Free The Case of the Kidnapped Collie by John R. Erickson

listen, Hank, coyotes scare me to death and I just can’t handle this!”
    I studied his face for a long time. Here was a guy I had disliked for years. I had always thought of him as a nuisance and a pest. He had stolen my girlfriend away from me. Now, I had the opportunity to laugh in his face and call him a coward.
    But I didn’t.
    â€œPlato, let me tell you something. I’m just as scared of coyotes as you are. Being scared of coyotes is no disgrace.”
    His eyes turned into perfect circles. “Hank, no! I thought you said . . .”
    â€œNever mind what I said. Here’s the deal. Beulah needs our help.”
    â€œHank, I know she does, but I just can’t . . .”
    â€œHush. Your nose is about five times better than mine. We need your nose to find her. You find her and leave the coyote work to me.”
    He stared at me for a long time. “I thought you said you were scared of coyotes.”
    â€œI am. Any dog with a lick of sense ought to be scared of those guys. But sometimes we have to put duty ahead of our fears. And even our ambitions.”
    He took a deep breath. “You’re right, Hank. I’m sorry I fell apart. I’ll give it my best shot.”
    â€œThat’s all any of us can do, pardner.”
    He started away from me but stopped. “Oh, and thanks for what you said about my nose. I know that being a bird dog isn’t all that great, but I’m proud of what I do.”
    â€œYou’ve got a great nose, Plato. I watched you. You’re a heck of a fine quail dog.”
    He beamed with pride. “Thanks, Hank. Thanks a whole bunch. I’ll try to do my part.”
    â€œYou’ll do fine. Let’s go find Beulah.”
    Our little conversation seemed to have brought him new reserves of courage. Too bad it didn’t help me. My legs were shaking so badly that I thought I might fall over at any moment. Fortunately, Plato didn’t notice.
    He went charging into the tall grass and brush along the creek—nose to the ground and tail sticking straight out. He was a study in total concentration. His entire body seemed to be taking orders from his nose.
    Me? To tell you the truth, I couldn’t smell much of anything except ragweed, so it was a good thing we had Plato and his world-class nose out front and working the trail.
    He really did have a great nose, and you know what? Admitting it didn’t hurt as much as I’d thought.
    I could see that Plato was locked onto the trail of something. His body was bunched up and he had slowed to stealthy walk. Every part of him had shifted into slow motion except his nose, and it was out front, low to the ground, and working like a vacuum sweeper.
    â€œWhat do you say, Plato?”
    â€œHank, I think we’re getting close to something. I’m getting a strong reading on coyote, real strong. How about you?”
    â€œUh, the same, Plato, you bet.”
    â€œSay, those guys really smell bad, don’t they?”
    â€œIf you think they smell bad, wait until you see their manners.”
    He gave a nervous laugh, then . . . he froze. “Hank, I think this is it. In those bushes, straight ahead.”
    A shiver of dread went through my body, but before I could think about it, I trotted past him and took over the Forward Position.
    â€œNice work, pal. I guess it’s time for the Marines to take over. We’ll see you after playtime.”
    â€œGood luck, Hank.”
    I moved toward the clump of bushes. My teeth were chattering so badly, I had to clamp my jaws shut. Five feet. Four feet. Three feet. Two, one.
    I could smell him now, that wild musky smell that struck terror in the heart of a dog. I parted the bushes with my nose and . . .
    There he was.

Chapter Twelve: Will This Story End Happily or in Tragedy?

    I would have been pleased to find Rip and Snort in the bushes. After all, we had been buddies on a few occasions and had shared some good laughs.
    It