The Case of the Kidnapped Collie (7 page)

Chapter Twelve: Will This Story End Happily or in Tragedy?

I
would have been pleased to find Rip and Snort in the bushes. After all, we had been buddies on a few occasions and had shared some good laughs.

It wasn't Rip and Snort. It was Scraunch the Terrible, who happened to be the very worst, meanest, cruelest coyote in all of Ochiltree County. Or Roberts County. Or Lipscomb, Hemphill, Hansford, or any other county you could mention.

He was standing over Miss Beulah, holding her down with one huge paw.

I almost fainted when I saw his gleaming yellow eyes and scarred-up face. I was sorry that my sudden appearance didn't seem to have the same effect on him. In fact, it just increased the size of his grin.

It took me a moment to find my voice. “Well, Scraunch, by George. Isn't this a coincidence, running into you out here in the, uh, bushes.” He didn't speak, just glared. “And you seem to be standing on a friend of mine.”

When she heard my voice, Beulah struggled to get up. “Oh Hank, thank goodness you found me! This horrible brute jumped me while I was getting a drink, and I think he's planning to take me as a captive. Get off of me, you big oaf, you're hurting my ribs!”

Scraunch got a chuckle out of that. “Huh, huh, huh. Horrible brute catch silly girl-dog away from house and boom-boom, now make her into coyote-girl to howl at moon.”

She struggled again. “Oh no you won't, mister. I'll never be your coyote-girl, and furthermore, Hank is Head of Ranch Security and he beats up coyotes all the time, don't you, Hank?”

There was a long moment of silence. “Well, I, uh . . .”

“And he's going to beat you up SO BAD, you'll wish you'd kept your slimy paws to yourself, aren't you, Hank?”

“Well, I . . .”

“And then he's going to beat up all your cousins and uncles and brothers, aren't you, Hank?”

“Beulah, just lie still and let me do the talking. Please.” She lay still, thank goodness, I mean, she was fixing to talk me into a shallow grave. She lay still and I turned to Scraunch.

He was grinning. “Dummy ranch dog beat up coyote all time, huh?”

“Well, she exaggerates, Scraunch, you know how it is.”

“And beat up Scraunch and all kinfolks too, huh?”

“Well, maybe not all of them, but . . . listen, Scraunch, I'll bet we can work out a deal here. Let me have Beulah and I'll give you . . . let's see. I'll give you a free pass on my ranch. You can come and go as you please, do anything you wish. What a deal, huh?”

“Already got free pass.” He held up a huge fist.

“Hm, good point. Okay, try this. Dinner for two at the chicken house. Absolutely free. All you can eat.” He shook his head. “Okay, maybe you'd go for dog food, genuine Co-op dog food kernels. Great stuff, Scraunch, you'd love it.” He shook his head. “Bones? We've got some wonderful bones.”

“Ha. Coyote got plenty bones.”

“Yeah, but these have been buried for months, Scraunch, my own personal collection of aged bones. I wouldn't offer this deal to anyone but you, no kidding.”

He shook his head.

I was running out of ideas. I cocked my right ear, hoping to hear the sounds of the men coming in our direction. Where had they gone? If they didn't show up pretty soon . . .

I turned back to Scraunch. “Okay, Scraunch, I'll play my last card. Let Beulah go and take me as your captive. Make me your slave, eat me for supper, do as you wish, but let the girl go.”

He gave that one some thought. “Pretty good deal . . . but not goodest enough. Hunk-dog too skinny for eat, too lazy for work, too ugly for look-at.”

“Is that your last word?”

“Last word. Coyote tired of too much foolish talk.” He beamed an evil eye at me. “Hunk-dog better git-go while gitting-go still good.”

“All right, Scraunch, okay, you win.”

“Huh. Coyote always win.”

“I know, but before you carry this lovely lady off into captivity . . .”

Beulah let out a gasp. “Oh Hank, no!”

“. . . before you carry her away, Scraunch, I want to sing her one last love song, just for old time's sake.”

His face showed dill pickles and lemons—a sour expression, in other words. “Uh! Scraunch not give a hoot for dummy love song.”

“That's fine, Scraunch, it's not for you anyway. You don't even have to listen.”

He reached out a paw and poked me in the chest. “Hunk not tell Scraunch what to doing.”

“Okay, fine. Listen to the song. It might improve your mind and upgrade your cultural standards.”

He gave me a big wicked grin. “Scraunch not listen to dummy love song.”

“That'll work. All right, Beulah, here we go.”

“Oh Hank, don't abandon me to the coyotes!”

“Just listen to the song, dear. I think you'll find it pretty interesting.”

Whilst I tuned up my tonsils, Scraunch turned his back on me and covered his ears with his paws while keeping a foot on Beulah. As you will soon see, he was walking right into my trap.

My Best for You

Beulah, collie of my dreams

With flaxen hair and eyes that beam

A light that warms me like the morning sun.

You do not know, I should not say,

I think of you most every day,

And dream of you when every day is done.

But there's a shadow in my dream,

A certain bird dog, and it seems

That you find him hard to ignore.

He's not a bad guy, I'll admit,

He's good with quail but I submit

That life with him could sure be a bore.

Now, Beulah, listen carefully,

There's more here than the eye can see,

This song is actually a secret code.

So do the things I say, my dear,

I'm going to bust you out of here,

And when I move you'd better hit the road.

When the music stops, I'll punch the brute

And do my best to break his snoot

While you and Plato run off to the west.

So don't look back but now and then

Remember that you had a friend

Who cared for you and gave you his best.

Scraunch missed the hidden message in the song, of course, but Beulah caught it. I could see the change in her eyes on the third verse. I gave her a nod of my head. She nodded back.

I took a big gulp of air and prepared myself for the next scene in My Life's Drama. “Hey Scraunch,” I tapped him on the shoulder, “I'm finished.” He turned around. “But I'm taking your nose with me. Here's a little bouquet from me and Beulah.”

I drew back my right paw and delivered the hardest, straightest punch I could muster. I leaned into it, fellers, and gave it everything I had.

Ker-WHOP!

Holy smokes, that guy had the hardest nose in all of Texas! It was like slugging an anvil, a tree, a tombstone, a huge rock. It sent an earthquake through my paw, up my arm, through my entire body, and out to the tip end of my tail.

But you know what else? It knocked him back­ward one step, and that's all Beulah needed. In a flash, she scrambled to her feet and went streaking off to the west. On the other side of the bushes, she met up with Plato, and together they set sail for the house.

“Good-bye, Beulah,” I heard myself say. “I wish it could have worked out better for us but . . .”

I turned my gaze back to . . . gulp . . . the horrible expression on his face sent shingles of sheer terror down my backbone, tingles, that is. Blood dripped off the end of his nose and there was a prairie fire raging in his eyes.

“Scraunch, I think I can explain everything if you'll just . . .”

“Ranch dog die!”

Before I could argue the point, or turn and run for my life, Scraunch leaped right into the middle of me and . . . that's all I remember.

He murdered me right there and that's the end of the story.

Sorry.

Okay, maybe he didn't quite get the job done, but only because the hunters came to my rescue and ran him off. He did pretty well, though, for a guy who'd been interrupted.

By the time the guys got there, Scraunch had shown me most of what he knew about boxing, pasture fighting, and Coyote Karate. He'd used my carcass for a basketball, a mop, a broom, and a dustpan, and then stuffed me into a hollow log.

That's where they found me. They saw my toe­nails sticking out of one end of the log. To get me out, they had to call in three winch trucks, two units from the Wolf Creek Volunteer Fire Depart­ment, seven chain saws, and three welders with cutting torches.

Pretty serious, huh? You bet it was.

But then came the good part. They carried my near-lifeless body up to headquarters and laid me out under that big hackberry tree in the front yard—yes, in Sally May's precious yard.

Everyone was there. The whole ranch had turned out to see the Return of the Wounded Hero. Get this:

—The hunters raved about my bravery.

—Sally May fed me warm milk with a spoon and lavished her praise upon me for saving her, uh, turkeys.

—Plato said they should start a special fund at the First National Bank and erect a huge stone statue of me at the scene of the battle.

—Pete watched the whole ceremony from his spot in the iris patch. I had never seen him look so crushed. I loved it!

—And best of all, the lovely Miss Beulah hovered near my wounded side, called me her “extra-special friend” and even gave me a kiss on the cheek before she left.

Wow! Does it get any better than that? I don't think so.

Case cl . . .

Well, there was one small detail that bothered me. When Billy left our place around sundown, Plato and Beulah were standing in the back of his pickup.