“I wouldn’t bother, man.” Links’s voice came from a neighboring mound. “They’s just organic barbed wire.”
“So what’s not to like?” asked Oxo, who was rather partial to barbed wire, as long as it was crisp and rusty.
But the tumbleweed proved just as tough and dry and tasteless as everything else he’d tried in the desert. He chewed his own fleece for a bit instead and blamed Red Tongue for everything, which made him feel better.
Having realized that the storm was over, the other warriors were shaking themselves free of the sand. One by one they stood up, coughing and sneezing. Then the sun reappeared, blazing down on them once more from the harsh blue sky. The silence was as thick as the dust on the warriors’ fleeces. Too weary to speak, they spluttered and choked and plodded on. They’d only gone twenty paces west, however, when they heard a feeble cry behind them.
“Hey, guys, wait for us…”
Turning, they realized they’d forgotten the humans.
Phoenix and Cameron struggled to their feet, wheezing and wiping sand from their faces. They swayed as they tried to follow the sheep. After a few stumbling paces, Cameron sank to the ground again and rolled on his back, staring at the sky. Phoenix knelt beside him, his own head spinning.
“Sorry, Phee…” Cameron’s voice was a whisper. “We’re gonna die and it’s all my fault…”
Phoenix looked wildly, helplessly around. He knew Cameron was right. They needed water fast. They needed a miracle.
The sheep plodded back and clustered around, blinking. They all felt dizzy and weak. Dark shadows circling on the sand made Jaycey dizzier than ever.
“Ohmygrass…” she whimpered. “What’s that?”
Squinting upward, they saw two large, gliding birds with black feathers, bald heads, and curved beaks.
“Vultures,” croaked Wills. “They’re waiting.”
“What for?” asked Oxo.
“For us to die,” answered Wills.
11
Sal’s Ear
Wills knew from the cowboy films he’d watched with Tod that vultures live on dead meat. It wasn’t a nice thought. He glanced up again. They were still there, circling, watching.
Sal suddenly wobbled and lurched sideways.
“What’s up now?” croaked Oxo. “Have you had another mirage?”
“It’s my ear,” said Sal, lurching even farther. “It’s buzzing again.”
“Ohmygrass…” Jaycey gasped as she stared.
Sal’s ear was sticking straight out from her head and pulling Sal with it. She stumbled and fell, her neck outstretched.
“Sal, Sal, get up!” cried Jaycey. “The vulture birds will think you’re dead and rip you to bits and then you will be dead and you’re not dead so getupgetupgetup!”
The buzzing was louder now. Wills suddenly realized what it could mean. He remembered the flood.
“Dig,” he cried. “Dig!”
“What for?” asked Oxo.
“Just dig,” Wills urged. “Here, by Sal’s head.”
He started to scrape at the hard dirt. They all joined in, and slowly the dust-dry ground beneath their hooves became heavier and stonier. Oxo drove his head into the hollow they’d created and his nose came out wet.
“Water!” he coughed. “There’s water down here!”
They dug deeper, faster, and tiny puddles of moisture began to join together, forming a bigger puddle. Sal’s ear finally stopped quivering.
The sheep leaned over the puddle in turns and lapped a little of the cool, clean water.
“The humans now,” said Wills.
Phoenix had seen and was trying to speak.
“Cam…Cam…” he rasped. “They’ve found water…”
Still on his knees, he tried to drag his brother across the dirt. The warriors came to meet him and, by gently butting and nudging, did their best to help.
Phoenix scooped up water from the hole and splashed it on Cameron’s face. Then, heaving him into a sitting position, he trickled water between his brother’s lips before leaning over and sucking in a mouthful himself. Then the warriors took it in turns again and this time, as water bubbled up from somewhere way below the surface, they drank their fill. When they’d finally had enough, they stood in a circle around Sal, their faces dripping. Her ear and the stud in it were still and quiet.
“Respect, man,” said Links, tapping a hoof against Sal’s shoulder. “How did you know it was there?”
Sal looked modestly at the ground. “I suppose it’s because I’m in touch with my inner sheepliness,” she said. “Being able to sense the presence of water must have been so useful to our ancestors.”
“Not in Eppingham,” objected Jaycey with a frown.
“Cool though,” said Oxo. “Couldn’t sense the presence of a few fat cauliflowers as well, could you?”
Sal merely beamed at the warriors. “We all have powers long since forgotten,” she declared.
Wills wondered if it had more to do with silver studs applied with staple guns, but he said nothing. And if he was right, then there was another question: why had the Staple Gun Woman tagged Sal to find water? And what was Oxo’s gold stud for?
Wills glanced across at the boys. They had water now, but Cameron was shivering despite the heat. He looked really ill and Phoenix didn’t look much better. Clearly, they could’t walk and they were too big for the sheep to carry. But the warriors couldn’t just leave them. The vultures had drifted away but they would be back.
Wills scanned the empty landscape, hoping to see the dust of a vehicle. Nothing. Then, above the rim of the far-off mountains, he saw a speck in the sky.
Phoenix had seen it too.
“Helicopter…” he croaked. “Cam…there’s a helicopter!”
The chop and whine of the rotors gradually became audible in the still desert air, although the machine was a long way off. Was it searching or just passing?
“Guys, we’ve got to attract its attention!” cried Wills.
He began running backward and forward.
“Oh dear,” sighed Sal. “It’s really too hot for this.”
But she and the others joined Wills, running up and down and bleating loudly.
High above, the helicopter pilot saw movement to his left. As he dipped his machine toward it, he saw what seemed to be a small flock of supercharged sheep. He turned to the paramedic beside him. Her eyes were even wider than his. Then she pointed.
The sheep had to turn their backs as the landing helicopter created another sand storm. Then, once the rotors had slowed, they trotted to where Phoenix and Cameron were lying. The paramedic ran toward them and crouched beside the humans.
“Are you Phoenix and Cameron Dinsdale?” she asked.
Phoenix managed a nod.
“Your mom reported you missing. We’ve been searching since dawn.” She glanced at the puddle. “We were expecting to find a couple of corpses.”
The pilot joined her, bringing a stretcher, and between them they carried Cameron quickly to the helicopter. When they came back for Phoenix, he was on his feet, wavering but determined.
“You’ve gotta take these guys as well,” he said. “Wherever you’re going. They saved our lives—twice. We’re not moving without them.”
The paramedic shrugged.
“OK,” she said. “I guess we can take them back to Fort Wilmot.”
Wills had heard the words “Fort Wilmot.”
“It’s a Red Tongue place, remember?” he said urgently to the other sheep.
And the pilot had no sooner lowered the helicopter’s ramp than the warriors were scampering onboard.
“Is that another car?” asked Oxo, peering from the helicopter’s open doorway, while they waited for the paramedic to strap her human patients in safely.
“Ohmygrass…” Jaycey was s
tanding beside him. “It’s staplegunwoman…”
Holly Boomberg screeched to a halt, well away from the whirring rotor blades, and leapt from her golf cart.
“You can’t take those sheep!” she yelled, spotting Oxo in the doorway. “They’re mine!”
But none of the humans heard her above the noise.
“Ready for lift off,” shouted the pilot, and the paramedic slammed the door shut as the helicopter rose from the ground and whirled away.
Down on the ground, however, spitting sand between gritted teeth, Holly was already back behind the wheel of her cart. She’d read the words on the side of the helicopter:
AIR AMBULANCE FORT WILMOT
Just after dawn at Back of Beyond Ranch, Tod and Gran had woken cold and thirsty by the dying embers of their fire. Tod threw on some more sticks until it flared again.
“I’m going to try and make some smoke signals, Gran,” he said. “To attract someone’s attention.”
Gran creaked to her feet.
“Good idea,” she said, then gave him a little nudge. “I hope you spell better with smoke than you do with a pencil.” She walked stiffly toward the door. “While you’re doing that, I’ll get some water for our imaginary cup of tea.”
She picked up her bag, pushed open the door, and stepped out into the harsh light of the yard. And the twin barrels of a shotgun.
12
The Sheriff of Gunslinger City
The man holding the gun was huge. He was tall and upright, with broad shoulders and a leathery, tanned face. He wore cowboy boots and a fancy waistcoat, and stared down at Gran from the shade of a Stetson hat. Pinned to the breast of his waistcoat was a sheriff’s badge.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said to Gran, lowering the gun only a little.
“Hallelujah!” cried Gran. “How did you know we were here?”
“I’ve been watching your smoke all night,” said the sheriff. “Fires ain’t permitted in this territory. Could I ask what you’re doing here?”
Tod was standing beside his gran.
“We’re looking for our sheep,” he began. “And…”
“Uh-huh.” The sheriff was still pointing the gun. “And what sheep would that be, exactly?”
“The Eppingham rare breeds.”
“Is that so?” The sheriff nodded but he didn’t sound as if he believed a word. “Could I ask you to empty that bag, please, ma’am?”
Gran hesitated, then upended her bag. The contents of the bottomless pit cascaded out on to the ground. The sheriff surveyed the resultant untidy pyramid of bath plugs, head lamps, sticky tape, clothespins, and toilet paper rolls; then he stepped forward and poked it warily with his shotgun.
“You good people got I.D.?” he inquired.
“I’m Ida White and this is my great-grandson Tod.”
“Not names, ma’am. I.D. Proof.”
Tod and Gran looked at each other, then at the jumble of bag contents.
“Oh dear,” said Gran. “I must have left our passports in Mr. Rhubarb’s car.”
The sheriff nodded. It was the same style of nod he’d used before.
“Mr. Rhubarb’s car…” he repeated thoughtfully. Then he waved the gun at Tod. “Go put that fire out, boy, and come straight back.”
Tod went quickly into the ranch house.
“You can restack your bag, ma’am,” continued the sheriff. He watched while she rammed the contents back in, then added, “By the way, you’re under arrest.”
“You’re arresting the wrong people!” cried Tod, stamping on the remains of the fire. “We’ve been kidnapped and dumped here. He said he wanted to keep us out of the way until B-Day. But we haven’t got a phone to contact the police.”
The sheriff gave him another disbelieving look. “Then I guess you’ll have to make do with me, son. The name’s Tiny. On account of I ain’t. And I’m the sheriff of Gunslinger City. Can you ride?”
Tod and Gran nodded and the sheriff looked toward the sagging gate, where a huge white horse and a small brown mule were tethered.
“You can share the mule,” he said.
Tod helped Gran onto the mule, then hoisted himself into the saddle behind her. There was just room for both of them. The sheriff looked down at them from the comfort of his own beautifully decorated leather saddle.
“This is Lightning,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “You ever been to Gunslinger City?”
Tod and Gran shook their heads.
“Well then,” said Sheriff Tiny, jerking the mule’s tether free of the gate and leading his captives away. “Your day’s about to get even better.”
The horse and mule walked steadily through the desert for some time. Nobody spoke. Tod’s mind was racing. Should he try to escape? Should he try to fight? Should he try to explain again about Rhubarb and the sheep? He glanced up at the sheriff’s stern face. And at the gun. He decided to keep quiet for a bit. The mule stopped abruptly to tear at a cactus plant and Tod had to hang on tight to stop himself and Gran falling off. He would wait until they got to Gunslinger. Surely there would be someone there who would believe their story?
The sun was getting higher and hotter when the sheriff eventually announced, “Here we are, folks. Gunslinger City.”
“It’s just a ghost town,” said Gran as they jolted down the main street.
High on his white horse, Sheriff Tiny flinched slightly. What the old lady said was true, but it hurt him to hear it.
“My great-great-gran’pappy was sheriff here in the Gold Rush,” he said proudly. “There was a lotta gold found hereabouts. Gunslinger was one heck of a place then. Full of miners, traders, saloon girls…”
“That’s history,” said Gran. “It’s a ghost town.”
She was still angry at being arrested and didn’t care about the sheriff’s great-great-gran’pappy.
“You can’t say it don’t look real enough,” said Tiny. He nodded at the general store, the chapel, the hotel, and the saloon as they passed.
“There are no people,” said Gran.
“There will be. The first bus’ll be arriving in half an hour. We can get upward of five hundred folk a day.”
This was true as well, but Tiny took no real satisfaction from it. A hundred and fifty years ago, Gunslinger had been on the cattle trail and the gold trail. Now, it was on the tourist trail; it had a café and a gift shop. As sheriff, his time was mostly spent directing people to the washrooms or posing for photographs. Today though, he’d made a genuine arrest. He intended to make the most of it.
Tiny reined in outside the jailhouse, dismounted, and tethered his horse and the mule to the hitching rail. Tod jumped down and helped Gran. At any other time, he would have been thrilled to be here. It was like being in the actual Wild West.
As Tod looked around, Gran suddenly made a break for it.
“Run, Tod!” she cried, ducking away, but the sheriff took just one step, stretched out a long arm, and grabbed her.
“That’s resisting arrest, lady,” he said disapprovingly.
“Too right,” answered Gran, wriggling and kicking.
To be on the safe side, Tiny grabbed Tod with his other hand and with one squirming prisoner tucked under each arm, stepped onto the boardwalk.
“I want to speak to your boss!” yelled Tod. “The Marshal or the Mayor or someone!”
The sheriff merely tightened his grip, barged open the door to the jailhouse, and strode inside. Passing through a small office, he kicked open the cell door and dropped Tod and Gran on the floor. Gran swung at him with her bag, but Tiny dodged the blow.
“Easy now…” he warned.
He clanged the cell door shut. Tod rushed at it and rattled the bars as Tiny turned and removed the key.
“You can’t do this!” Tod shouted.
“I just did, boy.”
&nb
sp; “But we’re not criminals!”
“Of course not,” agreed Tiny with a disbelieving smile. “You’re friends of Mr. Rhubarb. Now you just let me know when you wanna start talking sense.”
And he turned away and strolled out, taking the cell key with him.
13
Snorting Sam
Fort Wilmot was a big town with an airport, a railway station, and a lot of wide, busy roads. There was no sign of Red Tongue, though, and the warriors weren’t sure what to do next as the helicopter landed outside the hospital.
When the engine was switched off and the sheep’s ear protectors had been removed, Wills heard the paramedic speak again.
“Where did you dumb kids think you were going, anyhow?” she asked.
“Here,” said Phoenix, trying to stand up. “Fort Wilmot. D’you think we’ll be able to see the Rams tonight? When they go head to head with Red Tongue?”
“No way,” said the paramedic.
“But we’ll be fine by then,” protested Phoenix as Wills shifted closer to listen.
What rams did they mean, he wondered? Oxo and Links? The paramedic gave Wills a pat.
“You know,” she said, “I reckon these sheep are brighter than you guys. You get lost in the desert with no water, no phone, no radio. And you get your dates wrong too. Red Tongue slaughtered the Rams here last night. You missed it. They’ve moved on. Las Vegas is next.”
She gave Wills a smile and another pat as a hospital team arrived to disembark the humans.
“I’ll see if the vet can transplant you an ovine brain cell or two,” she said to the boys. “That is, if your mom doesn’t strangle you first.”
“Look after those sheep,” called Cameron anxiously, to no one in particular, as he was wheeled toward the hospital.
But Wills didn’t wait to be looked after by anyone. He led the way down the ramp out of the helicopter.
The Warrior Sheep Go West Page 6
