The Case of the Vanishing Fishhook. John R. Erickson

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      I stared at the face in the darkness. “Affirmative. That is, I think so.”

      “Oh good. If you’re Hank, then I must be Drover. What are we doing here?”

      “I . . . I’m not sure. I was sound asleep when all at once we started getting reports about . . . an enemy submarine, I think.”

      “I’ll be derned.”

      “How about you?”

      “Oh, pretty good, thanks. I must have been asleep too.”

      “Hmm, yes. That makes both of us, doesn’t it?”

      “Yeah.” He yawned. “I wonder what woke us up.”

      “I . . . I don’t remember. Did you wake me up?”

      “I don’t think so. Seems like you woke me up.”

      “Hmm, that’s odd. Why would I have awakened you in the middle of the night? It must have been something important, but I can’t . . . Drover, I’m almost sure that you woke me up. What was the reason? Concentrate. Try to remember.”

      “Well, okay, let’s see here.”

      There was a long moment of silence. “Drover, did you go back to sleep?”

      “No, I’m thinking. I don’t think too fast in the dark.”

      “I see. What does darkness have to do with your thought processes?”

      “Well, when I can’t see anything, it’s hard to think. I guess. Does that make sense?”

      “No. Your brain lives in the dark all the time. It’s inside your head, don’t you see, and the inside portion of your head is dark.”

      “I’ll be derned. How did you know that?”

      “Because you have no windows.”

      “What about my eyes?”

      “They’re brown.”

      “Thanks.”

      There was another long moment of silence. “Drover, I’m beginning to feel that our conversation lacks meaning and purpose. Why are we awake at this hour of the night, and why are we talking at all? We should both be asleep.”

      “Yeah, I think we were, but then we woke up.”

      “Right, and that brings us to the nut of the fruit. What woke us up?”

      “I was trying to remember that, but then it was too dark. Let’s see here.”

      “Wait, hold everything. I remember now. You woke me up and said something about . . . picking up an enemy submarine, I think.”

      “That sounds pretty crazy. With my teeth?”

      “What?”

      “I said, did I pick it up with my teeth?”

      “Pick what up with your teeth?”

      “The enemy submarine.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Well, I don’t know. You said I said I picked up an enemy submarine in my jaws and . . . did something with it.”

      “I did not say that. In the first place, submarines are very heavy. Number two, there isn’t enough water on this ranch to support a submarine. And number three, none of our enemies own a submarine. Therefore, the weight of the evidence suggests that you are talking nonsense.”

      “Can I go back to bed?”

      “Not just yet.” I stood up and walked a few steps away. “Drover, I think I’m beginning to understand this deal.”

      “Oh good.”

      “You see, we were both in a deep sleep, then something woke us up. I think this bizarre conversation can be traced back to the fact that—” Suddenly, I whirled around and faced him. “Drover, up until this very moment, we’ve been half-asleep. That would account for your claim that you ate a submarine.”

      “Yeah, and maybe it was a submarine sandwich, not a real submarine.”

      “Now we’re getting somewhere. That makes sense, doesn’t it? You were dreaming about food.”

      “Yeah, I love food. I’d rather eat food than anything. And I am kind of hungry.”

      “See? There you are. Your sleeping mind transformed your hunger into a dream about a submarine sandwich. It all fits together. We were merely talking in our respective sleeps, Drover. It could have happened to any two dogs on the globe.”

      “If we live on a globe, how come we don’t fall off?”

      “Good question, son. Ask it again some time.” I hurried back to my gunnysack. “Good night. Hold my calls and don’t wake me up again.”

      “Nightie-night.”

      “Nightie . . . snork murgle muff womp.”

      “Hank? I just heard something down at the corrals.”

      “Murf snirk puffing triangles.”

      “Hank, I think you’d better wake up. Someone’s down there, no fooling. I see a light in the saddle shed.”

      I sat up, pried open my eyes, and rushed to the radar screen of my mind. There, before my very eyes, as plain as day, I saw . . .

      I leaped to my feet. “Holy smokes, Drivel, there’s an enemy submarine down by the saddle shed!”

      “My name’s Drover.”

      “Never mind your name. Battle stations! Red Alert!”

      “It was only a sandwich.”

      “This is no sandwich, Drover, and it’s no drill. This is the real stuff. Come on, son, we’d better go in for a closer look.”

      And with that, we went streaking down to the saddle shed to find out exactly what that submarine was doing on my ranch.

      Chapter Two: Okay, Maybe It Wasn’t a Submarine

      We need to get something straight right here. You remember that report of an enemy submarine on СКАЧАТЬ