Fury’d like some wild animal,” Pete said, after Joey had related his disappointing experience. “If I was you, I’d ride into the woods on Saturday. You might find a raccoon’re somethin’ like that that’d take his fancy.”
“I doubt it,” Joey said, with a sigh. “But I guess it’s worth a try.”
When Saturday came, Joey had his usual morning ranch work to do before starting out on any mission of his own. As he was filling the big water trough just outside the barn, a small, covered truck chugged through the ranch gate. Looking up, Joey recognized the wheezing vehicle at once.
“Jim!” he shouted. “Look who’s coming! Doc Beemis!”
Jim appeared overhead at the door of the hayloft and waved his arm in greeting. Pete leaned out the kitchen window.
“Wal, I’ll be dadgummed,” Pete cried. “Where’s that ole fraud been all these months?”
As the truck clattered up the rise to the ranch house, Joey could read the lettering on one of the side panels:
THEY WHO SUFFER ACHE AND PAIN
NEED NEVER SUFFER MORE AGAIN!
Dr. Archibald P. Beemis Surgeon, Pharmacist, and Friend in Need
Joey had met Doc Beemis the previous summer, when Doc had stopped off at the BW to wash his socks and get rested up before continuing the long trip around his sales territory. Doc—a stout, elderly character with darting eyes, silver hair and a nose like a red mushroom—drove wherever the roads were passable, peddling patent medicines, nerve tonics, and “sure cures” for coughs, colds, chilblains, and “the heartaches and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.”
Doc Beemis was a throwback to the traveling medicine peddler of the old West. He had a sure cure for everything, and even though he could talk the hind leg off a donkey, everyone welcomed him because of his geniality and endless store of tall tales.
As the truck crawled up the rise and shuddered to a stop before the ranch house, Jim slid down the feed-loading rope to the ground. Pete hurried from the house, wiping his hands on his apron.
Joey ran to the side of the truck. “Hello, Doc! Gosh, it’s great to see you again!”
Doc Beemis wiped his palm on the lapel of his black frock coat, leaned out, and extended his hand. “Joseph, my boy,” he said with a nasal twang, “I’m overjoyed to see you. And astonished as well, by the way you’ve grown since I last stopped at the Broken Wheel.”
“Welcome, Doc,” Jim said warmly.
“I thank you, James,” Doc said, glancing about. “I see you still possess the fairest horse ranch in the Western hemisphere.”
“Cut out the blarney, you ole scoundrel,” Pete said, “an’ shake hands with the real boss of the BW.”
“Peter,” said Doc loftily, “I’ll thank you to address me with a pinch of politeness and a modicum of decorum befitting my high professional status.”
“Bushwa!” Pete said. “Climb down outa that rattletrap an’ stretch yer drumsticks.”
As Doc opened the door, something resembling a large ball of dirty wool leaped from the interior of the truck onto the front seat.
Pete jumped back, startled. “What the Sam Hill’s that thing?”
“This is man’s best friend,” Doc announced proudly.
Pete raised his eyebrows. “A dog?”
“Precisely. He is my companion, comforter, and canine friend. A noble descendant, in unbroken line, from the wild wolf of the lonely prairies. His name is Crosby.”
Joey laughed. “Crosby? That’s a funny name for a dog. Why do you call him Crosby?”
“Because he sings so beautifully,” Doc explained. “Listen carefully. He’ll give you a concert.” He turned to the dog, who was wriggling his rear end. “Sing, Crosby!” Doc commanded.
The dog threw his head back and emitted a series of mournful howls.
“Ah,” Doc said, smiling, “isn’t that delightful? Have you ever heard such perfect pitch, such pear-shaped tones?”
“He sounds like a rusty hinge that needs oil,” Pete said flatly.
“I think he’s just great,” Joey said.
As Doc Beemis climbed down from the truck, Crosby leaped from the seat and ran in happy circles. His black, beady eyes were almost covered by shaggy hair; his paws were enormous, and his tail was a tuft of wagging fur. One white ear stood up straight, and the other ear, which was brown, lay flat. When he had finished running, he bounded toward Joey, placed his giant paws on Joey’s shoulders, and licked his face with a long pink tongue.
“Crosby finds you delicious, Joseph,” Doc said.
Jim and Pete laughed, as Joey wrestled with the tremendous dog.
“How long can you stay with us, Doc?” Jim asked.
“Overnight, James,” said Doc, “if you don’t mind.”
“Fine. Stay as long as you like.”
“That’s kind of you, but I must get started early in the morning. Meanwhile, perhaps Peter will treat me to one of his magnificent meals, possibly two or three.”
“I shore will,” Pete said. “What’d you eat fer dinner last night?”
Doc’s eyes twinkled. “A thousand things—beans.”
“In that case we won’t have beans fer lunch,” Pete promised. “I’ll barbecue a mess of spareribs. An’ fer dessert, how about a nice dish of tapioca?”
Doc wrinkled his red nose. “Tapioca? Not for me, my friend. I’d rather ride into a west wind with a funnel in my mouth.”
Pete chuckled. “Okay, you big lummox. We’ll have chocolate ice cream instead. An’ I’ll cook us a big pot of my famous coffee.”
“Ah, sounds excellent. Are you brewing coffee in your usual way?”
“That’s right, I still use the ole cowboy recipe: Take one pound of coffee, wet it good with water, boil it over a hot fire fer thirty minutes, pitch a horseshoe in it an,’ if it sinks, throw in some more coffee.”
“Magnificent!” Doc said. “And one tiny spoonful of sugar, if you please.”
“Go inside and make yourself at home,” said Jim. “Meantime, we’ll finish our morning chores.”
“Wait a second,” Joey said. “Let’s see if I can get Crosby to sing for me.” He pushed the dog away and held him at arm’s length. “Sing, Crosby!” he ordered.
The shaggy dog made a few squeaks to warm up, then took a deep breath, and howled as before. From Fury’s corral came an answering whinny.
Everyone
