The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper by John R. Erickson Page B

very moment, just as I had disposed of Drover’s ridiculous theory, I heard a noise behind me. In one rapid motion, I whirled around and cut loose with a withering barrage of . . . hmm, Slim seemed to be coming out of his coma, the one brought on by a savage blow to his head.
    That was good news, great news. By George, I’d been pretty worried about him. I cancelled all barks and leaped up on the hay beside his potsrate body and began giving him Emergency CPR Licks on the face. That brought him around.
    He pushed me away and said, “Quit.” Then he sat up and yawned. “You birdbrains. I come down to the hay barn to take me a little nap and you show up like ants at a church picnic, barkin’ your fool heads off. You got something against hired hands takin’ a little see-ester?”
    HUH?
    I cut my eyes from side to side. Okay, maybe Drover had . . .
    If he was going to take a nap, why didn’t he just call it a nap? How can a dog run a ranch when people go around speaking in five different languages?
    Siesta baloney.
    Suddenly Slim cocked his ear and listened. “Good honk, dogs, the calves are running!” He grabbed his hat and headed for the corrals. For a moment Drover and I were alone. I beamed him a glare of purest steel. He gave me his usual silly grin.

    â€œDrover, sometimes I think you’re trying to make a mockery of my position on this ranch.”
    â€œYeah, but I figured it out, didn’t I?”
    â€œEven a blind hog finds a piece of baloney once in a while.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    I didn’t have time to explain the obvious. I went streaking down to the corrals, where we found . . . you’d be shocked if I told you we found Mysteri­ous Esther, wouldn’t you? Well, we didn’t, and for the very best of reasons. Obviously, she didn’t exist. She’d come straight out of the trash heap of Drover’s imagination.
    No, we didn’t find Mysterious Esther. We found Slim standing beside the fence, watching 146 head of insane steers and heifers running around the weaning pen. I took up a position right beside him, and together we beamed disgusted looks at the cattle.
    â€œStupid calves, what’s got into ’em now? Uh-oh. Do you see what I’m a-seein’? Stray dogs, Hank, four of ’em, and they’re chasing our little darlings. I’ll go for my shotgun. You go whup the tar out of ’em.”
    Yes sir!
    And so the adventure began.

Chapter Two: I Arrest Four Stray Dogs

    S lim trotted off to the house. I whirled around and was ready to address Drover when he came limping up. “Okay, men, here’s the situation. We’ve got a Code Three out there in the weaning pen. It’s liable to be a combat engagement, so lock and load, and prepare for the worst. Any questions?”
    Drover raised his paw. “Yeah, this old leg’s about to quit me.”
    â€œThat’s not a question, trooper. We’ll handle com­plaints after the battle. Any more questions?”
    Drover raised his paw. “Can I go home?”
    â€œNegative. You’ll join me in combat against four stray dogs.”
    His eyes popped open. “Four stray dogs! I thought it was a woman spy. Boy, I sure get confused.”
    â€œYou’re right, Drover, but being right for once won’t get you out of combat. And neither will being confused. Let’s hit the beach and give ’em the full load of barking. Good luck, men.”
    And with that, we shot under the fence and went streaking out into the weaning pen. I could see them now, four scruffy-looking mutts who’d drifted out from town and were shopping around for trouble. Well, they’d come to the right place for that.
    As I drew closer and got a better look at the mutts, I realized that I’d seen them before. It was Buster and Muggs and their gang of town dogs. Remember them? I absorbed this information with . . . uh . . . mixed emotions,