The Case of the Saddle House Robbery

by John R. Erickson

  I began wiggling myself into the narrow crawl space. It was dark in there, very dark. It was also a very tight squeeze. And dusty. I crawled through the dusty darkness. The light from the entrance began to fade. At last I reached my nincompoop assistant.

  He was grinning. “Well, here we are. Can you smell the ocean breeze?” I sniffed the air and . . . hmm, maybe it did smell a bit like the ocean. “And see those palm trees over there?”

  I squinted into the dark distance. “Oh yes. Is that where the monkeys stay?”

  “Yep, that’s the place. Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I . . . it’s awfully dark, Drover.”

  “Yeah, ’cause we’re below the equator, and the sun’s lefthanded.”

  “What?”

  “I said . . . let’s see. I said . . . I think I said . . .”

  “Never mind, skip it. We’ve got business to discuss.”

  I told him the story of the poor little cobbler and how I had helped him in his efforts to support his family. He was so moved, he broke into tears. Drover did, not the cobbler. The cobbler was gone, see, and . . . skip it.

  Drover broke into tears. “Gosh, that’s one of the saddest stories I ever heard! I hope his kidneys hold out until they find a cure.”

  “Yes, we can always hope, but it was his heart. He’s got a heart condition.”

  “I thought you said kidneys.”

  “Whatever, but the point is that I ended my mission with a good deed. And Drover, when we can solve a case and help someone at the same time, well, it just doesn’t get much better than that.”

  “Gosh, how sweet.”

  “Yes indeed.” My eyes prowled the gloomy darkness. “Drover, are you sure you saw some monkeys?”

  “Oh yeah, no doubt about it. They were in those palm trees right over there.”

  “Hmm, this is very strange. One more ques­tion. Did those monkeys remind you of anyone we know?”

  “Well, let me think here. They reminded me . . . of me. Is that the right answer?”

  It took me a moment to recover from the shock of this revelation. “Yes, Drover, it’s exactly the right answer. That was a trick question, and I used it to test the accuracy of your story. It seems that you passed—much to my amazement.”

  “So now you believe in Madagascar?”

  “Logic is our light in the darkness, Drover, and we must follow it wherever . . .” Just then, I heard a vehicle approaching headquarters. “Ah, someone’s coming. Back to work, son, our little vacation is over. Let’s wiggle ourselves out of here and regroup at the . . . hmmm, I seem to be . . . it’s pretty cramped in here, isn’t it?”

  “Not for me. I’ll meet you outside.”

  He wiggled away and I found myself staring into Jake’s empty eyes. He spoke. “I don’t like you. I’m going away. It’s too crowded in Madagascar. Good-bye.”

  He wiggled his way toward the entrance.

  “Fine with me, bud, and now I’ll just . . . hey, Jake, hold up a second. I seem to be having a little . . . hey, I’m not sure I can get out of here!”

  “You’re too fat,” he said, and then he was gone.

  “Oh yeah? Well, you’re going to have a fat lip if you don’t . . . Jake, we need to discuss this, no kidding. Drover? Drover! Get yourself back in here and . . . HELP!”

  Just when it appeared that I had solved the case and everything was turning out right . . . I found myself trapped on a remote desert island! Too much candy, I suppose.

  Pretty scary, huh? You bet it was. I mean, you know where I stand on the issue of tight and creepy places, right? I hate ’em. I tried to turn around. I couldn’t move.

  Just then, in the silence and darkness, I heard Drover’s voice. “Oh my gosh, Hank, come quick. Slim just drove up and and you know what he found? All the saddles are missing from the sad­dle shed!”

  “Well, of course they are. I’ve already told you that a nice little cobbler showed up and . . .”

  “Yeah, but he wasn’t a nice little cobbler. He was a nice little thief. Slim said so.”

  HUH?

  I cut my eyes from side to side. My thoughts tumbled and swirled. The pieces of the puzzle began falling . . . apart. Holy smokes, I had been duped, used, tricked by that sneaky little . . .

  “Okay, Drover, listen carefully. We have a problem here. I’m trapped in Madagascar and you must . . . Drover? Drover!”

  The little . . . I couldn’t believe it. He had just walked off and left me in there—trapped, buried, untombed, stranded, alone! He would pay for this.

  It was then that the full seriousness of my situation came crashing down on me. Maybe you think I just lay there in the darkness, crying over this cruel turn of events. No sir. I hit the Panic Alarm and went to Robust Howling and Moaning, fellers, and we’re talking about pulling out all the stops. I was so desperate, I howled a song about my plike. Plite. Plight. Whatever.

  I’m Trapped in Madagascar

  I’m trapped in Madagascar and marooned upon this isle.

  And to my friends who left me here, I say, “Guys, thanks a pile.”

  They left me here to rot and to be broiled by the sun,

  But only if the bugs don’t eat me and pirates do not come.

  I’m trapped in Madagascar, the ship has sailed and gone.

  I saw her three masts disappear below the horizon.

  I took the secret passage and I trusted Jake the Dope,

  And now I fear I’ve really hung myself, and even brought the rope.

  I’m trapped in Madagascar and my mind is growing numb.

  What really hurts my feelings, though, is it was pretty dumb

  To trust a dingbat bird dog and what Drover said I’d find.

  Sometimes I think I’m not just deaf and dumb, but also pretty blind.

  I’m trapped in Madagascar, but I know it isn’t real.

  This place is just a toolshed, right? A phony put-up deal.

  I never should have listened to that pair of dingy mutts.

  Uh-oh, I see some monkeys coming . . . and they’re throwing coconuts!

  I howled and moaned for what seemed hours. Maybe it was just a couple of minutes, but it was long enough to get some results.

  Slim heard me in my moment of greatest need, and though it took him a while to climb the hill and locate the sounds of my distress, at last I heard his voice.

  I couldn’t see him, since I was pointed in the wrong direction, but I heard him say, “Hank, what in the cat hair are you doing under the shed?”

  Shed? Well, I . . . it was hard to explain. I had been baby-sitting his dingbat bird dog and . . . well, I’d gotten this report about pirates and monkeys on a . . .

  Suddenly the clues came together and I saw the whole picture. This wasn’t a desert island and there were no monkeys in the palm trees. And do you know why? Because I was trapped under the toolshed, and palm trees don’t grow under tool­sheds.

  No palm trees, no monkeys. No monkeys, no Magadaster.

  But there was more, much more. My mind was racing over the evidence that had suddenly fallen into place. It occurred to me that Jake had lured me under the shed and had arranged this whole scam as a way of distracting me from the case, which could mean only one thing: Jake was in cahoots with the saddle thief!

  It made sense, didn’t it? They both had mysteriously showed up on the same morning, right? And Jake had tried to distract me with all his blabbering about . . . wherever it was . . . an island off the coast of Muleshoe. And now I was trapped under the very shed where he had led me.

  What a fool I’d been! Not only had I trusted the so-called cobbler with the fifteen sick children, but I had been duped by his bird dog assistant. Oh, what a lowly fate, to be duped by a bird dog!

  “Hank, come on out and quit your moaning and groaning.”

  Hu
h? Oh, that was Slim. My mind returned to the present moment. Was he kidding? Hey, I was trapped! Did he think I was enjoying this?

  At last he figured out that I was in a Crisis Situation. He trudged a few steps to the machine shed and came back with a high-lift jack. With much mumbling under his breath, he slipped it between two cinder blocks and jacked up the south side of the shed.

  Good old Slim! What a pal. He had saved me from a terrible fate. I wiggled myself around and began crawling out to the light. Once in the open daylight, I shook the dirt off my coat and . . . uh . . . dared to look into Slim’s . . .

  He was standing with his hands on his hips, towering over me and shaking his head. “Some guard dog you turned out to be. A guy comes onto the ranch and starts loading up all our gear, and you crawl under the toolshed and hide.”

  No, wait, it wasn’t what he thought. That is, I knew it looked bad but . . . see, I met this guy down at the . . . he tricked me, see, he told me terrible lies and forced me to eat . . . uh . . . chocolate candy, and . . .

  Okay, I’d made a mistake, a big mistake, but not the one Slim thought I’d made. I didn’t run away and hide. I never would have done that, honest. I’d just . . . oh boy . . . made friends with the . . .

  It was too complicated, I couldn’t explain it. I went to Mournful Eyes. I lowered my head and pulled my tail up between my legs. I couldn’t have sunk any lower if I’d been a snake.

  Slim shook his head. “Hank, I never thought you were a coward. I guess I was wrong.”

  And with that, he walked down to the house and called the sheriff, leaving me alone with my thoughts and guilt. Actually, I would have been glad to be alone at that moment, but guess who chose that very moment to appear.

  The guy I least wanted to see.

  My least favorite character on the ranch.

  The world’s biggest pest and pain in the neck.

  Pete.

  I heard his purring behind me, and turned to see him come sliding along the south side of the machine shed. His tail was stuck straight up in the air and he was rubbing on the big sliding door. Oh, and he was grinning.

  “Mmmm. How’s it going, Hankie? Having a bad day?”

  I shot him an ice-pick glare. “I’m sure you’ve been eavesdropping, Kitty, so you probably know that this hasn’t been a great day for me. I’ve been accused of terrible crimes I didn’t commit.”

  “Well, darn. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Sure. Tell Slim that he got it all wrong. I knew that creep was stealing saddles, and I even went down to work the case.”

  By this time, he had run out of things to rub on and had begun rubbing on my legs.

  “Yes? And what happened?”

  “Don’t rub on my legs, you little weasel.”

  He batted his eyes and grinned. “I thought you liked it.”

  “I don’t like it. I hate it. What happened? Well, I was about to make an arrest and blow the case wide open, when . . .”

  His eyes popped open. “Yes?”

  The air hissed out of my lungs. “He forced me to . . . well, to eat chocolate candy. It caught me off guard. How can a dog bite the hand that feeds him candy? If he’d kicked me or started yelling, I would have . . . skip it. Never mind.”

  “Poor doggie! And now everybody’s mad at you and thinks you’re a coward. How sad. I think I’m going to cry.”

  Do you think the little sneak started crying? Do you think he really cared? Well, hang on and you’ll soon find out.

  Chapter Ten: The Sheriff Arrives

  Ha! No sir, Pete didn’t start crying. He started laughing. Right there in front of me, in my hour of greatest darkness, he went into a fit of laughing.

  Okay, that did it. I’d had just about all I could stand from Pete. More than I could stand, actually. I leaped to my feet, went to Full Fangs and Menac­ing Growls and was about to give him the . . .

  HUH?

  A vehicle was approaching. Two vehicles. The first one was . . . gulp . . . Loper’s pickup, and I already had a feeling that he wouldn’t be in a great mood when he learned . . . oh boy, how did I ever get into this mess?

  The second vehicle was a red car with a badge or something on the door. It belonged to the Ochiltree County Sheriff’s Department. Things were beginning to look . . . pretty serious.

  I slipped down the hill and took up a position behind some chinaberry trees. I listened and watched.

  Sheriff Hataway and Deputy Kile got out, shook hands with Slim and Loper, and began their investigation. For half an hour, they took notes and measurements and studied the tracks on the ground. Then they got in the car and drove away.

  Oh. Deputy Kile found dog tracks in front of the saddle shed.

  Mine.

  I didn’t need to be told that I was fired. I would fire myself, resign my position in total disgrace. It was the only decent and honorable thing left for me to do.

  Loper went back into the house, and an eerie calm fell over the ranch. With my head and tail hanging as low as they could hang, I made the long, slow walk to the gas tanks.

  I wanted to feel sorry for myself. I wanted to make excuses for everything that had happened. But I couldn’t. I had made one mistake after another, and now I would have to pay for them.

  Drover was there when I arrived, and so typical of the little mutt, he had his head burrowed under his gunnysack bed and his stub-tailed hiney pointing northward and skyward. On another occa­sion, I might have scolded him, but now I caught myself smiling.

  I mean, he really was a funny little guy. He couldn’t stand to hear people yelling, even though they were usually yelling at me, and so he escaped to his own little world beneath the gunnysack.

  I would miss him. Even though he had come close to driving me nuts on many occasions, he’d been a true friend. Sort of.

  I sat down on the edge of my bed. “You can come out now, Drover. Everyone has gone and I have something to tell you.”

  The sack rustled and I saw one of his eyes peering out. “Is it safe? Gosh, what was all the yelling about?”

  “Oh . . . it was about me, Drover. I’ve failed my ranch, my friends, myself . . . everything that’s dear to me. I made a mess of this case. I had it in the grisp of my grasp, and I blew it.”

  “Gosh, what happened?”

  I told him the whole story. “And you know what hurts me most about this, Drover? I trusted that creep. He told me one whopper of a lie after another, and I believed him. I felt sorry for him! A poor cobbler with a heart condition, trying to scratch out a living for his wife and five hungry children.”

  Drover came out from under the sack. “Well, I believed it too. I cried when you told me, it was so sad.”

  “Sure, it was sad, and it was all lies. Oh, and then there was Jake. I fell for his line too.”

  “Jake? You mean . . .”

  “Yes, Drover, Jake was in it from the start. No doubt he’s the thief’s stooge. It was his job to play the part of a goofy bird dog.”

  Drover gasped. “You mean . . . he’s really not a bird dog?”

  “We can’t be sure at this point, but I have a suspicion that he’s just a mutt wearing a bird dog disguise. They’re very clever, you know. It was his job to wander into headquarters and throw me off the trail. And you know what? He succeeded.”

  “Gosh, I thought he was kind of nice. He took me to Madagascar.”

  I stared at the runt. “Drover, he didn’t take you to Madagascar. You were under the toolshed.”

  “No, we went to a desert island and the monkeys threw coconuts at us and we found the buried treasure.” He gave me a silly grin. “It was fun.”

  “Oh yeah? Then where’s the treasure?”

  “Well, let me think here. Oh yeah, the pirates stole it.”

  “How do you know that? Did you actually see them? Facts, Drover,
dig deep for the facts.”

  “Well, let me think here.” He wadded up his face in a pose of deepest concentration. “No, I didn’t see ’em. But Jake did.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, great. Jake’s in cahoots with the saddle thief, and you believed him?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Drover, sometimes I’m shocked by your gul­lar­ulity.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It means that you fell for the whole story. I’m sorry but there’s no nicer way to put it. You fell for his . . .” I got up and walked a few paces away. “But I fell for it too.”

  “Oh good. I feel better now.”

  “Better? You should feel worse, a thousand times worse. This gang of thieves not only outfoxed you, but they have made fools of the entire Security Division.” I paced back to where he was sitting. “I don’t get it, Drover. I’ve spent my whole life learning to be tough and hard-boiled, but what got me in the end was a tender heart. Now I must resign.”

  A tear slid down his cheek. “Resign! You mean . . .”

  “Yes, this is the end. A guy can make a few bone­head mistakes and still keep his pride, but this one . . . no. There’s no going back. I want to leave before they haul me off.”

  Tears glistened in his eyes as he nodded his head. “Gosh, where will you go? And who’ll take care of the ranch?”

  “I don’t know where I’ll go, just start walking, I suppose. And you’ll have to take over my duties and run the ranch yourself.”

  He darted his head back under the gunnysack. “Don’t say that, I can’t stand to hear it! I don’t want a steady job, my leg just can’t take it and . . .”

  Just then, our conversation was interrupted by the sound of an approaching vehicle. I looked around and saw Slim’s pickup pulling up to the gas tanks. He got out and began filling the tank with gas. I was in no mood for company, but just to be sociable, I gave him a weak smile and went to Slow Thumps on my tail.

  He tossed a glance in my direction and shook his head. “Well, pooch, you really done it this time. A ranch dog, a cowboy’s dog, and you let that sorry little crook drive down there and walk away with all our saddles!”