Chapter Nine: Madame Moonshine Is Captured by Cannibals

Think. 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.