Рита Браун - Cat On The Scent

“Pewter.”

Pewter wouldn't answer.

Tucker, half-asleep under the haywagon, did. “What?”

“Hear that?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn't Johnny Pop.” Mrs. Murphy was worried.

The old tractor would pop, pop, pop along but this pop was crisp.

Pop!

“Pewter, get out from under there. We've got to get to Blair's.”

Pewter backed farther underneath the camellia bush. She'll do anything to spoil this. She doesn't think I can kill the blue jay. She thinks she's the Great Striped Hunter. I'll show her, she thought to herself.

Mrs. Murphy peeled off the haywagon, covering eight feet in the launch without even pushing hard. Tucker scrambled out.

Pewter noticed the two racing across the fields toward Blair's house. Torn, she grumbled, then slowly extricated herself from her perfect hiding place.

“Fatso!” The blue jay, who'd been perched on the weathervane on top of the barn, screamed as he swooped over Pewter's head.

She leapt up, twisting in the air, but missed. “You're toast,” she threatened but hurried after Mrs. Murphy and Tucker. The jay dive-bombed her part of the way, shrieking with delight.

Mrs. Murphy didn't turn to look for Pewter or wait.

Pewter switched on the afterburners, her ears swept back, her whiskers flat against her face, her tail level to the ground. She veered right toward the creek, then dropped down onto the bank, ran alongside, found a shallow place, and ran through the water. No time to fool around and find another path. She reached Mrs. Murphy and Tucker as they crossed over by the old graveyard on the hill. The three animals flew down to Blair's house.

“Too late,” Mrs. Murphy said.

Blair sat in his car, the door open. Blood ran down his forehead, marring the leather seat. He was slumped over to the right, his long torso behind the gearshift, his head on the passenger seat. The motor was running. He appeared to have been shot.

Tucker licked his hand but Blair didn't move.

Sarah Vane-Tempest's car was parked in front of the barn. Archie Ingram's car was gone.

Mrs. Murphy jumped into his lap. Pewter followed by gingerly stepping onto the floor on the driver's side. The car was in neutral. Blair's left foot was on the clutch, his right had turned up sideways.

“Where's he hit?” Tucker stood on her hind legs.

“I don't know.”

“His legs are okay.” Pewter sniffed for blood. “What about his head?”

Mrs. Murphy put her nose to Blair's nose. She sniffed his lips, put a paw on his lower lip, and pulled it down. “Gums are white.”

“But is he hit in the head?”

“There's a lot of blood, but I can only see the left side of his face.”

“Put your nose to the seat. See if you smell blood or powder,” Tucker advised.

Murphy carefully laid the side of her face on the seat, her eye level with Blair's closed one. “Blood's oozing on the seat. Must be the right side of his head,” she said, cool in a crisis. “Pewter, sit in his lap and lean on the horn. I'll keep licking him.”

Pewter, both paws on the horn, put her weight into it. The horn sounded.

“Who's going to hear it?” Tucker sat down. “Archie's not here. Mom's on her tractor.”

“He's in a bad way.” Murphy kept licking Blair's face. “We've got to do something fast.”

“Let's think.” Pewter, over with Murphy now, put her paw on Blair's wrist. His pulse was erratic.

“We could run back to Harry,” Pewter said.

“She's on the tractor. Can't hear us. She might not notice us. We've got to convince her to come over here.” Murphy checked the gearshift on the floor. “Tucker, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“It's his only chance,” the dog solemnly said.

“I wish somebody would tell me!” an upset gray kitty exploded.

“We're going to drive this sucker,” Murphy resolutely stated.

“You're out of your mind!”

“Pewter, go home then,” Murphy sharply told her. “Tucker, give him a shove.”

Tucker nudged Blair with her front paws and her head. He slowly slumped over just a bit more.

“Pewter, are you in or out of this car?”

“I'm in. What do you want me to do?”

“We've got to get the car in first gear.”

“His foot is on the clutch,” Pewter said.

“Okay, Tucker, can you fit in down there?”

“Yes.”

“Sit on his foot while Pewter and I push the gearshift into first. Then slowly move his foot off the clutch and we'll steer.”

“Won't work. We'll stall out,” Tucker panted. “The trick is, I have to get his foot off the clutch and mine on the gas pedal. Luckily his foot isn't on the gas pedal.”

“We have to get this right on the first try.” Murphy crawled over into Blair's lap while Pewter sat in the passenger seat, patting his face with her paw.

The idea was for Murphy to push the shift stick from the top while Pewter pulled from the bottom.

“Ready?” Murphy tersely asked.

“Yes,” the other two replied.

The cats moved the gearshift into first. That part was easy. The next part was hard because if they stalled out they'd have to turn the key and feed gas at the same time. They didn't think they could do that.

“Tucker, it's better if we shoot ahead than stall out,” Murphy advised.

Pewter had joined her in the driver's seat. She stood on her hind legs, staring out the window. Murphy sat in Blair's lap, her paws on the bottom of the steering wheel.

“God, I hope this car is as responsive as all those ads say it is.” Murphy sent up a little prayer to the Great Cat in the sky for Blair. “Let's go.”

Tucker pushed off Blair's foot as she pushed down on the gas pedal with her right paw. The car lurched forward and sputtered.

“More gas.”

Tucker, both feet free now, pressed on the accelerator.

The car smoothly accelerated at amazing speed.

“Keep on the road! Not so much gas!”

“Help me,” Murphy called out.

Pewter, claws unleashed, sank them into the leather steering wheel. She struggled to keep the car on the gravel driveway. Even a small motion turned the wheels. “Tucker, let up a little,” Pewter screamed.

“I'm trying.” Tucker took her full weight off the flat pedal. “We've got it now. We got it.”

“What are we going to do when we get to the paved road?” Pewter shivered with fear.

“Pray that no car is coming our way because if we stop we won't get started again.”

Pewter, eyes huge, chin quivering, steered for all she was worth. By God, she might be afraid but she wasn't a coward.

They reached the end of Blair's long driveway. A truck was past them on the right. With all their might the two cats turned the wheel to the left. The car door still hung wide open.

“Not too much! Not too much!” Pewter directed.

“More?” Tucker couldn't see a thing. This was truly an act of blind faith.

“No, keep it right like it is, Tucker. You're doing great. Okay, okay, here's our driveway. Another left. Not too much, it's curvy.” Murphy kept her voice calm.

“Slow, slow. Oh no—there's another car!” Pewter's fur stood on end.

“He sees us. He's not going to hit us without messing himself up.”