THE CASE OF THE WATERMELON PATCH MYSTERY; CHAPTER 14: HANK SAVES THE WATERMELONS, SOLVES MYSTERY

THE STORY SO FAR: Hank's only hope was staging a fake fight with Eddy the Rac. Will it work?

Okay, so Eddy and I had to stage a fight, right there in the middle of the watermelon patch. What I'd had in mind was a 30-second burst of fighting, then a parting of ways. That's not the way it turned out. Eddy got hold of me and started gnawing on my ears, and fellers, I thought I'd never get rid of him.

Around and around we went, through the vines, through the broken watermelons, through the dirt -- growling, barking, snapping, snarling, biting, clawing.

"Hey Eddy, that's enough. You can quit now. Eddy, that's fine, just right, nice job. You can leave now. Eddy, will you stop chewing on my ears! GET OFF MY NECK!"

Well, I'd told him to make it convincing, and he derned sure did. At last, I shook him loose and he escaped into the darkness.

Slim had come out from his camp and had joined me. He was holding a flashlight in one hand and his shotgun in the other. Oh yes, and Drover had managed to pry himself out of bed and was hiding behind Slim's legs.

Well, the moment of ... gulp ... truth had arrived, so to speak. I looked up into Slim's eyes. He looked down into mine. I gave him Slow Questioning Wags on the tail section and squeezed up my most sincere cowdog smile.

We had been through a lot, Slim and I, and I could only hope that he wouldn't leap to any wild conclusions or believe whatever hateful rumors might be. ...

He smiled. Yes, he smiled, oh, happy day! I almost fainted with relief. Then he reached down and patted me on the back.

"Nice work, Hankie. Good thing you was on the job, pup, 'cause I sure fell asleep and didn't hear a thing 'til you jumped that coon."

Right, and whipped him and ran him off.

He shined his light around the patch and shook his head. "Boy, them coons can sure tear up a watermelon patch! There must have been five or six of 'em."

Oh yes, at least five or six. Or 10 or 15. A whole army of, uh, watermelon-crazed coons.

"Tell you what let's do. To avoid any embarrassment to the hired help, let's load up these busted melons and pitch 'em in a ravine. Sally May don't need to know that somebody was sleepin' on the job."

Good point.

"And then we'll make double sure them coons don't come back. And tomorrow at first light, we'll pick these ripe melons and go to town with 'em. What do you say, pooch?"

He gave me a secret wink and I sealed our pact of silence with Broad Wags of the tail, assuring him that I would never blab it around that he had, uh, allowed this awful thing to happen.

But then his smile faded, and I felt his eyes on me. "Man alive, you're as fat as a toad. Looks like you've been eatin' inner tubes. What in the world did you find to eat out here?"

Well, I ... bugs ... crickets, watermelon beetles ... uh ... grub worms ... mice ... the field was just full of, uh, wildlife and food groups and other things that a dog might ... uh ... eat.

"Well, I know you ain't dumb enough to eat watermelons with a bunch of coons ... are you?"

Me? Oh no. Heck no. Dogs didn't eat watermelons. No kidding.

Maybe a little gourd every now and then, but watermelons? Never.

Well, we hauled off the broken melons and stayed up the rest of the night, guarding the patch. The next morning, everyone turned out for the big harvest. We picked and hauled two pickup-loads of melons into town, sold 'em to the grocery store, and brought home Sally May's new couch.

It was a great day. Sally May was not only thrilled with her couch, but she was thrilled with ME. See, Slim told her the whole story of how I had stayed up all night, guarding her watermelon patch, and how I had jumped right into the middle of a whole gang of thieving coons -- thrashed 'em and sent 'em running for their lives.

It was a great story and Sally May was impressed. Seldom if ever had I received so many awards and honors, kind words and pats on the head. Shucks, she even named me her Hero of the Week.

I accepted all these honors with all the humbability I could muster, and was mighty proud of her for finally giving credit where credit was due.

Well, on this outfit, it doesn't get much better than that. I had solved the Case of the Watermelon Patch Mystery and restored peace and tranquittery to the. ...

Oh, one last thing. If you ever hear any nasty rumors about dogs eating watermelons, don't believe 'em. They're not true. Just gossip.

Dogs don't eat watermelons. Period. No kidding.

Case closed.