The Mopwater Files

by John R. Erickson

  “Mine was pretty good. Tasted like chicken.”

  “Mine did NOT taste like chicken, and it did NOT give me one bit of energy.”

  “Oh well. Everything turned out all right. You didn’t have to fight Rufus and now it’s all behind you.”

  I lifted my head from the bowl and stared at the runt. “What do you mean, it’s all behind me?”

  “Well, let’s see here. The world’s divided up into what’s up front and what’s behind. What’s behind is over and what’s up front is under, and . . . I think I’m getting confused.”

  “Didn’t you hear what he said? He challenged me to a duel in two hours. In other words, it’s not over yet.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, I heard it but I knew you wouldn’t be dumb enough to show up. Tee hee hee. Boy, that would be about the dumbest thing in the world, going down to . . .” His eyes popped open. “Hank, you wouldn’t do such a thing . . . would you?”

  I paced several steps away and looked off into the distance. “Drover, what I’m about to say might shock you.”

  “Then maybe we could talk about something else.”

  “There are times when my position as Head of Ranch Security becomes a heavy burden. It’s not just a job, you see. It’s a calling, a mission.”

  “I went fishin’ once.”

  “I’m judged by standards unknown to ordinary dogs, standards that are sometimes almost impossible to attain.”

  “Yeah, and that’s time to quit.”

  “Exactly. It’s a heavy load indeed. Drover, have you ever heard of the ancient Samurai?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s a steak house in Amarillo.”

  “What?”

  “I said . . . well, let’s see here. I said, ‘they house snakes in Amarillo.’”

  “No, no. It has nothing to do with snakes.”

  “Oh good. I’m scared of snakes.”

  “And they don’t operate out of Amarillo. The Samurai were a society of warriors who lived in some strange faraway land.”

  “California?”

  “Right. Something like that. And they lived by a higher code than ordinary people, Drover. They were warriors who protected the innocent, fought for justice, and devoted their lives to righting wrong.”

  “I always wanted to be a writer.”

  “And so it is with the Head of Ranch Security. We are droven, Drivel, by a higher duty.”

  “My name’s Drover.”

  “We must do, not merely what is safe and comfortable, but what is right.”

  “I think I’ve got a novel in me somewhere.”

  “What?”

  “I said . . . well, let’s see here. Oh yeah. I think I’ve got a novel in me somewhere.”

  “Open your mouth.” He did and I looked inside. “No, that’s called the Ulterior Punching Bagus, so named because it resembles a little punching bag.”

  “I’ll be derned. Maybe I ought to try boxing.”

  “Exactly.” I tried to pick up my train of thought. “What were we talking about?”

  “Mopwater, I think.”

  “Oh yes. It was once believed that mopwater could restore energy and so forth, but that’s not what we were talking about, Drover, and I’m begin­ning to wonder if you’ve been listening.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard it all. Something about a guy named Sam who traded snakes in Amarillo.”

  “No, not Sam. Rufus. And let’s skip to the bottom line because frankly, Drover, I’m beginning to find this conversation a little confusing.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “The bottom line is that honor and duty demand that I accept Rufus’s challenge and fight a duel to the death.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

  “What?”

  “I said, oh boy. Good. Yippee.”

  “Thanks, Drover, but there’s more.”

  Do I dare reveal the rest? Hang on and let me think about it.

  Chapter Nine: Madame Moonshine Is Captured by Cannibals

  Think. Think. Think.

  Heavy duty contemplation in progress.

  Please hold.

  Caution: dogs at work.

  All circuits are busy at the moment.

  Hot tamales for ninety-eight cents.

  Thought session completed.

  Okay, there we go. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let you in on the startling revelation I revealed to Drover.

  I began pacing back and forth in front of him, as I often do when my mind is racing. “You see, Drover, I am driven by this devotion to truth and honor.”

  “Yeah, and that beats walking.”

  “Exactly. And truth and honor demand that I accept Rufus’s challenge. To do otherwise would be . . . what’s the word I’m searching for?”

  “Smart?”

  “No.”

  “Beet farmer?”

  “No.”

  “Pineapple?”

  I gave him a withering glare. “Drover, if you can’t contribute anything to this conversation, just be quiet.”

  “Well, you asked.”

  “I’m sorry I asked.”

  “That’s okay. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Shut up.” I probed the vapors and smoke upon the volcano of my . . . something. “Okay, here we go. I must accept the challenge and go into combat against Rufus. The problem is that I’m totally unprepared for such an ordeal and would probably be slaughtered.”

  “That’s a problem, all right.”

  “Hence, to prepare myself for this fateful mission, I must leave the ranch, go out into the wilder­ness, and search for strength and courage, just as the Samurai did in Ancient California.”

  “Rotsaruck.”

  “And Drover, I’d like for you to go along as my second.”

  “Your second what?”

  “My second. That’s what it’s called. You’d be my second.”

  “That’s not much time.”

  “It has nothing to do with time. It’s a position. You’d be my second in command.”

  “Oh good. I think I can handle that.”

  “Great. I like your attitude. In the event that I’m slaughtered in the early going, you’ll take my place.”

  His eyes crossed and suddenly he began limping around in a circle. “Oh my gosh, this leg just went out! Oh, the pain! Rush me to the machine shed, stand back, I’m fixing to . . . ”

  My goodness. He fainted. I mean, he just collapsed on the ground, with all four legs sticking straight up in the air. I rushed to his side.

  “Speak to me, Drover. What’s happened?”

  “Leg attack. Worst one ever. Terrible pain. Don’t think I can make the trip to the wilderness. Go on without me.”

  “And leave you here in this state?”

  “Yeah, I’d rather suffer in Texas. I’ll be all right . . . if I can stand the guilt. That’s the worst part of staying home, trying to live with the guilt.”

  “Well, be brave. And Drover, if I should happen not to return . . .” I ran my gaze over the place I had loved and protected for so many years. “. . . take good care of the ranch. Good-bye, old friend, and good luck.”

  And with that, I tore myself away from home and friends, turned and ran away from the voice inside my head that urged me to take the path of leased resistance. Sure, it would have been easier to stay home and forget about Beulah and Plato, honor and duty, and the higher calling of my profession.

  But that’s not what cowdogs do.

  I ran until I could run no more. Finding myself alone in brush along the creek, I stopped and caught my breath. I was panting. The heat was terrible. Who could think of fighting a duel in such heat?

  And what the heck? Maybe I could . . .

  No. I had to fulfill my mission, even if that meant . . . I walked to t
he creek’s edge and drank my fill of cool sweet water. It was a refreshing change from mopwater.

  Having drinked my fill . . . having drank . . . having drunk . . . having lapped up all the water I could hold, I set a course to the east, threading my way through the dense underwear of tamaracks and willows.

  Undergrowth, actually. Dense undergrowth.

  All the familiar sounds, sights, and smells of civilization faded into the distance, and were replaced by others that were new and strange: dark shadows, the cries of birds overhead, the swish and slither of I-knew-not-what in the brush around me.

  I had reached the wilderness, an area into which I had seldom ventured during my career—and for good reason. Here, I was unknown and unwanted; a stranger, an intruder into an ancient rhythm of which I was not a part. Of which.

  I hurried along. Suddenly a twig snapped. I whirled to my left and faced . . . not much, just a clump of brush. Perhaps I had stepped on the twig myself, but my nerves were on edge, don’t you see, and . . . it was kind of spooky, and I’ll admit that I was feeling a bit uneasy.

  Nervous.

  Alert to danger.

  Okay, scared, but if you’d been there, you would have been scared too. A guy never knew what manner of creature or monster he might encounter in this part of the ranch.

  I continued my journey. I knew where I was going: to Madame Moonshine’s cave in those bluffs just west of the Parnell water gap. If you recall, Madame Moonshine was a wise little owl who claimed to have magical powers. I’d never been entirely convinced that she had “magical” powers, but she had gotten me out of a few scrapes in the past, and I hoped she might help me out of this one.

  I slowed my pace and began studying the land­marks. There was the big cottonwood tree that had been struck by lightning. That was familiar. And yes, there were the bluffs on the south side of the creek. I was getting close.

  I began to feel somewhat better, now that I had . . . huh? I stopped in my tracks. Unless my ears were playing tricks on me, I had just heard . . . something. I lifted my ears to Maximum Gathering Mode and homed in on the sound.

  Voices? Laughter? Impossible. Nobody laughed out here in this wilderness . . . unless . . . gulp. I began to realize to who or whom those voices might belong—a couple of renegade outlaws who were right at home in the wilderness, and the wildernesser it was, the better they liked it.

  I crouched down, peered through the tamarack brush, and listened. And yes, there they were—Rip and Snort, the dreaded cannibal brothers. That in itself was bad enough, me stumbling into their camp in the middle of a trackless wilderness.

  But there was more. I had come to seek advice from Madame Moonshine, right? Well, guess who was sitting in the middle of the cannibals—tied up with a piece of grapevine.

  Madame Moonshine herself, and it appeared that she might need my help even more than I needed hers, because the cannibals were wearing huge grins and licking their chops, as though they were working themselves up for a big feathery feast.

  The thought crossed my mind that I should creep away from here and go flying back to headquarters. They hadn’t seen me yet and seemed pretty absorbed in heckling Madame Moonshine. And didn’t I have enough problems of my own without taking on any of Madame’s? And besides, she was supposed to have magical powers, right? So why didn’t she use them to save herself?

  In the interest of truth and so forth, I’ll admit that I did take two steps backward . . . three steps . . . okay, five or six steps backward, but then I caught myself and felt ashamed. Was I really enough of a cad to run away and leave that poor little owl to her fate?

  Well, I was enough of a cad to think about it, but not enough of one to actually do it. I returned to my listening post and . . . well, listened, of course.

  What else would you do in a listening post?

  I guess you could watch and listen both, and in fact, that’s exactly what I did. I crouched down in the sand, peered through the low branches of a tamarack bush, and observed the proceedings.

  As you will see, that turned out to be a fitful decision.

  Faithful.

  Fateful.

  Phooey.

  You’ll find out soon enough, and it just might scare you out of your wits.

  No kidding.

  See, I know what’s fixing to happen and you don’t. If I were in your shoes, I’d . . . well, look pretty funny, wouldn’t I, because dogs don’t wear shoes.

  A little humor there.

  But I’d also think twice about going on with the story, is the point, because we’re coming to the scary part.

  Maybe you’d better quit and go on to bed.

  Chapter Ten: The Singing Ignoramuses

  I knew you wouldn’t take my advice. You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you? Well, maybe you are and maybe you’re not. We’ll see about that.

  But don’t say you weren’t warned.

  Okay, where were we? The cannibal brothers had Madame Moonshine tied up and they were staring and grinning at her. And licking their chops in what you might call a threatening manner.

  See, I knew all their manniserums, because I had been in that same hot seat before, many times. Mannerisms, I should say, not manniserums. When a cannibal looks at you in a certain way, with a glint in his eye and with drooling chops, you begin to suspect that he’s hungry.

  And when two of ’em look at you that way, you know you’ve found Double Trouble.

  Anyways, I tuned into their frequencies and listened. Madame was showing spunk and courage. She held her head up and glared right back at them.

  “This is disgraceful! I demand that you turn me loose, right now and this very minute.” The brothers grinned. “Because if you don’t release me and put an end to this disgraceful folly, I shall have to employ drastic measures.”

  “Har, har, har.”

  “And if I am forced to do so, you will regret it.”

  “Har, har, har.”

  “Very well. You leave me no choice. I will now summon my bodyguard. Timothy! Oh Timothy! Come, Timothy, come at once and give these ruffians a taste of their own medicine.”

  At that very moment, I heard a slithering sound behind me, and then felt something . . . uh . . . cold and creepy moving along my right side. I didn’t really want to know what it might be, but my eyes sort of wandered to the right and . . .

  Yipes! I found myself looking straight into the eyes of the biggest, ugliest rattlesnake I’d seen since the last time I’d crossed paths with Big Tim, Madame Moonshine’s personal bodyguard.

  He gave me a glare that sent pins and needles down my backbone. Oh, and he stuck out his tongue. On impulse, I pushed his head away.

  “Will you point that thing somewhere else, you dumbbell snake! The guys you want are right over there in the clearing.” His tail began to rattle. “What I meant to say was . . . hi, Tim, how’s it going, fella, and the ruffians are straight ahead and to the left.”

  He continued to rattle and glare at me.

  “I’m really not part of this deal, Tim, no kidding. I’m just an innocent bystander who’s . . . uh . . . inno­cently standing by, so to speak. And you’re looking for coyotes, right? Over there. See, I may look like a coyote but I’m actually a dog. Honest. No kidding.”

  He was still rattling.

  “Okay, forget what I said about you being a dumbbell snake. You’re not a dumbbell snake at all. You’re one of the nicest, sweetest . . .”

  Madame’s voice cut me off. “Timothy! Come here at once.”

  Big Tim gave me one last hateful look and slith­ered into battle, whilst I finished my thought—under my breath, of course. “You’re one of the ugliest dumbbell snakes I ever met.”

  Well, Big Tim made his appearance on the scenery. Madame Moonshine smiled at the brothers and announced, “And this is Timothy, my personal bodyguard. As you can see, he i
s a turbocharged western diamondback rattlesnake, and he is armed with the very deadliest of poisons.”

  Rip and Snort winked at each other and grinned. “Coyote brothers not even tinier bit scared of body­guarded snake.”

  “Well, you should be. Why, Timothy once spat upon an enormous tree and it withered and died, before our very eyes. What he might do to a couple of unkempt, ill-mannered ragamuffin coyotes, we can only imagine.”

  They laughed again. “Ha! Ragamuffin coyotes not worrying about fat stupid snake. Ragamuffin coyotes wrap fatter stupidest snake around tree and tie in knot, ho ho.”

  Madame gave them a wise smile. “Oh you think you will, do you? I think not. Timothy?” He threw himself into a coil, began buzzing, and pointed his head at the brothers. “Timothy, we are being harrassed by these ignoramuses. Show them what we think of ignoramuses. Charge! Tallyho!”

  By George, it was one of the shortest fights in history. In a matter of seconds, Rip and Snort had old Timothy wrapped around a hackberry tree and tied in a knot. He looked like a Christmas wreath.

  I told you those guys were tough.

  They returned to Madame Moonshine, who wasn’t looking quite as spunky as she had before. Snort grinned down at her.

  “What Momma Moonbeam think of ignoramuses now?”

  She blinked her big owlish eyes. “I think you are ill-mannered, foul-smelling, uncivilized ruffians.” They howled with glee. They loved it. “I think you should be ashamed of yourselves.” More laughter. “But I can see that you’re not, because you’re nothing but a couple of ignorant barbarians.”

  They nodded their heads and laughed. “Coyote not give hoot for being ashamed. Coyote not give hoot for nothing. Ignoramus coyote brothers prouder and proudest, ’cause Rip and Snort love being ignor-rent.”

  And with that, the brothers cut loose with a song. I know, it was an odd time for them to burst into a song, but those guys were pretty strange. Here’s how it went.

  We’re Proud to Be Ignoramuses

  A cannibal’s life’s the one for us,

  We’re as happy as we can be.

  We’ve got no job or worries