truck and sturdy rope. I can lead the pig up the ramp by myself, the same as I did when I loaded her the first time.
He fumed while he drove the fifteen miles to Ned’s shop. He had successfully avoided newspeople for seven years; he shouldn’t have to confront them now in order to get his own pig back. He shouldn’t have to put up with that snoopy cat prowling around in his truck, either. He shouldn’t have to go through any of this hassle.
Drat those kids, anyway! This whole mess was their fault. If they had minded their own business and left his pig alone, none of this would have happened. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. By the time he parked his truck in Ned’s parking lot, he was steaming.
He picked up the box of pelts, then looked for the invoice. Where was it? He was positive he had laid it on the floor beside the box. Bick set the box on the roof of the truck while he looked under the seat. All he saw was an empty beer can, two old scratch-off lottery tickets with losing numbers, and the wrapper from yesterday’s breakfast sandwich.
He went around to the driver’s side and looked under that seat, too, in case the invoice had somehow slid over there, but the invoice wasn’t under there, either.
Bick stomped into Ned’s store and plopped the box down on the counter.
“I had an invoice ready for you,” he said, “but it’s gone. I gave my brother a ride to work; it must have fallen out of the truck when he got out. I have nine beaver, two rabbits, and a fisher. Total comes to one hundred twenty bucks.”
“I can’t pay you without an invoice,” Ned said. “You know that.” As he talked he picked up two pelts and looked at them. “What happened to this one?” he asked as he turned the fur over in his hands. “Looks like your dog took a bite out of it.”
“I don’t have a dog.” Bick leaned closer. “Where?”
“Right there. One of the rabbit’s front feet has been chewed off. That’ll cut in half the amount I can pay you for it.”
Bick grabbed the pelt in question and examined it. “That rabbit had all four feet when I put it in the box,” he said. “You know I’m more careful than that. I wouldn’t try to sell you a damaged pelt.”
Ned shrugged. “You just did.” He lifted each of the other pelts out of the box and looked them over carefully, as if expecting the others might also have missing parts.
Suddenly Bick slammed his fist on the counter, making Ned jump. “It was that cat!” he said.
“What cat?”
“Some kids stole my pig, and when I went to get her back, their cat got in my truck. He must have chewed on that rabbit pelt and ripped a foot off it.”
Ned looked doubtful. “I suppose the cat took the invoice, too?”
“Maybe. Maybe he kicked it out accidentally, or maybe it stuck to his foot. How should I know? All I know is that me and my brother and that cat are the only ones who’ve been in my truck since I put the pelts and the invoice in there. Ram didn’t chew off that rabbit’s foot, and I sure didn’t touch it, so that leaves the cat.”
“Maybe you should go find that cat,” Ned said. He started to laugh. “Ask him to return your invoice and your rabbit’s foot.”
“It isn’t funny.”
Ned struggled to quit smiling but lost the battle. “If the cat doesn’t have your invoice, you can write up another one and send it to me. I’ll mail you a check.”
Bick shook his head. “I gotta have cash,” he said. “Give me some paper and I’ll make a new invoice now.”
Ned took a lined yellow tablet from a drawer and handed it to Bick. “Just remember to only bill half for the rabbit that’s missing a foot.” He laughed some more. “Maybe the cat wanted a good-luck charm,” he said.
“Ha. Ha.” Bick wrote out the new invoice, collected his money, and left the shop. He’d find that cat, all right, and when he did, no good-luck charm on Earth would save the little thief.
8
A s soon as the reporter and
He fumed while he drove the fifteen miles to Ned’s shop. He had successfully avoided newspeople for seven years; he shouldn’t have to confront them now in order to get his own pig back. He shouldn’t have to put up with that snoopy cat prowling around in his truck, either. He shouldn’t have to go through any of this hassle.
Drat those kids, anyway! This whole mess was their fault. If they had minded their own business and left his pig alone, none of this would have happened. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. By the time he parked his truck in Ned’s parking lot, he was steaming.
He picked up the box of pelts, then looked for the invoice. Where was it? He was positive he had laid it on the floor beside the box. Bick set the box on the roof of the truck while he looked under the seat. All he saw was an empty beer can, two old scratch-off lottery tickets with losing numbers, and the wrapper from yesterday’s breakfast sandwich.
He went around to the driver’s side and looked under that seat, too, in case the invoice had somehow slid over there, but the invoice wasn’t under there, either.
Bick stomped into Ned’s store and plopped the box down on the counter.
“I had an invoice ready for you,” he said, “but it’s gone. I gave my brother a ride to work; it must have fallen out of the truck when he got out. I have nine beaver, two rabbits, and a fisher. Total comes to one hundred twenty bucks.”
“I can’t pay you without an invoice,” Ned said. “You know that.” As he talked he picked up two pelts and looked at them. “What happened to this one?” he asked as he turned the fur over in his hands. “Looks like your dog took a bite out of it.”
“I don’t have a dog.” Bick leaned closer. “Where?”
“Right there. One of the rabbit’s front feet has been chewed off. That’ll cut in half the amount I can pay you for it.”
Bick grabbed the pelt in question and examined it. “That rabbit had all four feet when I put it in the box,” he said. “You know I’m more careful than that. I wouldn’t try to sell you a damaged pelt.”
Ned shrugged. “You just did.” He lifted each of the other pelts out of the box and looked them over carefully, as if expecting the others might also have missing parts.
Suddenly Bick slammed his fist on the counter, making Ned jump. “It was that cat!” he said.
“What cat?”
“Some kids stole my pig, and when I went to get her back, their cat got in my truck. He must have chewed on that rabbit pelt and ripped a foot off it.”
Ned looked doubtful. “I suppose the cat took the invoice, too?”
“Maybe. Maybe he kicked it out accidentally, or maybe it stuck to his foot. How should I know? All I know is that me and my brother and that cat are the only ones who’ve been in my truck since I put the pelts and the invoice in there. Ram didn’t chew off that rabbit’s foot, and I sure didn’t touch it, so that leaves the cat.”
“Maybe you should go find that cat,” Ned said. He started to laugh. “Ask him to return your invoice and your rabbit’s foot.”
“It isn’t funny.”
Ned struggled to quit smiling but lost the battle. “If the cat doesn’t have your invoice, you can write up another one and send it to me. I’ll mail you a check.”
Bick shook his head. “I gotta have cash,” he said. “Give me some paper and I’ll make a new invoice now.”
Ned took a lined yellow tablet from a drawer and handed it to Bick. “Just remember to only bill half for the rabbit that’s missing a foot.” He laughed some more. “Maybe the cat wanted a good-luck charm,” he said.
“Ha. Ha.” Bick wrote out the new invoice, collected his money, and left the shop. He’d find that cat, all right, and when he did, no good-luck charm on Earth would save the little thief.
8
A s soon as the reporter and
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