The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper. John R. Erickson

      It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. When I heard the noise, I knew we had serious problems. I’ll admit that I didn’t know the cause right away, and I never suspected that it might have been caused by an enemy agent named Mysterious Esther.

      Nor did I have any suspicions that before the night was over, I would be attacked by a Vampire Vacuum Sweeper. All I knew was that we had us a wild stampede down at the weaning pen, and I had to stop it before the calves tore down the fence and scattered into four counties.

      It was in November, as I recall, yes, because that’s when we rounded up all the cattle, separated the calves from their mothers, and weaned them. The calves, that is. We weaned the calves. We don’t wean the mothers because they’re already weaned.

      We wean the calves off their mommas’ milk, don’t you see, because it’s time for them to get out and hustle their own grub, like the rest of us. We put ’em together in a bunch and feed ’em alfalfa hay and store-bought feed for a couple of weeks. No problem there. The problem is that they are little dummies, afraid of every little noise and shadow, and once they start running, they’ll flatten fences and scatter like quail.

      It’s called a stampede, and that’s what we had cooking. I knew it just as soon as I heard the rumble of their hooves.

      We were down at Slim’s place, don’t you see, on the front porch. We were, uh, guarding the porch and the woodpile. Or to be perfectly accurate about it and to call a spade a shovel, I was guarding the woodpile while my assistant was in the process of sleeping his life away.

      I was standing guard, see. Why? Well, we’d gotten some secret information that there was a thief in the neighborhood, some nut who went creeping around ranches and stealing their woodpiles and porches.

      It’s true. Several whole entire porches had been stolen, and I guess you know where I stand on the issue of porch-thieving. I don’t allow it. By George, if a guy wants to steal a porch, he’d better go to the next ranch. If he tries it here, he has to deal with the Head of Ranch Security.

      Anyways, that’s what I was doing down at Slim’s place, and when I heard the rumble of hooves, I came flying out of a deep . . . out of a deep state of, uh, concentration and thought about the problem of Porch Theft.

      My ears sprang to the Alert Position. “Drover, the porkchops are cascading across the honking sassafras!”

      Mister Nap-in-the-Afternoon leaped to his feet and began squeaking. “Who? Where are they? How many do you see?”

      “They came out of the woodpile and they’re trying to steal our porch.”

      He shook the vapors out of his head and stared at me. “Oh, hi Hank. Gosh, I must have been asleep and I dreamed that a honking porkchop was trying to steal our porch.”

      I raised up and blinked my eyes. There was Drover, giving me his usual empty stare. “What are you talking about?”

      “Well . . . I’m not sure, but I think you said . . .”

      “Never mind what I said. I was lost in thought, Drover, deepest thought, and you interrupted my deepest porkchops with your . . .” Suddenly, I heard the rumble of hooves down at the weaning trap. “Holy smokes, Drover, the calves are running. We’ve got to warn Slim. Where is he?”

      “Well, let’s see here. Before we went to sleep, I saw him walking down to the hay barn.”

      “Hmmm, yes. Hay, barn, walking. It all fits the pattern. Go on.”

      “Well, he said he was going down there to see Esther.”

      I stared into his eyes. He had two of them. “See Esther? Who’s Esther? Out with it, Drover, we haven’t a moment to spare.”

      “Well, I’m not sure. But that’s what he said, that he was going to the hay barn to see Esther.”

      “Hmmm, very strange. Okay, pardner, stand by for a rapid sprint to the hay barn. We’ve got to warn Slim about the stampede. Come on, let’s go.”

      And with that, we went to Full Flames on all engines and went streaking to the hay barn—which, by the way, wasn’t much of a barn. It was a small shed, made of weathered lumber and with a tin roof on the . . . well, on the top, of course. That’s where you’d expect to find a roof, right? I notice these tiny details.

      I was the first to arrive. Drover limped and lolly­gagged behind me, and I had to wait for him. This gave me a few precious moments to analyze the situation. It was clear by this time that the mysterious Esther had somehow spooked our cattle and caused them to stampede. At this point we didn’t know how or why, but I was pretty sure that she was our prime suspect in the case. And Slim had to be warned.

      At last Drover arrived, huffing and puffing. I greeted him with stern