all around it. He pressed the sending button, which sent sizzling impulses jumping around the earth, and spoke loudly into the mouthpiece: âBingo calling Bolts! Bingo calling Bolts! Please come in, Bolts!â
In the kitchen Big Butch gave a sudden yelp and instantly turned off his own built-in set. âWow!â he exclaimed. âThatâs hot! You trying to sizzle us down, Bingo?â
Poor Bolts, far off in a strange desert, felt a sudden stinging in his tail as if heâd been nipped by a playful streak of lightning. âOw! Wow! Ow! Oh-h-h-h-h!â he bawled, and jumped so hard he turned a complete somersault.
âWhatâs the matter?â asked the little burro, who was racing along beside him. âDid a scorpion sting you?â
âDunno,â muttered Bolts. âSomething bit me, but good!â
âWe have awful scorpions in this country,â the burro told him. âThough it seems odd that one can hurt a tin dog. By the way, were you holding your tail straight up when it happened?â
âYup,â Bolts admitted. âBelieve I was. Didnât mean to, âcause every time I hold it up, a buzzing starts through me.â
âThatâs odd,â said the burro. âBut Iâve noticed a peculiar thing about you. Every time your tail sticks up straight, a light flashes at the end of it. I canât imagine the purpose of it, but I must say itâs quite decorative.â
âPshaw!â grumbled Bolts, disgusted. âWho wants a light in the end of his tail?â
It might be decorative, he thought, but he sure didnât like it. And at night, when he was being pursued, it could be downright dangerous. Those rascally lion dogs, he realized, were getting closer. And what was that behind the dogs? Men on horses?
As they topped a small rise, the burro glanced back. âThatâs Lumpy Lopezâwith Comrade Pang and the major. Weâd better put more speed on.â
âIâm putting all I got into it,â Bolts told him. âMy legs are too short. Looks like weâd better start using our heads instead of our feet. Canât you think of something?â
âThereâs a cactus forest ahead of us,â the burro said. âThatâs our best chance. The dogs can follow us in thereâbut the men and horses canât. The cactus stands up too high; the thorns would tear them to pieces.â
âLead on,â growled Bolts. âIâll handle those dawg varmints.â
The lion dogs were very close by the time they reached the first tall clumps of cactus. The little burro lowered his head and plunged into the tangle. A few feet above the ground the thick branching cactus made an almost impenetrable cover. It stopped the galloping horsemen, but the lion dogs came on, barking furiously.
When they reached a small open area deep in the tangle, Bolts whirled and faced the dogs. The first close sight of them here in the dimness rather dampened his confidence. Each one looked three times as big as himself, and forty times as mean. He decided at once that even his worst growl wouldnât help him too much with such ornery critters. If they were used to tangling with mountain lions, they probably thrived on snarls and growls.
Mebbe Iâd better talk to âem with my trimmed-off brain, Bolts thought to himself. Thereâs a lot of power in the right kind of words.
The huge dogs bared their teeth and leaped toward him, snarling.
Bolts sidestepped very neatly, and said, âWhatâs the big rush, fellers? You lose something?â
It was the wrong approach, as he found out instantly. All they did was back up for a moment in surprise, then come at him again, this time using language that no self-respecting dog would think of using. It was positively shocking. Bolts decided it was time he taught them a lesson.
âWhy, you mangy, low-down, flea-bitten, knuckleheaded tramps,â he roared