Read The Case of the Fiddle Playing Fox for Free Online Page B

wouldn’t go into the chicken house. I mean, I’ve got no grudge against foxes. As long as they stay away from headquarters and leave my chickens alone, I’ve got no quarrel with them whatsoever.
    On the other hand, any creature that goes where he shouldn’t on my outfit becomes my mortal enemy. Whether he’s a fox or a coyote or a coon or a Bengal tiger, it’s all the same to me. He gets persecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
    Well, for a while there, it appeared that he would be content to play for himself in the moonlight, and as I say, I was kind of enjoying the concert. That was a snappy little tune he was playing, the kind that makes you want to tap your paw.
    And as a matter of fact, I did catch myself tapping my paw a time or two. Not anything serious, just a little tap here and there.
    But then . . . I raised up and lifted my ears and narrowed my eyes. Was he drifting closer to the chicken house? Yes, he definitely appeared to be drifting towards the little door in the middle of the chicken house.
    That was too bad. The scene to come flashed across my mind. The fox would stop playing, cast cunning and greedy glances to the left and to the right, and dive through the opening.
    This would be followed at once by an explosion of squawking and a blizzard of feathers as terrified chickens came flapping out the little door. A moment later, the villain would appear again, with egg all over his face and a murdered hen clenched in his jaws.
    And at that point, I would have no choice but to emerge from my hiding place in the weeds, bark an alarm to the house, and lumber down to settle all accounts with the villain.
    And his life would end there in front of the chicken house he had just robbed, snuffed out like a candle, either by the Head of Ranch Security or by a blast from Loper’s shotgun.
    And he would take his music with him to the grave. No more would we hear his fiddle in the moonlight.
    It would be a sad and sorry ending, and I would have much preferred a better one. But when you’re Head of Ranch Security, you have to write the endings as they come, and some of ’em ain’t real happy.
    I pushed myself up and tried to steel my iron will for what was about to come. The moment I heard the first chicken squawk, I would have to push the Button of No Return, for you see, if a chicken squawked and I didn’t sound the alarm, my boss would have grounds for stripping me of my rank and position.
    And dog food.
    Oh, terrible decision! Oh, heavy burden of responsibility! I hoped against hope that the fox wouldn’t dart inside and that no chicken would . . .
    Hmmm. That was odd. The fox DIDN’T dart inside and no chicken DID squawk.
    Now, this was stretching my powers of credulation. By George, I couldn’t believe what I was . . . two hens appeared at the door, and unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, they invited the fox inside !
    Hence, there was no squawking or flapping of wings, no signs of a forced entry. Hence, how could I . . . hmmm. Was it against Ranch Law for a fox to be INVITED into the chicken house?
    Ordinarily, my mind moves very quickly over matters of law and crinimality, and comes up with solutions in a matter of seconds. But this deal had me stumped.
    If a fox in the chicken house wasn’t a problem for the chickens, then maybe it shouldn’t be a problem for the Head of Ranch Security, is sort of the way I framed it up. So why should I risk my life and limb protecting a bunch of dumb chickens who didn’t appear to think they needed protecting?
    Okay. The fox stopped playing, smiled at the chickens, and gave them a little bow. And then he said, “Uh, good evening, ladies. Shall I come in and play a few tunes on my fiddle?”
    They motioned him inside. He threw a glance over his shoulder and hopped through the little door.
    â€œDrover,” I whispered, “this beats anything I ever saw. Cover me. I’m going down there to