The Case of the Midnight Rustler by John R. Erickson Page B

of an approaching vehicle. By the time I could scramble, bark, and move into the Hair Lift-Up procedure, the trespasser’s pickup had already pulled up in front of the machine shed.
    I hate being surprised and caught off guard, so to make up for lost time, I threw all my reserves of extra energy into the barking maneuver.
    In that kind of situation, the very future and survival of the ranch often depends on the courage of its Head of Ranch Security. It’s no place for a shrunken violet, I can tell you that, and it’s no place for a chicken-hearted little nincompoop like Drover, even though he had beat me to the punch and was out there yipping at the intruder.
    But mere yipping is no substitute for the kind of deep ferocious barking that is something of a specialty with me, and when the intruder dared to step out of his pickup and walk toward my machine shed, well, hey, I bristled the hair on my back and bared my fangs and . . .
    I’m not going to tell you what happened next, because it wasn’t funny AT ALL.
    You’ll just have to wonder about it, forever and ever.

Chapter Two: Okay, Maybe I’ll Tell, If You Promise Not to Laugh

    W hat a cheap trick. If Loper had wanted me to stop barking, couldn’t he have just said so? I would have been glad to . . . but no, he being a comedian and a humorist and a childish prankster, he had to sneak up behind me and BUZZ ME ON THE BOHUNKUS WITH THAT STUPID AIR WRENCH!!
    I thought I’d been shot with a death ray, and no, it wasn’t funny when I tried to escape and ran into the side of the machine shed.
    It wasn’t funny at all, and if I catch you laughing at my misfortune, I’ll . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.
    Yes I do. I’ll hold my breath until I’m dead, grave­yard dead, and then you’ll be sorry. Nobody ever misses a good loyal dog until he’s gone, and then they cry and wish they could take back all the mean and hateful things they did to him, but they can’t because it’s too late.
    It was a cheap, shabby trick, and I left a print of my nose in the side of the machine shed, and yes, it did hurt.
    How much sympathy did I get from the smallminded people who had witnessed the tragedy? You can guess. Very little. None. I thought Slim and Loper would pass out from lack of oxygen, they laughed so hard.
    Had I laughed at their problems? Made fun out of their pathetic attempts to fix up the mower? No, but that didn’t stop them from . . . oh well.
    This job pays the same, whether they’re patting you on the head or making you the butt of their laughingstock.
    In typical childish cowboy fashion, they found great pleasure in my misfortune. Fine. I didn’t care. Through watering eyes, I glared daggers at them. Someday they would be sorry, and until then . . .
    Drover arrived at that very moment. “Hi Hank. Did you just hear a loud crash?”
    I gave him a withering glare. “I WAS the loud crash, you moron, and you’re just lucky I wasn’t killed.”
    â€œBoy, that was lucky. What happened?”
    â€œThe owner of this dismal place set off an air wrench under my tail, and I came within inches of destroying the entire south side of the barn.”
    â€œI’ll be derned. That’s quite a tale.”
    â€œThanks. It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. You’ve had some pretty good ones.”
    â€œNo, this is the original equipment, Drover. It’s been through some hard times, and there’s a tale behind every misfortune it’s seen.”
    â€œYep, there’s a tail behind every dog.”
    â€œExactly. But dead dogs have no tales.”
    â€œYeah. I wonder what they do with all of ’em.”
    â€œOh, they’re passed down from generation to generation and become part of our collective folklore. One of these days, Drover, our children will be telling of our adventures.”
    â€œI don’t