Free The Mopwater Files by John R. Erickson Page B

boom. I looked into Beulah’s eyes. They were pleading and lovely and . . . and then Rufus stepped between us.
    He pushed her out of the way. I swallowed down my fear and beamed him the sternest gaze I could come up with. “Rufus, I’ve already warned you about being rude to the ladies. I guess you didn’t listen.”
    â€œHa, ha, ha. I guess I didn’t, bozo, and so what? I don’t listen to you or anyone else.” He squared his shoulders. “Are you sure you want this? ’Cause I ain’t going to show any mercy.”
    â€œGood. Neither am I. Let’s get started.”
    Plato and Beulah gasped and turned away. Rufus lowered himself into a crouch and began circling me. What did I do? I engaged the Madame Moonshine Strategy, and you’re probably wondering what it was.
    Heh, heh. It was very simple and very sneaky. Remember what she told me? “Attack the large with the small.” Remember her trained fleas? Before I left her cave, she loaded them on my back, with orders to attack the nearest warm object when I gave the command word—“Tallyho!”
    And that’s just what I did. All at once my back came alive as two combat divisions of hungry fleas went on the attack. In a matter of seconds they had hopped to the ground and then onto Rufus.
    He was still circling me, grinning, growling, sneering, glaring, and preparing to launch his first piledriver attack. Then, all at once, his eyes blanked out. He stopped, sat down, and began scratching his ear with a hind leg.
    â€œHey Rufus, what’s the deal? I thought this was a fight.”
    â€œShut up, moron, I’ve got to scratch. Don’t leave.” He scratched, stood up, and faced me again . . . then let out a squawl and started biting at a flea on his tail section. “I’ll be with you in just a . . . gadzooks, these fleas are killin’ me!”
    â€œHey Rufus, when you get tired of scratching fleas, let’s talk. See, I’m the the one who brought them, and I’m the only one who can call ’em off.”
    He snarled at me. “Why you . . . EEEE-YOW!” All at once he was spinning in circles. This must have gone on for several minutes. Beulah and Plato turned around and began watching. And then laughing.
    At last Rufus had had enough. He had chased his tail so long and hard that he was worn out. “Okay, okay. Call ’em off, I give.”
    â€œFleas, halt.” The instant the fleas stopped biting, Rufus bared his fangs and jumped me—which gave me a little preview of how the fight would have gone without the fleas. In two seconds, he had me laid out on the ground and was sitting on me.
    â€œOkay, smart guy, now you’ll pay!”
    I saw his lips rise and his shark jaws open wide.
    â€œFleas, tallyho! Tallyho, and don’t spare the horses!”
    They must have stuck him pretty hard, be­cause all at once he was rooting around in the dirt—chasing fleas and screaming for me to call them off.
    I got up off the ground. “Fleas, halt!” They halted and Rufus stopped scratching. Panting for breath, he looked at me with weary eyes.
    â€œOkay, cowdog, you win, but you had to cheat to do it.”

    â€œCall it what you will, Rufus, but the result is that you’re going to be a better dog. See, I’m leaving the fleas with you. They’re going to be your conscience. They have been programmed and trained to attack at the first sign of rude behavior. What do you think of that?”
    â€œOh swell. I always wanted to be,” he curled his lip, “a good dog. What a drag.”
    â€œYou’ll get used to it, and when you do, the fleas will return to Madame Moonshine—who, by the way, was the brains behind this deal.”
    â€œI never heard of her, but if I ever get my paws on her, I’ll . . .” The fleas stuck him. He gritted his teeth until they stopped biting. “I’ll tell her . . . thank