THE CASE OF THE WATERMELON PATCH MYSTERY; CHAPTER SEVEN: HANK AND DROVER ARE CALLED TO THE BATTLE FRONT

LAST WEEK: Hank was shocked to learn that the cowboys didn't have much faith in him and his security efforts. They even called him a clown. Just for that he would have to show them a thing or two.

If you recall, Drover and I had been selected for a very important mission -- protecting Sally May's watermelon patch from an invasion of murdering raccoons.

It was going to be a night job and I spent most of the afternoon resting up. I knew it would to be a tough combat assignment and that I would need to be in top form.

Besides that, I kind of enjoyed sleeping. It's one of the things a dog must do well to be Head of Ranch Security.

Slim waited until dark to collect me and Drover for the mission. He pulled up to the gas tanks in an armored personnel carrier (APC we call it), with full armor and bristling with canons and machine guns and spotlights and rocket launchers.

Okay, maybe it was his pickup and he'd brought a flashlight and his shotgun, but in the gloom of night it looked very much like a ... well, a fully armed APC.

In the tense hours and minutes before an important combat mission, a guy's imagination plays tricks on him, don't you see.

Slim gave a whistle -- our secret coded signal that told us it was time to assemble our commando unit. Since the front seat of the pick ... the APC, I should say, was loaded with weapons and gear and boxes of ammo, hand grenades, mortar shells, survival rations, medical supplies, and so forth, we dogs jumped into the back.

I rode the Battle Front on the spare tire ... or in the Spotter's Position, you might say, where I had a clear and unobstructed view of the road ahead and the road behind. I also had a clear and unobstructed view of Drover, who was looking up at the moon and grinning.

Even though we were now operating under Combat Rules and making a silent run, I couldn't resist asking the runt what he was smiling about.

"Oh, I don't know. I just feel like smiling, I guess."

"Huh. We're going out on a very important mission and you're smiling about it?"

"Yeah, 'cause every silver lining has a pot of gold."

"That doesn't make sense, Drover. I'm afraid that you've taken two wise old sayings and garbled them beyond recognition."

"I did?"

"Yes. What you meant to say was that every cloud has a silver lining. That's the first one."

"What's the second one?"

"I haven't gotten to it yet."

"Oh."

"The second one is -- and you might want to take notes on this -- the second one is, 'There's a pot of gold at the end of every bathroom.'"

"Yeah, and that's a good place to get a drink."

"Exactly."

"I think I've got it now."

"Good."

"And besides, it's a nice evening for a drive through the country. Where are we going?"

I studied his profile in the moonlight, to see if he was joking. "You really don't know? Son, we are aboard a fully armed armored personnel carrier, on our way to The Front."

"The front of what?"

"The battle front, Drover, to engage an army of thieving coons in deadly combat."

It was as though someone had pulled the main switch to his brain and turned out all his lights. "Combat! You know, Hank, this old leg of mine has been giving me fits all afternoon."

"A little exercise will do wonders for it, I'm sure."

"Well, I don't know. All at once it started ..."

"Hush. We're under Combat Rules and talking is forbidden."

"You started it."

"I did not."

"Did too, and my leg's ..."

"Hush!"

"... killing me." There was a moment of silence. "You don't care about my leg."

"That's right. Dry up."

By this time, we had reached the alfalfa field. Slim pulled off the main road and followed a trail along the south edge of the alfalfa. I sat up straight and studied the headlight beams as they probed the gloomy darkness.

We had arrived at the Battle Front. Little did I know ...

Well, you'll see.

NEXT WEEK: Hank arrives at the watermelon patch and immediately there is an accident.