a set of false teeth.”

  HUH?

  Sure would gum up a set of false teeth?

  My head shot up and I came flying out of my dream about the dancing T-bones. Unless I was badly mistaken, I had just been given an opportunity to redeem myself.

  I flew over the tailgate, hit the ground, and peeked around the back of the pickup.

  The stranger was facing east, with his back to me, so I couldn’t see his face. But I saw that he was a small man with a slim build, that he wore sneakers on his feet and a blue-and-white cap on his head.

  That was enough for me. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place: the cap, the shoes, the pickup with a camper on the back, and most of all, the chocolate candy. That was the clincher right there, the chocolate candy—and his comment about how it would gum up a pair of false teeth. The same words, the exact same words, he’d used in the saddle shed.

  All at once I felt the juices pumping again. New life and excitement surged through my entire body. I’d had enough of guilt and depression, hanging my head and dragging myself around like an . . . I don’t know what. A whipped dog, I suppose, although no one had actually whipped me.

  My confidence returned, that’s the point. Mother Luck had brought this scoundrel back to me, and this time he wouldn’t get away. Or if he did, it would be over my dad’s body.

  Dead body. Over my dead body.

  Somehow I had to get the message to Slim, who was draped over the front of the pickup, scowling at the motor. Now, wasn’t that something? Every­one on the ranch had made a big deal about me watching the thief empty the saddle shed, and we’d heard a lot of talk about me being a dumb dog, right? Well, here was Slim—helping the guy fix his pickup so that he could make his getaway! Oh well. We would deal with that later. I had to warn him, that was the main point.

  Slim said, “Get in and hit the starter. I’ll see if we’re gettin’ fire to the spark plugs.”

  The crook turned and started for the pickup door, and I got a good look at his face. It was the same guy: the beady little eyes, the sharp nose, the stringy moustache, and the Richardson Seeds cap.

  Just then, he saw me. Our eyes met. In that small space of time, I read his thoughts. He recognized me. He knew I recognized him. And then it occurred to him that Slim worked for the very ranch he had robbed only a few hours before.

  His eyes darted from side to side. He licked his lips and gave me a kind of sour grin. Then he spoke to Slim.

  “Say, friend, is that your dog?”

  Slim peered around the hood. “Yalp. That’s Hank.”

  His gaze went from Slim to me and back to Slim. “You know, if you’ve got other things to do, I can fix this old pickup myself. I hate to take a man away from his business, know what I mean?”

  “That’s okay. Hit the starter.”

  “Does that dog ever bite?”

  “Heh. Nope, not even when he’s supposed to.”

  He squeezed up a smile. “Hi there, poochie. What’s your name? Hank? You wouldn’t bite a poor old cobbler from Oklahoma, would you?” Not unless I got the chance. “Now, I’m going to crawl in the pickup and you just stay where you’re at, hear?”

  I showed him some fangs. He reached two fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out the roll of candy. He peeled off a piece and held it up.

  “How about some candy, huh? I’ll bet you just love chocolate candy.”

  Nope. Not interested.

  His smile remained fixed. “I’ll pitch it to you, how ’bout that, hmm? Can you catch it in the air? I bet you can. Here.”

  He pitched the candy in my direction. I didn’t even look at it. My eyes were locked on the crook. The candy hit the ground and rolled up against my foot. All at once I caught a whiff of . . . well, milk chocolate, creamy smooth milk chocolate and chewy caramel, and I must admit . . . one little piece of chocolate wouldn’t hurt, would it?

  My nose was being pulled downward, as though by some powerful force. I tried to resist the powerful magnetic force and set all the muscles in my neck against it. No, no! I couldn’t allow myself to yield. I had to . . . but the force was so strong . . .

  Chapter Twelve: I Solve the Case, Capture the Crook, and Become a Hero

  You probably think I gobbled it down, right? Fell for his chocolate trick the second time? Well, you’re wrong.

  You know what saved me? It wasn’t the muscles in my neck or my powers of will. What saved me was the wicked light that danced in his eyes when he saw me going for the candy. He thought he had found my fatal weakness and that he could beat me twice with the same trick.

  He thought wrong. You can fool Hank the Cowdog once in a row, but never twice in a row. At least, not with the same trick.

  I sniffed the candy, picked it up in my mouth, rolled it around several times . . . and let it fall back to the ground. Then I showed him a mouthful of fangs.

  You should have seen his face. It just crumbled!

  Slim broke the silence. “Hey, what’s going on? Hit the starter.”

  “You know, bud, I . . . I think your dog wants to bite me, I do. Dogs don’t like me. I don’t know what it is.”

  “He won’t bite, believe me.”

  In a flash, the guy made his move—opened the door and jumped inside. I made a lunge at him but was half a step too slow. He shook a finger at me and grinned. “Now be nice, Rover.” Then he hit the starter.

  “EEEEE-YOW!”

  That was Slim. He let out a squall and banged his head against the hood. He came around the front of the pickup, rubbing his head with his hat still on. “Well, you’re getting plenty of fire to the spark plugs, at least one of ’em.” He noticed me sitting there beside the door, glaring daggers at the man inside—and trying, with every sign and gesture I could think of, to get the message across.

  This is the crook. This is the guy who stole your saddles.

  Slim studied me with a frown. “That’s funny. I’ve never seen him act this way around . . .” Then it hit him. I saw the light come on in his eyes. He rolled his gaze to the man in the pickup, then back to me. “Hank, do you know something I ought to know?”

  I barked, fellers. I barked with all my heart and soul.

  He patted me on the head. “Hmmm. It’s worth checking.”
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  Without saying another word, he walked around to the back of the pickup. I could have hugged him.

  The thief knew he was in trouble. “Say, bud, the motor’s up front. I wish you wouldn’t . . .”

  Slim opened the camper door. There was a moment of silence. Then, suddenly and all at once, the thief burst out the door and started running down the road.

  I barked and waited for orders. Slim came at a run. “He’s got the saddles, sure ’nuff, and I can’t believe I almost . . . get ’im, Hank! I’ll be right behind you.”

  Yes sir! That was the order I’d been waiting for. I hit the Afterburners, went to Full Throttle on all engines, and zoomed down the road after the enemy. It didn’t take me long to catch up with him. He was running down the ditch now, fighting his way through tall sunflowers and Johnson grass.

  He heard me coming and looked back over his shoulder. “Now poochie . . . now puppy . . . don’t be bitter. Go chase a rabbit, hear? Get away from me, you fleabag!”

  When I had closed the distance between us to ten yards, I began my Targeting Procedures. I took careful aim at his hip pockets, coaxed one last burst of speed out of the Afterburners, and . . . WHAMMO!

  I nailed him, fellers, and once I had him on the ground, there was no way he was going to get away. He tried. He kicked and pushed and slapped and slugged and squalled naughty things about me. Heh, heh. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what he did. He was MINE!

  Slim was there in a flash. He’d lost his hat in the chase. His face was bright red and he was huffing and puffing. And somewhere along the way he’d picked up a cedar-post club about three feet long.

  He put the end of the club down close to the thief’s face. “Pardner, I’m making a citizen’s arrest. You’ve got the right to resist, and if you do, I’ll wrap this fence post around your ears and enjoy every minute of it.”

  The crook raised his hands. “Calf rope. Uncle. Peace, brother. I surrender, and can you call off this dog? I thought you said he wouldn’t attack.”