انتقام کوتوله های حیاط فصل 04

Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes - Chapter 4

“Joe! Come over here. Now!” Moose’s dad barked at me.

He lumbered toward his garden, his big belly bouncing in front of him under his blue T-shirt. “Get over here, boy—on the double!” Mr. McCall is retired from the army. He’s used to barking out orders. And having them obeyed.

I obeyed. Buster trotted by my side.

“Was that dog in my garden again?” Mr. McCall demanded, eyeing me coldly. His cold stare could make your blood freeze.

“No, s-sir!” I stammered. Buster settled down beside me with a loud yawn.

I usually don’t tell lies. Except to Mindy. But Buster’s life was on the line. I had to save Buster. Didn’t I?

Mr. McCall bounced up to his vegetable patch. He circled his tomatoes, his corn, his zucchini, his casaba melons. He examined each stalk and leaf carefully.

Oh, wow, I thought. We’re in major trouble now.

Finally, he gazed up at us. His eyes narrowed. “If that mutt wasn’t in here, why is the dirt all pawed up?” “Maybe it was the wind?” I replied softly. It was worth a try. Maybe he’d believe it.

Moose stood silently next to me. The only time he’s quiet is when his dad is around.

“Um, Mr. McCall,” Mindy began. “We’ll make sure Buster stays out of your yard. We promise!” Then she smiled her sweetest smile.

Mr. McCall scowled. “All right. But if I catch him even sniffing at my melons, I’m calling the police and having that dog hauled off to the pound. And I mean it.” I gulped. I knew he meant it. Mr. McCall doesn’t kid around.

“Moose!” Mr. McCall snapped. “Bring the hose out here and water these casabas! I told you they need to be watered at least five times a day.” “See you later,” Moose muttered. He ducked his head and ran toward the back of his house for the hose.

Mr. McCall shot one more dark glance at us. Then he lumbered up his front steps and slammed the door.

“Maybe it was the wind?” Mindy rolled her eyes again. “Wow, that was fast thinking, Joe!” She laughed.

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I had an answer,” I replied. “And remember, it was my whistle that saved Buster. All you did was smile that phony smile.” Mindy and I headed toward our house, arguing all the way. But we stopped when we heard a low moan. A frightening sound. Buster cocked his ears.

“Who’s that?” I whispered.

A second later, we found out. Dad lurched around the side of the house, carrying a big watering can.

He was wearing his favorite gardening outfit—sneakers with holes in both toes, baggy plaid shorts, and a red T-shirt that said “I’m All Thumbs in the Garden.” And he was moaning and groaning. Which was really weird. Because Dad is always in an excellent mood when he’s gardening. Whistling. Smiling. Cracking lame jokes.

But not today.

Today something was wrong. Really wrong.

“Kids… kids,” he moaned, staggering toward us. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Dad—what is it? What’s wrong?” Mindy demanded.

Dad clutched his head and swayed from side to side. He took a deep breath. “I-I have something terrible to tell you.”