Chapter Nine: Strangers in the Night

My mouth had become as dry as a dirty sock and I wasn’t sure I could speak, yet I had to say something. Let’s face it. With Rip and Snort, a guy had no chance of fighting his way out of a mess, or even running away. They were tougher than boot leather, faster than greased lightning, and they had no sense of humor. None.

Could I talk my way out of this deal? I had to try. I didn’t have time to prepare one of my better speeches, but I had to say something. I swallowed the lump in my throat and launched into my presentation.

“Evening, guys. Hey, this is my lucky night, running into you two, huh?” No response. “Okay, I can guess what you’re thinking. You probably think it was pretty foolish of me to leave ranch headquarters in the middle of the night. Am I getting close?”

Not a sound, not even a grunt to acknowledge my presence. Well, that wasn’t exactly a surprise. I mean, Rip and Snort weren’t famous for their social skills. I plunged on.

“Not talking? That’s fine, no problem. I’ll do the talking and you guys can just listen, and we’ll all come away from the experience . . . uh . . . with a deeper understanding of our . . . okay, about me being out here, alone and unprotected, I agree: from a certain perspective, it appears to be a reckless course of action. We all agree on that, right?”

Not a word.

“So that leaves us with what may turn out to be the . . . the most puzzling question of the entire week: gosh, why would a smart dog like me venture out into the pasture in the dark of night, and why would he walk right into the middle of a couple of possibly unfriendly coyotes?

“Ha ha. Actually, we have two questions there, not just one, and, well, that means we’ll be looking for two answers, right? I mean, every question needs an answer, right? Ha ha.” Silence. “Okay, guys, may I speak frankly here? Your silence is causing me a certain amount of . . . how shall I say this? Your silence is making me nervous. I’m trying my very best to answer all your questions, but I must tell you that it’s hard when you just sit there like a couple of rocks.”

At last a harsh hacksaw voice cut through the silence. “Junior, will you tell that dog to shut his big yap? A guy can’t hardly think with him running his mouth, much less take care of his business.”

Then, another voice said, “Uh-uh, okay, P-pa. H-h-hi, d-d-doggie. My p-pa w-wonders if y-you’d m-m-mind h-h-holding down the n-n-noise a l-little bit, little bit.”

I almost fainted with relief. Do you see the meaning of this? Those voices hadn’t come from Rip and Snort, but from a couple of buzzards named Wallace and Junior!

Holy smokes, what a piece of good luck! I mean, hanging out with buzzards can damage your reputation, but on a dark night in the wilderness, I’ll take buzzards every time over a couple of hungry cannibals.

This discovery left me feeling so relieved, I ran to the buzzards, threw my arms around the smaller of the two, and pulled him into a warm embrace. “Wallace, I never thought I’d be glad to see you again but, by George, you’ve made my heart sing tonight.”

He fought against my hug and pushed me away. “Hyah, get away from me, unhand me, dog! If your heart wants to sing, take it somewheres else and leave the rest of us alone!”

“Well, gee whiz, I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Oh yeah? Well, be friendly to somebody who wants it, and that ain’t me.” He smoothed down his ruffled feathers and waddled a few steps away.

I turned to Junior. “What’s eating him?”

“Oh, that’s j-j-just P-p-pa. H-he gets c-c-cranky s-sometimes.”

Wallace yelled, “Yes, and tell him why, son. Tell him about how our business is down thirty percent this month and we ain’t had enough grub to keep a grasshopper alive. An empty stomach maketh the heart grow cranky, dog, and if that don’t suit you, then go back to wherever you came from and sit on a tack!”

Junior grinned and shrugged. “Th-th-that’s my p-pa.”

“Junior, I don’t know how you can stand to be around him all the time. I’d find it a little depressing after a while.”

“Oh, w-w-well he t-t-takes l-long n-naps.”

“That would help, I guess.”

Wallace stormed over to us and stuck his beak in my face. “And I’ll tell you something else, puppy dog. Me and Junior are on Fire Patrol tonight and the last thing we need is to have some jughead dog hanging around and trying to make idle talk.” He jerked his head toward Junior. “Son, get back on duty, I need to rest my eyes.” He whirled back to me. “We’re busy, so run along. Come back when you can’t stay so long.”

“Buzzards on Fire Patrol? For your information, pal, I’m the Head of Fire—” I stopped talking when I remembered that I had resigned from my post.

“Yes sir, Fire Patrol. Me and Junior have started the Buzzard Volunteer Fire Patrol and we’re a-watching for fires in the night. See all that lightning over yonder? If any one of them forks of lightning was to hit the ground, we’d have ourselves a prairie fire, is what we’d have.”

This was pretty funny but I tried not to laugh. “Let me get this straight. You’re keeping the lightning from starting a fire?”

Wallace puffed himself up. “That’s right, mister. See, I’m the fire chief around here and I’ve put out the word: no fires allowed while I’m on duty.”

“No kidding? So you just . . . what? Talk to the lightning?”

“That’s right. With this lightning, you have to lay down the law. It ain’t a job for the faint of heart, I can tell you that. Watch this.” Wallace turned toward the northwest where flashes of lightning were coming closer. “Listen up, all you lightnings up yonder! This here is Wallace Q. Buzzard, chief of the Fire Patrol. Y’all can twinkle and flash and play around all you want, as long as you stay up in them clouds, but the first rannihan that tries to strike the ground is going to be in a world of hurt!” He turned back to me with a smirk. “What do you say now, pooch?”

“That’s very impressive, and it seems to be working.”

Wallace draped a wing on my shoulder. “Puppy, let me tell you something. There ain’t many creatures on this Earth that want to mess with a buzzard, and that goes double for bolts of lightning. They know what happens when a buzzard gets mad. Do you know what a buzzard does when he gets mad?”

“Uh . . . let me guess. He throws up on whoever made him mad?”

“That’s it, yes, and we ain’t talking about rosebuds and apple pie. We’re talking about . . .”

“Right. I’ve seen some of your work and I’d rather not discuss it.”

He patted my shoulder. “Good, good. Then we’re on the same page, as they say, and you can probably guess what’s fixing to land right on top of your head if you don’t buzz off and leave me and Junior alone.”

I backed away from him. “You know, Wallace, this has been fun, but I really need to be moving along.”

“It ain’t that we’re being unfriendly, we just have things to—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. Suddenly we were blinded by a brilliant flash of lightning, followed seconds later by a blast of thunder. BOOM! It shook the earth and knocked Wallace to the ground.

“Help! Junior, they’re shooting back at us, son! Don’t just stand there like a goose, do something!”

It took a moment for my eyes to recover from the flash, and when they did, I found myself staring at . . . “Hey Wallace, you said you were out here scouting for fires? Well, look right in front of you.”

Wallace picked himself up off the ground and peered into the darkness—darkness that had begun to show a flicker of yellow light about five feet from where Wallace was standing. “That ain’t a fire.”

“It is a fire, and it’s getting bigger by the second.”

“It ain’t a fire, dog, ’cause if it was a fire, I would have seen it first. You know why?” He tapped himself on the chest. “Because the fire chief always finds the fires.”

“P-p-pa?”

Wallace whirled around to Junior. “What!”

“I think h-h-he’s r-r-right. It’s a f-f-f-fire, a fire.”

Wallace craned his neck and squinted at the flames. “Junior, you know that lightning bolt that pret’ near fried us all?”

“Y-y-yeah.”

“Son, it has started a fire and I’m turning in the first report. What do you reckon we ought to do?”

“Oh, m-maybe you’d b-b-better p-put it out.”

“Me? Junior, the last time I tried stomping out a fire, it sure did blister the bottoms of my feet. How about you handle this one?”

“F-f-forget th-that.”

Wallace whirled around to me. “Shep, how’d you like to join the fire department? We’ve never hired a dog before, but we’re a little short-handed right now, is what we are, and there’s a good job just a-waiting for the right dog.”

“No thanks.”

While the flames reached higher and higher, Wallace jerked his head toward Junior and back to me. “Well, I’ve never seen such a bunch of gold-bricking, half-stepping, yellow-bellied chicken livers! If y’all don’t get yourselves out there and stomp out that fire . . .”

Just then, the wind picked up and fanned the flames into a pillar of fire that set Wallace’s tail feathers ablaze. He jumped straight up in the air and started running in circles, slapping at the fire with his wings.

“Hyah, fire, hyah! Junior, don’t just stand there gawking like an I-don’t-know-what! Jump in here and do something!”

“P-p-pa, s-s-sit d-down!”

“Dummy! I ain’t going to sit down, that’s where the fire’s at!”

Junior turned to me with a weary expression. “D-d-doggie, y-you t-tell him. H-h-he n-never listens to m-me.”

I turned to Wallace and yelled, “Listen, birdbrain, if you’ll sit on the fire, you’ll put it out!”

Wallace stopped in his tracks, stared at me, and sat down. Moments later, he stood up and studied his smoking tail section. “Well, you didn’t need to screech and call names. Buzzards are pretty sensitive, down deep.”

I tried not to laugh. “Sorry, Wallace.”

“No, you ain’t. You ain’t sorry at all. I seen that grin on your face. You thought it was funny, but let me tell you something, puppy dog.” He stopped talking and stepped away from the burning grass at his feet. “Junior, that fire is fixing to get out of hand.”

“Y-yeah. You r-r-reckon we b-b-better p-p-put it out, put it out?”

“Put it out? Son, I’m taking early retirement and it’s time to get airborne.” He jerked his head back to me. “We’ll leave this one for you, Shep, but try to remember this.” He moved closer and whispered in my ear. “It takes only one fire to make a hot dog. Hee hee!” He yelled out to Junior. “Come on, son, last one in the air’s a rotten egg!”

Wallace spread his wings, trotted into the breeze, and flapped off into the night. Junior gave me a grin and waved his wing. “I g-guess he’s d-d-done playing f-f-fire chief. B-b-bye, d-doggie, and b-be c-careful.”

“See you around, Junior.”

I smiled to myself as I watched him fly away. They were quite a pair, those two, and seeing Wallace’s tail on fire had kind of raised my spirits. But I didn’t have long to think about that because, just then, the wind made a sudden shift and began blowing hard out of the north.

I guess you know what strong wind does to a fire. In dry weather, it will turn a little fire into a roaring monster and that’s just what I saw in front of me, a roaring, leaping, hissing monster of a prairie fire that sent a spray of sparks shooting up into the dark sky.

Fellers, if you’ve never seen a prairie fire up close, you can’t understand how scary it is. It touches something deep inside a dog and makes him want to do just one thing: get as far away as possible and run for his life! It’s the natural, normal response and I’m not ashamed to say that I . . . well, turned and ran like a striped ape.