The Case of the Missing Cat. John R. Erickson

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СКАЧАТЬ Are you telling me that you can remember every move in a checker game?”

      “Well, I can’t but Pete can.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “He told me so.”

      “I see.” I glanced from one face to the other. The pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. “One more question, Drover, and I’ll have this thing wrapped up. Which of you has won more games?”

      Drover looked at the sky. “Let’s see. Pete won the first one. And Pete won the second one. But Pete won the fourth one. And then Pete won the fifth one.”

      “Hold it right there. You failed to mention who won the crucial third game.”

      “I think Pete won that one.”

      “Hm, yes.”

      I paced around the two of them. Drover watched me until his head went as far to the south as it could go without coming unscrewed, and at that point he fell over backward.

      “Get up, Drover, and listen carefully. I’ve found a pattern here.”

      He struggled back to a sitting position. “Oh good.”

      “Does it strike you as odd that Pete has won five out of five games? Did it ever occur to you that Pete might be cheating?”

      “Oh heck no. We promised that we wouldn’t cheat.”

      Pete was still grinning and had begun to purr. “That’s right, Hankie. We both promised not to cheat, because cheating isn’t nice.”

      Suddenly I stopped pacing and whirled around. “It’s all clear now, Drover, and I can tell you what’s been going on. You’ve been duped. This cat lured you into a game you couldn’t possibly win, and he has cheated you.”

      “But he promised . . .”

      “Never mind what he promised. Cats always cheat. You can write that down in your little book.”

      “I don’t have a little book.”

      “Get one. I’m ashamed of you, Drover. Only a chump would play Checkerless Checkers with a cat.”

      “Well . . . we had fun.”

      “Exactly, and having fun is one of the many things we’re not allowed to do in the Security Business. Speaking of which, since you’ve spent most of the morning goofing off, why don’t you go down to the corrals and check things out.”

      “We can’t play another game?”

      “That’s correct, because I’m closing it down. This cat is through, finished.”

      “Oh drat. I was just catching on.”

      “Go! And I’ll expect a full report in twenty minutes.”

      Little Drover went padding down toward the gas tanks. When he was gone, I turned to Pete. He was doodling around on the so-called checkerboard with his left front paw. His tail stuck straight up in the air and the end of it was twitching back and forth.

      “Pete, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of a dunce.”

      “It’s hard to fool you, Hankie.”

      “Not just hard, Pete. Impossible. I had your con game figgered out the minute I walked up here. Playing checkers without checkers! I can’t believe you talked the poor little mutt into that.”

      “You never know until you try.”

      I studied the cat for a long time. “Pete, there’s a certain understanding between creeps like you and a dog like me. It’s like cops and robbers. Only the cops know how good the robbers are in their shabby work, and only the robbers know how good the cops are.”

      “That’s right, Hankie. You understand me and I understand you.”

      “Exactly. We’re on opposite sides of the law, we’re sworn enemies, and yet we can’t help ad­miring each other’s work.”

      “Um-hm. I learned long ago that I couldn’t put anything over on the Head of Ranch Security.”

      “Exactly. We’ll never be friends, Pete. Fate has taken care of that. But in a crazy sort of way . . . what are you doing?”

      He had swept his paw over the so-called checker­board, and now he appeared to be . . . I wasn’t sure what he was doing.

      “Oh I’m through with the checker game. I know it won’t work on you.”

      “That’s correct, but what are you doing?”

      After clearing the board of so-called checkers, he appeared to be . . . setting it up again?

      He looked at me with his lazy cattish eyes. “I thought I might play a game of chess—with myself.”

      “Chess?”

      “That’s right. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a very complicated game that requires concentration and . . .”

      I couldn’t help smiling. “Pete, is it possible that you think I don’t know about chess? The ancient game of war, invented thousands of years ago by the Balonians? Which requires cunning and intelligence? Hey, I’ve got bad news for you, cat. I know ALL about chess. Ask me anything.”

      “Black or white?”

      “Huh?”

      “Would you rather play black or white?”

      “Oh. Black, I suppose. It matches the color of my heart.”

      “All right. I’ll open with pawn to king four.”

      “Oh yeah?” I hunkered down and studied the board. “Well, that doesn’t scare me at all, cat, and I’ll move this little fawn out here.”

      “It’s a pawn, Hankie, not a fawn.”

      “Whatever. There’s my move. Weed it and reap.”

      Five minutes later, I was in deep trouble, I had lost three bishops, one knight, and my castle was in check. And at that very moment, I realized Drover was standing beside me.

      He stared at us. “What are you doing?”

      I looked at Drover. I looked at Pete. I looked down at the empty space of dirt between us. It occurred to me that . . . I swept my paw across the so-called chessboard, erasing all traces of the so-called game.

      “We were studying the dirt, Drover, talking soil samples, you might say, and what are you doing back so soon?”

      “I just wanted to tell you that I saw a cottontail rabbit. He was eating grass right in front of our gunnysack beds.”

      “You’re bothering me with a report about a rabbit? I’m a busy dog, СКАЧАТЬ