Chapter Ten: An Important Mission for Drover
I took refuge in the feed barn and remained in deep dark hiding until I was absolutely sure that Sally May had given up the chase.
Only then did I dare to stick my nose out the crack at the bottom of the door—the same one, you might recall, that was warped at the bottom. I cocked one ear, gave the air a thorough sniffing, and ventured outside.
Darkness was falling and my stomach began to growl, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten a bite all day. Well, I’d eaten one bite of Tricky Bacon, but that had done me more harm than good.
To my surprise, I saw Drover sitting nearby, staring up at the clouds. He gave me his usual silly grin.
“Oh hi, Hank. Was that your stomach growling?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, me too. I would have gone to the machine shed and eaten some dog food but I was worried about the Famine Dog.”
“Phantom Dog, Drover, and yes, I too wish we could go to the machine shed, but I share your concern about . . .”
Suddenly I heard an odd sound. I cocked my ear and listened. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
There it was again. “It sounded like a rusted gate hinge. Did you hear it?”
“Oh, that. It’s just my old stomach growling. It must be thinking about a nice big bowl of Co-op dog food up at the machine shed.”
Just then, my stomach growled again. “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s getting kind of noisy around here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it sure is. I hope we don’t starve to death. What are you doing down here?”
“Hiding from a crazed ranch wife who just tried to commit murder on me.”
“I’ll be derned. Why would she do a thing like that?”
“Good question, Drover. As near as I can tell, it all began with a small misunderstanding, and from there, one thing led to another.”
“Yeah, things do that sometimes. First you have one thing and that leads to two. Then you have two things and . . .”
“By the way, Drover, where were you when Sally May started blaming me for everything she hadn’t blamed on me before?”
“Well . . .”
“You vanished, that’s where you were. You left me there, all alone, to be blamed for crimes I didn’t commit. How could you do such a thing?”
“Well, it was pretty easy. I just picked up and left.”
“Yes, left your friend and comrade all alone on the field of battle. Drover, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Yeah, I was a rat to leave. I feel pretty bad about it already.”
“And those things only get worse.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure I can stand the guilt.”
I placed a paw on his shoulder and spoke to him as father to son. “But I think I can help you out of your terrible trap of guilt and remorse and shame.”
“Oh good! It’s about to get me down.”
I patted his shoulder. “We need a volunteer to go into the machine shed to check for phantoms.” His eyes crossed. “And you’re just the guy we’ve been looking for.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Congratulations, Drover. You’ve been selected for a very important mission.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“I will be very proud of you, and all your guilt feelings will melt away like snowflakes. Everything has worked out for the best.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Come on, trooper. A bowl of delicious dog food awaits us if your mission is successful.”
“Yeah, but what if it’s not?”
“If it’s not, Drover, then you have my solemn word of honor that you will receive all the postnasal decorations the Security Division has to offer.”
“Oh my gosh!”
We headed for the machine shed in a long trot. Well, let’s put it this way: I was in a long trot but Drover soon fell behind. It seems that he had developed a serious limp.
“Boy, this old leg is really giving me fits! I’m not sure . . .”
“That’s fine, Drover. All you have to do is limp over to the mirror and check it out. Once we get the All’s Clear, All’s Well signal, then we’ll gorge ourselves on delicious dog food. A little limp here and there won’t hurt a thing. Actually, it might even be better.”
“Better than what?”
I slowed and waited for him to catch up, “Better than spending the rest of your life as a coward and a chicken liver. Believe me, Drover, this is an opportunity of a lifetime. It’s your chance to prove what you’re really made of.”
“I already know what I’m made of. That’s what scares me.”
“Rubbish. All you have to do is scout the machine shed.”
“Yeah, but what if the Famine Dog’s still there?”
“Uh, well, we could find ourselves in a combat situation.”
“Who’s WE?”
“We, Drover, the entire amassed forces of the Security Division, standing together in a united front. Or to put it another way . . . YOU.”
“Oh my leg!”
“I’ll be standing by in a support position. Someone has to run the command post and attend to the complex details of coordinating the attack and maintaining communications and so forth.”
“Maybe I could . . .”
“We all have our jobs, Drover, and unfortunately some of us have to take the ones without the glamour of combat.”
“That’s the one for me.”
By this time we had reached the machine shed. I waited for Mister Limp to catch up. “Hurry up, son, it’s getting dark. We don’t have time to waste. Get in there and check it out.”
He whined and cried but I stood firm and pushed him through the crack between the big sliding doors. He went creeping inside and I began the Mark and Count Procedure. I would give him three minutes to complete his mission. If he didn’t return by that time . . .
Well, we could always give him another three minutes. There’s no sense in rushing into things. Haste makes waste.
I had just marked two minutes and thirty seconds when his nose appeared at the door. “Yes, yes? What did you find? Give me a complete report.”
He sat down on the gravel drive and looked up at the sky. “You know what I think? I think what we saw in the mirror was . . . ourselves.”
I glared at the runt. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard, absolutely the most . . . why do you say that?”
“Well, because it was my face in the mirror. I just know it was.”
“That’s absurd, Drover, because what you’ve chosen to ignore is that a mirror is actually . . .”
Hmmmm. I began pacing. Was it possible . . .
The pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. Who had given me the original report about the Phantom Dog? PETE. Who had laughed himself silly when we’d told him about the Phantom Dog and the Handsome Prince? PETE.
Why, the sneaking little weasel! The no good, backstabbing, counterfeit little . . .
“Okay, it’s all coming clear now, Drover. It appears that we’ve been tricked by the cat. He set this whole thing up to get back at me for running him up a tree this morning.”
“I’ll be derned.”
“He’ll pay for this, but in the meantime, Drover, we must take an Oath of Secrecy. The outside world must never know what we’ve done. Hence, if the subject of the Phantom Dog ever comes up again, our story will be that we were misquoted.”
And with that, I closed the Case of the Phantom Dog and turned all my attention to the overturned hubcap just inside the machine shed door. It contained . . .
It was supposed to be filled with Co-op dog food, but it appeared that someone or something had been stealing our rations.
“Drover, have you been eating dog food?”
“Oh heck no, I was scared of the Food Phantom. Maybe it was Pete.”
“I don’t think so. The little sneak would love to steal from us, but I happen to know that he has trouble chewing our food. No, it wasn’t Pete, I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Well, maybe it was the skunk.”
“Skunk? Oh, you’re probably referring to J. T. Cluck’s wild, improbable story? No, and let me explain why. In the first place, the skunk report came from a chicken, and that speaks for itself. In the second place . . . do you smell something?”
He sniffed the air. “Not really, but by siduses have bid actig ub on be ladely.”
“Hmm. Maybe it was nothing. As I was saying, that skunk report was hogwash. We now know that the skunk couldn’t have come out of the mirror and . . . are you SURE you don’t smell something?”
He took a deep breath and cocked an ear. “You know, I think there’s an odd smell around here.”
“I was thinking the same thing myself, Drover. Would you care to guess what it might be?”
“Well, I’d hate to guess and be wrong.”
“This is strictly off the record. Go ahead and make a stab at it.”
“I’d guess . . .”
You’ll never guess what he guessed.