We stood and stared at what used to be the town’s television tower. All that was left was a heap of metal and a mangled transmitter.
“See, this is why we got satellite tv,” Zach said. “We’re too far in the boonies to rely on one television tower.”
I groaned. “Well, we still have those stupid rabbit ears. And now I won’t be able to watch anything!”
“You can come over to my house.”
“This is going to be a lousy summer.”
We trooped over to where Daryl was staring at the heap of mangled electronics on the ground.
“Must’ve set the charge too close to the base,” Daryl muttered to himself. “Darn rodents have turned this hill into Swiss cheese.”
As if to prove his point, we suddenly felt the ground under our feet shake. But it wasn’t another explosion. It was Mr. Elliot barreling across the field from his farm next door, looking mad enough to spit nails.
“What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing, Daryl?” Mr. Elliot yelled. Mr. Elliot hated Daryl. Well, maybe hate was too strong a word. He called Daryl a loose cannon, which was a pretty good description, seeing as how a few months ago Daryl had almost blown up Mr. Elliot’s best cow, Esmeralda. She had wandered a little too close to the fence that separated their farms. I guess Daryl hadn’t noticed that the groundhogs’ tunnels ran under both fields. When Daryl blew up the tunnel, the force of the blast had sent Esmeralda flying ten feet in the air. Luckily she’d landed in a clump of junipers and was unhurt, but Mr. Elliot had been furious.
Zach and I had gotten there just as Mr. Elliot saw his best cow staggering to her feet.
“You idiot,” he had screamed at Daryl. “Don’t you know a cow’s like a keg of methane just waiting to go off?”
Daryl had looked at Mr. Elliot in confusion. “Methane?” he asked.
Mr. Elliot walked up to Daryl, put his hands together in front of him and yelled “BOOM!” as his hands flew upward, fingers spread. Finally understanding, Daryl had tried to look serious, but there was this little gleam in his eyes. Really, a flying cow is cool, but an exploding cow! Now there’s something you don’t see every day.
Since that day, Mr. Elliot has been on full alert where Daryl is concerned. The fact that the cowblast had unearthed a real Indian arrowhead didn’t make any difference to Mr. Elliott. Daryl told him it was a good omen, but Mr. Elliot said he didn’t believe in omens.
Everyone else believed it though. What else would explain the fact that only two weeks later, Mr. Elliot got an inheritance from some long-lost uncle? Mr. Elliot insisted it was all just a coincidence, but I heard he kept that arrowhead locked away somewhere safe, just in case.
After the Esmeralda incident, Daryl had kept to himself and stayed away from Mr. Elliot’s property. He was on his best behavior. Until today that is.
“I shoulda known you’d be behind this,” Mr. Elliot shouted. “You’re a menace, that’s what you are.”
“Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,” I said, hoping to calm things down. I went over to the box that protected the transmitter, pulling up a piece of twisted metal to look inside.
What used to be a transmitter was now a jumble of wires, knobs and circuits. Mr. Elliot joined me.
He turned to Daryl, who was standing by, trying to look innocent.
“I…You…This…” was all Mr. Elliot managed. He threw his hands up in the air and walked away.