How Murphy Met Sammy

[pauljmsn]

OKAY, STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE, BUT THERE WAS THIS MOUNTIE AND THIS RABBI
HOW MURPHY MET SAMMY
By Paul E. Jamison


PROLOGUE

It was a typical Kansas winter, which means that you couldn't predict what the weather was going to do. In Wichita neighborhoods, most of the snow from the latest fall had melted, beyond the patches on the north side of the houses and the occasional remains of a snowman. However, the temperature was in the teens, with threats from the TV weather people that it might get into the single digits before nightfall. It was the sort of day to stay indoors and play games on the floor of a nice, warm living room.

That was just what five ferret kits were doing, and the living room of choice was, indeed, nice and warm. Considering that the family contained four growing ferret boys, the living room was remarkably neat (but, oy, their bedrooms!). Because it was the Hanukkah season, a menorah was placed on the dining table. It held two candles; the third would be lit at Sundown.

The five young ferrets were sitting in a circle, with a large plastic bag next to them, and the oldest was holding a small, four-sided top and talking to the youngest, a Dark-Eyed White kit holding a black skullcap in his lap.

"Okay, Sammy, each player starts out with ten markers – nuts, raisins, coins, chocolate or whatever. We're playing with chocolate coins tonight. Each player puts a marker in the pot, and they each take turns spinning the dreidel, and depending which side it falls on, the player either wins the pot or loses part of his stash. Do you understand so far?"

Sammy, the little kit, gravely nodded, with that level of seriousness that only a young child could achieve. He was listening carefully to every word his cousin Aaron was saying.

"Good. Now, each side of the dreidel is marked with a Hebrew letter – Nun, Gimel, Hey or Shin. If the dreidel falls on Nun, nothing happens and the next player spins. If it falls on Gimel, the player takes the whole pot. If it falls on Hey – BRRRRRRR!!"

The front door had opened, and the cold and wind had come in uninvited. An adult ferret, bundled up so only a very pink nose was visible, came in with some plastic grocery bags and quickly shut the door. Coats, woolen caps and scarves were quickly removed, to reveal that the newcomer was a pretty jill. "Mama!" Sammy hopped up and ran over to her.

"Hello, my little one." Sammy's Mama knelt down and gave him a hug and a kiss, and said to the others, "Hello, children."

More or less in unison, the four boys replied, "Hello, Aunt Miryam!"

Miryam gave Sammy another hug and asked, "I hope I haven't interrupted anything important. What are you children doing?"

Aaron said, "Mama says it's too cold to play outside, so we're teaching Sammy the Dreidel Game! I'm just now telling him what the different letters mean."

"I see. It's a bit early in the day, but I see nothing wrong with playing the game now." She could see that the plastic bag was marked with the logo of a Wichita candy store; the store was popular with the Jewish ferret community, as it specialized in kosher, lactose-free chocolate. "Playing for chocolate coins? You certainly have a lot there. What do you think so far, Sammy? Do you think you'll enjoy this game?"

"Oh, yes, Mama! Aaron makes it sound like real fun!"

Miryam smiled. "I'm sure it will be." She picked up her grocery bags. "I've got some food for tonight's meal. Boys, where is your Mama?"

"She's in the kitchen, Aunt Miryam!"

"Thank you, Aaron. I'll go help your Mama, then. You boys enjoy yourselves."

Sammy held up the skullcap and said, "Mama, would you put Grandpapa's yar-mul-ke up for me?"

"Yes, I will, little one." She took it from him and placed it on the table next to the Menorah. As she headed for the kitchen, Sammy sat down again in the circle and said, "What does going `Brrrrr' have to do with the Hey letter?"

Angelica was already preparing latkes for the evening meal. She looked up and said, "Hello, Miryam!" She gave her husband's sister a warm hug. "Were you able to find some meat for supper?"

Miryam set the grocery bags on the counter. "Oh, yes. I got some lamb, and the butcher had some goose as well, so I splurged." She rustled through the bags and came out with a small bottle. "I picked up some olive oil as well."

"Oh, good. We can always use more olive oil."

"So, was Sammy a good boy while I was shopping?"

"Oh, yes. He always is." Angelica stepped to the kitchen door and looked out to the living room. Sammy was practicing with the dreidel, spinning it on the floor. "He's always a pleasure to watch."

"Thank you. It's a big help."

"Um… Miryam?" Angelica turned away from the door. "I was wondering. Do you think Sammy should be playing the Dreidel game at his age?"

"I don't see why not. He's already showing interest in Jewish tradition."

"I know, but tradition or not, it's gambling. When Sammy loses, his coins will be taken away. He may not be old enough yet to understand why. Won't he be upset when the other boys take the coins away from him?"

"I'm not worried about my Sammy. It's not like he hasn't known loss before – you saw how he handled it when his Grandpapa Levi died."

"That's a good point. He's such a strong boy for as young as he is. But I know my children. Aaron is serious about the Dreidel game. He's a very good player, and he plays to win. The first time he played, my youngest son lost all of his markers to Aaron and threw such a tantrum. I've told my boys to go easy with Sammy, but I don't know what they'll do."

"Sammy will be fine. Now, where are my brother and my husband?"

Angelica smiled. "I got a phone call from my Ira about half an hour ago. He and Jakob were still at the synagogue. It seems that our husbands got involved in a heated discussion with some others on Judaic dietary laws."

"Oh? What was the point of contention?"

"From what Ira said, Old Abraham got into an argument with some other men about whether or not Ferretone was kosher. Old Abraham says that it isn't."

"I'm not surprised. Did Ira say where he and Jakob stand on the subject?"

Angelica sighed. "Ira said that he expressed the opinion that the whole thing was ridiculous and that people should get on with their lives."

Miryam chuckled. "Ah, my ever-practical brother. No doubt that didn't go down very well. What about my husband?"

"Well… Jakob expressed the opinion that it depends on –"

"No, no, don't tell me. `It depends on how you kill it.' My husband and that silly joke!"

"That didn't go over well, either, Ira said. I think that we'll be lucky if we see our husbands before Sundown tonight."

Miryam shook her head. "Angelica, they're getting into an argument with Old Abraham! We'll be lucky to see them before Sundown tomorrow night!"

The two ladies laughed over the foibles of the menfolks and got down to the serious business of preparing a Hanukkah dinner. Things got quiet in the kitchen – and in the living room. About half an hour later, a voice in the living room said, "Doggone it, I'm cleaned out now!"

Miryam smiled at her brother's wife. "It sounds like your oldest is doing rather good for himself."

But Angelica was looking at the kitchen door and not smiling. "But – that's strange – that was Aaron's voice."

The two ladies looked at one another and Miryam said, "Maybe we need to check on them." They went into the living room.

As they entered the living room, Angelica was saying, "Boys, is there anything – oh." She and Miryam stood and stared.

The young ferrets were still sitting in a circle, and Angelica's four sons were staring at Sammy. The little kit was turning the wooden dreidel around in his paws. The plastic bag was empty, and all of the chocolate coins were in a big pile by Sammy's side.

Sammy looked up at Miryam and smiled. "Mama, this game is fun!" He frowned. "But I don't like playing for stuff. I don't think it's fair to win things and take them from other people." He put the dreidel down and began sorting the chocolate coins into five equal piles.

When he was done sorting, Sammy scooped up one pile and pushed the other four forward. "Here you guys go! I don't think that I want to play anymore today."

As Sammy stood up and picked up his chocolate coins, Angelica could have sworn that she heard her oldest mutter under his breath, "Glad to hear it," but she couldn't be sure.

…All of which says a lot about what kind of person Sammy is, and what kind of person his cousin Aaron is.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Time passes. Hanukkahs come and Hanukkahs go. The dreidel has been spun many times.

Miryam – older but still beautiful – watched as her husband filled two fluted glasses with Ferretone wine and handed her one. Jakob then raised his voice. "Excuse me, my friends – may I have your attention?"

The noise of the crowd around them died down and everyone looked at Jakob. "I wish to propose a toast!"

Waiters circulated around the room, refilling everyone's wine glasses, as Jakob continued, "I wish to propose a toast to the synagogue's newest Rabbi! I don't need to tell you that I know him as well as anyone in this room, and I can confidently say, based on past experience, that he will be a good leader and a good teacher – not to mention a hard worker. I know that this synagogue will be proud of him –" A catch came to Jakob's voice. "– as proud as a Father and Mother already are of their son.

"Friends, to our Rabbi, to our son – to Sammy."

The whole crowd of ferrets lifted their wine glasses and repeated, "To Sammy!" and drained the Ferretone wine.

A Dark-Eyed White ferret, wearing a simple black yarmulke with red trim, stood in the center of the room with his head bowed down. If it were possible for a ferret to blush, his face would have been bright red. As it was, he couldn't quite control a shy smile.

Sammy fiddled with the prayer shawl draped over his shoulders and finally looked up at the crowd of friends and well-wishers around him. It took him a few seconds to swallow whatever it was that caused the lump in his throat, and then he began to speak.

"I – I want to thank you, Papa, for the toast. Indeed, I want to thank you and Mama for all that you have done for me over the years. I started out as nothing more than a little piece of clay, and what I have become – what I will become – is based on the vessel that you have molded from that clay.

"I want to thank all of you for believing in me enough that you selected me for such an important position. I am very honored to be associated with this fine house of prayer. I don't feel like your leader. I feel like I'm your servant – a servant for all of you. I will do my best to serve you all well. I ask that you think kindly of me, and forgive me if I stumble, and help me when I ask. This synagogue is not mine – it is ours, and together, we will continue to make it something to be proud of.

"Le'chayim."

The applause was loud and long. After a few more toasts, the gathering in the synagogue basement settled down to congratulating the new Rabbi, chatting with old friends, sipping the Ferretone wine and raiding the buffet. Rabbi Sammy shook hands, accepted slaps on the back and exchanged hugs and small talk with so many folks.

"Sammy!"

The Rabbi looked around at the sound of the quavering voice calling his name and saw an old ferret slowly hobble toward him from across the room, leaning heavily on a stout cane.

Old Abraham had been the oldest ferret in the synagogue's congregation when Sammy was born, and he still was. No one had come along to challenge Old Abraham's position in all that time, and it was becoming clear that the only way anyone could claim the title would be by default.

The old ferret had been born a Panda Blaze, but was now mostly gray. He used a cane because his health was feeble and his bones were fragile, and he was always ready to let you know it, especially when there was something he wanted you to do. For the longest time, the most striking aspect of this elderly ferret was his eyes; it was said that they were sharp enough to split a bagel at fifteen paces. Then a cataract developed in the left one. What that meant was that the right eye compensated by honing its edge to twice its previous sharpness. Now the children said that Old Abraham's one eye could bring down flies at 100 yards. Lying to Old Abraham's face meant taking your life in your hands.

"Sammy! Congratulations on becoming a Rabbi! Couldn't have happened to a more deserving ferret!"

Sammy smiled and said, with much deference, "Thank you, Sir." Everyone in the congregation called Old Abraham "Sir", with much deference and verbal capitalization. Even the Rabbis – especially the Rabbis that have served the synagogue over the years. The Rabbi that oversaw the Jewish ferret community in Wichita and most of central Kansas called him "Sir". Sammy suspected that you'd have to go pretty far up the chain of command to find someone who didn't call Old Abraham "Sir".

"Yessir! I see you and I see your Grandfather! I can remember him when he first became Rabbi, and he stood right here and he looked then just like you do now!" Old Abraham tapped his paw on Sammy's chest. "You've got a lot of heritage to live up to, youngster, so you better watch yourself and not foul things up! But I don't think you will. You're a good boy – always have been – and I think you'll make as good a Rabbi as your Grandfather. At least as good as your Grandfather!"

"I –" Sammy felt like his heart was about to burst from his chest and fly away on white wings. "I – thank you very much. Sir."

"You're welcome, Sammy." Old Abraham took a healthy swig from his glass. Whatever the liquid was, it was not the color of any wine Sammy had ever seen. The old ferret held the glass up. "My own concoction. A mixture of Ferretone cocktail and fermented raisin juice. I love the stuff, but I'll have to be careful how much I drink today. Otherwise it'll be embarrassing when I go to Confession."

It took a moment for this to register with Sammy. "Um – Sir? We're not Roman Catholics."

"I know that. So?"

"Well, Sir – I don't do Confessions!"

Old Abraham brightened up. "Oh, well, if that's the case, I can drink all that I want, right?"

"Um – I guess so."

"Oh, very good! See ya!" Old Abraham tottered happily away, leaving Sammy with the vague feeling that he'd just been had.

Someone slapped Sammy heartily on the back, and he heard a familiar voice say, "Congratulations, little cousin! You made good!"

Sammy smiled at his cousin, "Hello, Aaron. Thank you, I guess I have. And thanks for all of your support over the years."

"Aw, what have I done?"

"Oh, you've taught me some things about Judaic tradition. For one thing, you taught me the dreidel game."

Aaron chuckled. "Not as much as you taught me."

Sammy smiled fondly at his older cousin. "So, Aaron, you've reached a milestone of your own. Now that you've graduated from college, what are you going to do with yourself?"

Aaron shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I'm in no hurry to start serving the 9-to-5 grind. I figured I'd take a year or so and do some traveling. Actually, I was thinking of going North and touring Canada."

Sammy nodded. "Sounds good. Canada is a nice place from what little I've seen. Any place in particular up there?"

"About the only place I figure I have to see is Niagara Falls. I want to see it from the Canadian side. And I'll have to see it quick, too."

"Oh? How come?"

Aaron looked serious. "I've read that erosion is pushing Niagara Falls downstream, and they figure that it's gonna reach Lake Erie in about 8,000 years. I think I'd better see it now before it's too late. Now if you'll pardon me, I hear a glass of Ferretone wine calling me."

Sammy shook his head as he watched his cousin walk away. He thought maybe that he'd been had again, but with Aaron you could never be sure.

The conversation had set Sammy to thinking. Niagara Falls… Actually, that sounded like an interesting place to take a vacation. He'd keep it in mind for the future.


END OF PROLOGUE

[pauljmsn]

PART 1

Sammy was a busy Rabbi. He'd come in to the synagogue early and leave late, and it wasn't long before his desk was piled high with all sorts of reading material – books, magazines, newspapers, letters, printouts of long e-mails; if it were printed material of some sort, representative artifacts could be found somewhere on the Rabbi's desk. Lots of representative artifacts. He always said that he'd get around to reading everything. Eventually.

To mark his first anniversary as head of the synagogue, the congregation had thrown a party for their Rabbi and had given him several gifts, one of which was a wall plaque which read "I AM NOT A WORKAHOLIC! WORKAHOLICS GO TO MEETINGS!" Sammy had looked at it for several seconds before asking, "Do workaholics go to meetings?" Nobody could give him a satisfactory answer.

After the party, Sammy had hung the plaque on the wall and had gone back to work. And his desk became more cluttered.

Over the next year, the congregation dropped several subtle hints in the Rabbi's direction – talking at length about how relaxing their vacations had been; pointing out some interesting TV programs coming up on the Travel Channel; showing him some travel brochures that they'd come across somewhere. After the second anniversary, the hints became stronger. "Rabbi, don't you think you ought to slow down for awhile?" "Rabbi, I'm sure you'd like Colorado." (Or Oregon. Or New Orleans. Some even recommended California, with the proviso that a disguise would be necessary for a ferret, but it's still a nice place to visit.) Sammy smiled and thanked people and said that he'd keep that in mind, but things were hectic right now. And the piles on his desk got higher still.

Not that the Rabbi neglected the state of his desktop. About every other month or so, he'd decide that the clutter was too much, so he'd devote a morning to cleaning everything off of the desk, sorting through it, throwing out any correspondence that was past its sell-by date, filing papers in the proper file cabinets, placing books on the bookshelves and putting whatever was left back on the desk. It was after just such a desk cleaning that things came to a head.

Sammy had leaned back in his office chair and had looked over the desktop. It was now mostly unoccupied, save for a small stack of books and magazines on one corner and a basket holding about a dozen e-mails in another. The wastebasket was full and the books had been rearranged in the cases to hold some new acquisitions. All Sammy had now were a handful of letters to file in a lower desk drawer.

Sammy leaned over and opened a drawer full of hanging folders. It took him only a few minutes to place the proper letters in the proper folders.

When he straightened up again, Old Abraham was standing on his desk.

Sammy just sat there and gaped up at the oldest member of his congregation. There was nothing feeble or fragile about Old Abraham now. The gray-haired ferret looked more intimidating than a dozen AARP lobbyists. Old Abraham raised his cane and began to jab the Rabbi in the chest while speaking to him in no uncertain terms.

Now Yiddish is full of difficult words, such as putz. Putz literally refers to a portion of the male anatomy, and it is also a slang term for a foolish person. But, as with so many Yiddish words, the full meaning can never be adequately explained to a Gentile. The best advice about the word putz is to be very, very careful how you use it, unless you're well-versed in some form of martial arts.

As he stood there and jabbed the Rabbi in the chest with his cane, the only martial arts discipline that Old Abraham knew was Old Age, and in his paws it was formidable.

"Listen to me and listen good, you putz! You have been working altogether too hard for over two years – YOU NEED A VACATION!!"

This was a hint that Sammy couldn't ignore. He made a feeble protest along the lines of not being able to afford a trip anywhere, especially with the synagogue's heating bills and the work needing done on the roof… but Old Abraham shoved an envelope at him, saying with a rather odd sort of glee, "We passed the hat. Here are some traveler's checks." Sammy looked in the envelope, counted out the checks and decided that the hat had been a fairly big one.

The only thing Sammy needed to do was decide where to go. And he remembered a conversation that he'd had with his cousin Aaron. Which was why he was now standing on the boardwalk on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.

He'd flown into Niagara Falls, Ontario, the night before to discover that his congregation had booked him into a very nice hotel. He thought it was too nice, in fact, so he'd called back to the synagogue to protest, as well as to inquire into the state of the roof, and had had the misfortune to get Old Abraham on the line. After a few interesting Yiddish phrases burned up the telephone line, Sammy gave in to the inevitable and decided that he may as well relax and enjoy himself.

He ate dinner in the revolving restaurant at the top of the Skylon Tower, which had an excellent kosher menu, and later spent over half an hour on the observation deck just staring down at the awesome splendor of the Falls. He'd read the guide books, with statistics on how large a volume of water went over the Falls in so much time, but that couldn't compare with just seeing them. The Falls were huge and noisy and utterly mesmerizing, and they were going all the time. Humans had installed turbines and generators, and as much electricity that they got out of the Falls, Sammy figured that it was only a fraction of the power in this amazing force of nature.

It was mid-morning of the next day now, and Sammy had already been busy. He'd visited the Daredevil Museum that displayed the barrels – or what was left of some of them – that people had used to go over the Falls. He'd been most impressed with a very well-made container made by a group of ferrets identified as the "Skippys"; he was especially interested to learn that these Skippys were based back in Wichita. After seeing the exhibit, he'd climbed on the Aero Car for the privilege of dangling over the Whirlpool and seeing the Gorge. So far, he had to admit that he was having fun.

And now, Sammy was standing in line to get a ticket for the "Maid of the Mist" boat ride. Several folks back home had told him that he had to ride "Maid of the Mist" – everybody who went to see Niagara Falls did. He was also told that the boat got close enough to the base of the falls that passengers would get soaked from the mist, and that the boat operators provided plastic ponchos for their passengers because of this. So, his friends back home had told him, on his honor as a ferret, to not get the poncho.

There must have been some special tour group in town, because, as far as Sammy could see, almost all of the boat's passengers on this trip were going to be ferrets. The operators must have been used to this – there was a special discount fare for ferrets. The line went fast, and soon Sammy was handing his money over to a pretty blond human.

Once he'd received his ticket, Sammy said, "Excuse me, miss?"

She cheerfully replied, "Yes, sir?"

"Could I have one of those ponchos? Something ferret-sized, but human-sized will do in a pinch."

She looked at him with surprise. "Are you serious? Most ferrets I've met had no problem with getting wet. In fact, most of them look forward to it."

"Well, yes. I've got no problem getting wet." He removed his yarmulke. "But I don't want this to get wet. I thought I'd wrap it in a poncho."

She nodded. "I think that that's a very good idea." She passed a blue poncho over to Sammy. "Have a good trip!"

"Thank you, I'm sure I will." Sammy boarded the "Maid of the Mist" and she soon was under way.

The operators had recently modified their boats to accommodate the ever-increasing numbers of ferret passengers. The railings had been reinforced with fine mesh so little bodies could still see the Falls and not risk falling overboard.

The "Maid of the Mist" was always a popular attraction for ferret tourists, and it's easy to see why. Soon the boat was in the middle of the clouds of mist, and the passengers were getting thoroughly wet. They reacted as any ferret would – the deck was full of tiny, furry bodies, jumping around and dancing with abandon. Including one ferret clutching a blue plastic bundle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a quiet afternoon in the Ferret Division of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Station in Niagara Falls. Constables Scott and Marciano were sitting at their desks and Inspector Starr was in his office. When the telephone rang, Constable Marciano answered it.

"RCMP. How may we help you?"

For a few seconds, there was no sound on the line.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Then the heavy breathing began.

When she realized what was happening, Marciano became angry. And loud. "Now listen, mister, this is just sick!"

She got attention. Constable Scott sat up straighter and Inspector Starr came out of his office and asked, "What's wrong, Marciano?"

She held her paw over the receiver. "Obscene phone call, sir."

"Caller ID?"

"No, sir. Screen's blank."

"Keep him on the line, then. Scott, do a trace."

"On it, sir." The ferret's fingers flew over his keyboard.

"Good man. Marciano, what's the perv doing now?"

"Still with the breathing, sir." She said into the phone, "Look, I'm sure that you're not a bad guy, but this just isn't right. It's not erotic, and women don't react well to it at all. We can help you get counseling."

"Got it!" Scott quit tapping on the keys and peered at the monitor. "Oh. Oh, dear."

Inspector Starr said, "What's wrong? Do we know where it's coming from?"

"Sir – it's one of ours."

"One of – what are you saying, Constable?"

"The phone call is originating from an RCMP Station."

"What?"

Constable Marciano heard this and her temper flared again. She shouted into the phone, "You sick bastard! It's bad enough that you make phone calls like this, but are you a Mounted Policeman, too? How did you ever pass the Psych exam? And you have the nerve to call another RCMP Station? How DARE you?!"

The Inspector couldn't really blame her. He asked, "Okay, Scott, where is it?"

"An outpost called Weasel Droppings in Manitoba, sir. I don't think I've heard of it."

"I have. Something about that place sticks in my mind, I can't recall why. Pull up the Weasel Droppings station website and call the station on a second phone line."

"Yessir." Scott began tapping the keys again.

"Oh, God – Sir, he's wheezing now."

"Stick with it, Marciano." The Inspector walked over to the big map of Canada on the wall. Red pins were stuck all over the map, marking the locations of all of the RCMP stations. "Hmmm. Weasel Droppings… Weasel Droppings..." The name did ring some faint bells in his memory. He began scanning Manitoba to try and locate it.

Ah, there it was, right up near the corner. The cleaning staff didn't bother dusting the map in the upper regions; a small spider was dangling from the Weasel Droppings pin.

It was in a remote, forested part of the province. The closest thing that could charitably called "civilization" was a small village nearby called MuckChuckBuck. Starr shook his head. What was it about Weasel Droppings?

"Um… sir?"

"Yes, Scott?"

"Sir, the Weasel Droppings station doesn't have[ a second phone line – the line that the perv is on is it. We can't call them while he's using it.

"Wait, there's a note next to the phone number." As the Constable peered at the screen, Inspector Starr suddenly remembered what it was about the Weasel Droppings station that was so memorable, and his perspective on the situation changed entirely.

He listened as Scott read, "'When calling this telephone number, please allow extra time for an answer, because' –" He stopped and stared at the screen. "Say what?" He looked at the Inspector. "Sir, it says –"

"I know, Constable, I know." Starr shook his head. "I remember now. The phone setup is a bit… weird. Constable Marciano?"

"Oh, as of now, your career is ruined*, mister! And that's not the worst of it! Do you know what they do to obscene phone callers in Territorial Prison? – Excuse me, yes, sir?"

"It's not an obscene phone call, Constable."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but when somebody is breathing into the telephone line –"

"It's not what you think, Constable. The person on the other end is out of breath. Very much out of breath."

"How can you be certain of that, sir?"

"The RCMP station that the person is calling from has an unusual telephone setup." And he told her what it was.

Marciano stared at the Inspector for a few moments. "You're kidding me. Sir."

"I wish I were, Constable."

Marciano looked at the telephone in her paw. By now there were snatches of actual words scattered in among the heavy breathing. The Inspector leaned closer to listen as she spoke into the phone, "Excuse me, but – I'm terribly sorry, but I just assumed -"

"Quite – Gasp! – all right. It's an easy – Whoosh! – mistake to make. I should have – Gasp – waited a few minutes to catch my breath before calling."

"Well, uh, what can we do for you, sir?"

"This is Constable Gordon. I wanted to talk to my son. Is he there?"

Inspector Starr took the phone from Marciano. "Constable Gordon! Good of you to call! I'm afraid you're son isn't here right now. He went out awhile ago on what he calls `foot patrol'. He said he'd be back in about an hour or so."

"That's fine. I'll call back in an hour, then."

"Constable, that won't be necessary. We'll have him call –" The Inspector stopped for a moment and thought about Gordon having to answer the phone. "No, on second thought, we'll take a message."

"No, no, I can call back, no trouble. If he comes in, keep him there, will you?"

"Look, Constable –"

"I'd better get off here now and free your line up. Talk with you later!"

The line went dead. Inspector Starr looked at the two other ferrets and shook his head.

to be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 2

It had been a full morning for Sammy. The boat ride had been a lot of fun. A spectacular view of Niagara Falls and getting soaked to the skin – what more could a ferret ask for? After getting back to the dock, Sammy had discovered a nice little deli near his hotel where an American Rabbi was welcomed with open arms. Now it was early afternoon and he was sitting on a bench along the sidewalk near the Falls. He was resting now, people-watching and wondering what he was going to do next.

Let's see… There was the IMAX theater presentation. The "Oh, Canada, Eh?" dinner theater – he could see about that this evening. There was a tour behind the Falls…

Sammy settled his yarmulke on his head better and leaned back. His mind had almost filtered out the constant roar of the Falls behind him. Suddenly he wasn't sure that he wanted to do any of those things.

He'd had fun so far, and the Falls were fascinating. But he was getting restless.

No, he didn't want to go home to the synagogue – not just yet. He wanted to do something. Something beyond the usual tourist stuff. He wasn't sure what, though.

Buy a backpack and hike through Ontario? Strong possibility. Hop on VIA and ride the rails across Canada to, maybe, Calgary? Fly north to Churchill and maybe whale-watch?

That was it. He wanted some sort of adventure. Well, he could afford to indulge himself.

"My purse! He's got my purse! Stop that thief!"

Sammy turned his head and looked down the sidewalk. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could tell who the thief might be. A ferret wearing a blue T-shirt and clutching a large pink handbag was running down the sidewalk toward Sammy. The fact that the handbag clashed so badly with the T-shirt was a crime in itself.

The alleged purse-snatcher was being chased by a Sable ferret wearing the red serge dress uniform of the RCMP. That was a pretty good clue, too. A couple of members of the Niagara Falls Police Force, dressed more conventionally, were following further back.

The Mountie was a pretty good runner. He was sure to catch up with the T-shirted ferret sooner or later. But it was going to be a close thing. It looked like the suspect was going to pass right in front of Sammy.

Sammy lay his head back and closed his eyes. He could hear the ferret's running feet as he got closer. The alleged perp was close enough now that Sammy could hear his panting breath. Just about…

Sammy stuck a leg out. Something slammed into his calf and there was a yelp.

Sammy opened his eyes and saw the ferret in the blue T-shirt rolling along the sidewalk a few feet away. He didn't have the purse anymore, though.

Something big and pink dropped into Sammy's lap. Ah, there it was now.

The ferret in the T-shirt managed to stand up, but before he could do anything the ferret Mountie brought him down again in a flying tackle. Sammy watched as they wrestled on the ground. This vacation was proving even more entertaining that he'd anticipated.

The contest was soon over, and the Mountie pulled the other ferret to his feet. At this point, the two policeferrets came up.

The ferret in the blue T-shirt, with his paws held behind his back by the Mountie, then proceeded to give as fine a demonstration of chutzpah as Sammy had ever heard.

"Thank God you're here, officers! Arrest these two purse-snatchers!"

Oh, yes, classic chutzpah. This had the old "man-is-arrested-for- murdering-his-parents-and-throws-himself-on-the-mercy-of-the-court- because-he's-an-orphan" chestnut all beat.

The policeferrets, being Canadians, were polite. One said, "Do go on, please."

"It's like this, see. I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when this doorman –"

"Hey!"

"- grabbed some poor lady's purse and started running. As an upright citizen, I thought it way my duty to chase him and bring him to justice. I'd just caught up with him when he handed the purse over to his accomplice, this guy with the stupid beanie."

"Hey!"

"I got into a fight with the doorman, and you guys came along just in time! So arrest them!"

The policeferret nodded and said, "Well, that's commendable of you, sir, but I do have problems with your story. For one thing, this as an RCMP constable that you're accusing of theft. I'll have to admit that I'm a bit skeptical."

Blue T-shirt looked offended. "What, Mounties are too squeaky-clean to stoop to stealing? Hah! You cops are all alike! Covering up for each other! You gonna get a cut? Well, you ain't gonna pin this on me! It's their word against mine!"

The Sable Mountie looked down the sidewalk and said, "Actually, the victim is coming now. She can probably identify the purse-snatcher."

The victim was a petite little Champaign jill. She was storming down the sidewalk, and one could almost see the lightning shooting from her eyes and the steam coming from her ears. You had to watch out for the small ones; they tend to be dangerous when they're angry.

The Mountie had to release his grip on the alleged perp, and it was all he and Sammy could do to restrain the petite jill from jumping on the thief and tearing him to pieces.

Somehow her voice managed to reach some very low octaves. "Let me at him! That little creep took my purse! Let me at him and I'll teach him not to take advantage of a poor helpless lady!"

Sammy's feet skidded a few inches along the sidewalk, thanks to pressure from the poor helpless lady. There were times when he felt compelled to point out what he thought were fallacious statements, but this wasn't one of those times. He managed to catch enough breath to say, "Um, ma'am, we've got things under control. I've got your purse right here."

The lady eased up on the pressure and looked at the handbag. "You do? Oh, that's fine." She took it from Sammy and smiled at him. "Why, thank you very much; that's sweet of you. Now anything that I do to him –" She pointed at Blue T-shirt, who was hiding behind the two policemen. "- will be done entirely on principle!" She jumped for him again, and Sammy and the Mountie had to restrain her again. It was easier for Sammy now because both paws were free, but not much easier.

Blue T-shirt reacted to the potential of the lady getting her paws on him by cowering further behind the policemen and babbling, "Okay- okay-okay-IdiditIdidit-Istoleherpurse-Itookitandran-I'llgoquietly- Pleasedon'tlethergetme!!"

The Mountie smiled and said, "That sounds like a valid confession to me."

One of the policeferrets replied, "I'd say so. What little I could understand." He took out some pawcuffs and locked them around the thief's wrists. "We'll take it from here. Ma'am, if you'll come along with us."

The petite lady said, "That will be fine, officer." She smiled at Sammy and the Mountie. "Thank you two very much for your help."

The Mountie touched the brim of his campaign hat. "You're very welcome, Ma'am."

The two policemen walked off with the perp between them and the lady walking to one side. The lady had cooled down considerably and actually smiled at the perp from time to time. He didn't smile back.

The Mountie turned to Sammy and said, "You know, law enforcement agencies discourage civilians from trying to stop perpetrators like you did. However, you were a big help in capturing him and I do appreciate it. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I don't normally get involved in things like this, but I got the urge. I must say, I never expected a vacation to get this exciting."

"Ah. You're from the States, then, Rabbi?"

"Yes, I am." Sammy held out his paw. "My name is Sammy."

"Constable Murphy." The two ferrets shook paws. "Welcome to Canada."

"Thank you. It's a fine country." The two began to stroll down the sidewalk together. "How could you tell that I was a Rabbi? Many of my people wear yarmulkes all the time and we're not all Rabbis."

"I know. I could tell just by looking at you. It's a skill that I developed from dealing with the Inuit tribes in Northern Canada."

"Really? Tell me more."

"Well, many of the Inuit are still wary of outsiders – I can't say as I blame them – and they do set great store on the leadership of their tribe's Shaman. It helps a lot in dealing with them if you can focus right away on the Shaman when you first come across a tribe. It impresses them to no end if you can pick the Shaman out of the crowd on first contact. So I developed the ability. I can't explain how I did, though; it's just… a knack I have."

Sammy nodded. "I see. That makes sense. So you can pick out a Rabbi, too, without any clues?"

"Yes. It works with priests, too. Just about any religion you can think of, I can point out the leader on first sight."

"An impressive ability."

"Thank you. It actually came in handy in one case I worked. I was able to identify a man dressed only in a thong as a Catholic bishop."

Sammy thought about this. "I'm not sure that I understand why this would be relevant to a crime."

"Well, the young lady he was with at the time was wearing even less than he was."

"Ah."

Sammy started to think about the Catholic bishops he'd met before and about their body types. His mind was spared the ordeal of picturing them in thongs by a patrol car marked "RCMP" that pulled up to the sidewalk. The driver, a jill ferret in a red uniform leaned out the window and said, "Constable Murphy! I'm glad I found you! You're wanted back at Headquarters!"

"Constable Marciano! You're just in time to meet my new friend! This is Rabbi Sammy up from the States!"

She smiled at Sammy. "Pleased to meet you, Padre."

Sammy looked at her. "Padre?"

Marciano tried again. "Um, Monsignor?"

Sammy sighed. "Rabbi will do."

Murphy felt it prudent to say something. "How come Headquarters wants me?"

"Oh! Headquarters! Yes! Your father called for you earlier and said he'd call back. He's calling from the Weasel Droppings Station in Manitoba."

"Oh. Well, I wouldn't want to keep him waiting, then. I'll go back with you." Murphy turned to Sammy. "Would you like to come along? We'll give you a tour of the station."

Sammy lit up at this. "That sounds like a great idea! I'll bet not many tourists get a chance to see the RCMP in operation!"

Murphy and Sammy got into the car and Constable Marciano drove away.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Constable Scott said, "Now the Weasel Droppings post is that little pin right up in the corner of the Manitoba province."

"The one with the spider, you mean?"

"That's the one, yes."

Sammy looked up at the large map of Canada. There were red pins scattered all over it, from the West Coast to the East. Most of the RCMP outposts were concentrated in the lower part of the country, but there were a few in the upper part, even a handful above the Arctic Circle. The Weasel Droppings post was in what looked like a particularly remote area. It was amazing to think that it represented the only law enforcement in such a large region.

Behind him, the telephone rang on Constable Marciano's desk. She picked it up and said, "RCMP headquarters, can I help you?" After a few moments, she held the phone away and said to Inspector Starr, "It's him, sir. At least I'm guessing it is."

"Put it on the speaker, Constable." Marciano did so, and the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing.

Murphy said, "That sounds like Dad, all right." He leaned closer to the speaker and spoke louder, "Hi, Dad!"

The heavy breathing continued.

"I'm fine, Dad! It's been awhile. How are you doing?"

The heavy breathing settled down in fits and starts to relatively normal conversation. "I'm – whew! – fine, son. Gasp! Having a little problem with shortness of breath. Wheeze!"

"You know, Dad, one of these days they'll get satellite coverage of that part of Canada. You might consider picking up a cell phone when they do."

"I always end up losing things like that, son." He let out a sigh. "But it's something I'll keep in mind."

"So, Dad, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Someone found a dead body up here, son. It was floating downstream when a hunter fished it out. It looked suspicious, so they want someone to investigate. I suggested you. Thought you might like to fly up."

"I just might. What about you, Dad? Are you looking into it?"

"I can't, son. They're starting a manhunt in the Yukon Territory for a fugitive. Unpleasant-sounding fellow named Gerrard. Robbed a bank, shot a couple of people and took off running. They're putting me in charge, and I'll be leaving soon as I can."

Murphy paused for a moment before saying, "It would be nice if we could work together on a case sometime, Dad."

Even over the phone, Sammy could hear something in the other ferret's voice. "I know, son. That would be good. Someday we will, I promise. For now – will you look at this?"

"Yes, Dad. Sure. I think they have a floatplane standing by that I can catch." Inspector Starr nodded.

"Fine, son. I won't be here when you arrive, so – I'll talk with you when I get back."

"Okay, Dad. Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"Please be careful."

"I will, son. Thank you. You be careful, too." There was a click and they heard the dial tone.

Murphy reached over and turned off the speaker and looked at the phone for a few moments. Then he stood up and said, to no one in particular, "Well, I'll get my things together. I ought to be ready to leave soon."

Sammy looked thoughtfully at his new acquaintance and then spoke up. "Say, Murphy, is there room on that floatplane for another passenger?"

The Mounties looked surprised. Inspector Starr said, "With all due respect, sir, that's not a good idea. We prefer that civilians don't get involved in police business. It could get dangerous."

"I understand your concerns, but maybe I could be of some help. Besides, should Murphy be going alone? Do you have another constable that you could spare?"

The Inspector thought for a moment. "No… We're a bit understaffed at the moment. It's up to you, Murphy."

Murphy looked at the Dark-Eyed White ferret with the black skullcap. "Actually... I think I might like the company. Okay, Sammy, how soon can you be ready to leave?"

"I can check out of my hotel room any time, find some place to store my luggage –"

Inspector Starr said, "We can look after it here at the station."

"Fine. Whenever you're ready to leave, then."

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 3

The floatplane was a de Havilland Beaver, specially modified to carry both human and ferret passengers. This entailed installing extra, very small seats and a row of new windows set low in the sides of the fuselage. Sammy looked out of the window as the floatplane banked in for a landing. This was forest country – pine trees as far as the eye could see. When there weren't rivers and lakes, that is. They were on approach for a particularly nice lake; a floatplane made excellent sense as transportation up here. If there was nothing else, Sammy was glad to be able to see this; it was a beautiful sight. As the plane banked in for a landing, Sammy could see little evidence of the works of man, beyond some excavation of some sort next to a small lake, and…

"Murphy, is that a telephone pole there?"

Murphy looked out of Sammy's window. "Yes, it is. That marks the Weasel Droppings post, in fact. That's where we'll be going."

"Oh, good. I see the building now, too. That reminds me. I ought to check in with the synagogue back home – let them know where I am. Is it okay for me to call from the post?"

"Oh, sure! It should be no problem!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Sammy's mouth hung open as he stood and stared up at the telephone pole. It had to be 35 feet tall if it was an inch. He gazed at the small box at the top of the pole. It was a long way up.

He turned to Murphy and pointed up at the small box. "That up there? That's the telephone for this outpost?!"

Murphy nodded. "It has been for years. The telephone company put it in temporarily and never got back to us. Station personnel just learned to live with it. I admit that it takes getting used to."

Sammy looked up at the telephone pole. A ferret-sized ladder was attached to the pole, running all the way to the top. "I, um, I see. But – but why?"

"Well, the Weasel Droppings post has tried to put in for an upgrade to the communications system – oh, how they've tried – but the budget folks in Ottawa always seem to get it wrong. Last time Weasel Droppings asked for a new phone, they got something else."

"What did they get instead?"

"A state-of-the-art Forensics lab. This outpost is very good about obtaining evidence at a crime scene." He looked up the pole. "Communicating the evidence to other posts is problematic, though. They haven't got a fax machine yet, either."

Sammy made a half-hearted movement toward the ladder. "Well. Um. I guess I better make my phone call. Um."

"Quite. I've got to talk with the Forensics lab. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Yes. Right. I'll be here." As Murphy walked to the nearby building, Sammy climbed on the first rung. He looked up the ladder and said, softly, "Grandpapa, please watch over me." He climbed to the second rung.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Murphy leaned over the other ferret until their noses almost touched. The ferret did not react, nor did Murphy expect him to. The coroner had shown him how the back of this guy's head had been creased.

Dr. Shepard finished washing his paws and dried them on a paper towel. He said, "Dead for a couple of days. Very little water in the lungs. This guy didn't drown – he was dead before he hit the water. Done in by a blow to the back of the head. Definitely murder."

"Um-hm. Any idea what the murder weapon was?"

"Some sort of bar – steel, I'd guess. Something flat with square corners."

Murphy looked closer at the face. "This gash on his snout looks like it was made a long time ago."

"Yes, he'd had that scar for quite awhile. It helped us ID him." Shepard threw the paper towel in the trash and picked up a paper on the counter. "Fellow by the name of McDermott. He hails from MuckChuckBuck upstream. He got the scar in a knife fight when he was younger."

"Apparently he was killed up there, then, and dumped in the river." The paper was obviously from a file on McDermott, with DOB, vital statistics and the like. A photo was attached; it was indeed the ferret on the table. "Seems he had brushes with the law before."

"Oh, yes, but not for a long time. He seems to have gone straight. Seen the error of his ways, and all that. Had a proper job with an engraver in MuckChuckBuck."

Murphy held up one of McDermott's paws. "That would explain the dark tint to his fingers. Printer's ink, no doubt." He looked closer at the fingers. There was some sort of dirt underneath the claws, but they were otherwise trimmed neatly.

Dr. Shepard was watching over Murphy's shoulder, and he said, "I've already analyzed the gunk under the nails, and that proved really interesting. Soil, of course, but it was mixed with some ore. Gold ore."

Murphy looked at the doctor. "Really? Are there gold deposits around here?"

Doctor Shepard shrugged. "Some. I don't think that anyone's found enough to cause a gold rush of any kind. It may have some bearing on his murder, though. You never know."

"Quite. Was there anything found on the body?"

"Almost nothing. No formal ID. No money. This was in his pocket." He picked up a letter-size envelope from the counter. "Not much help, I'm afraid. It had been in the water for some time."

Murphy took the envelope and examined it. The envelope was wrinkled, like paper that's been wet and dried. There had been writing, but the ink had run and was now illegible. Affixed to one corner was a red and blue stamp.

Dr. Shepard said, "At least the stamp came through fine. Hardly any water damage at all. Not that that can help you any."

Murphy looked at the stamp for a few seconds. "Oh, as you say – you never know. Mind if I take this envelope with me?"

"Feel free. I can't think of anything else I can tell you."

"I think you did help." Murphy placed the envelope in a side pack on his Sam Browne belt and took one more look at McDermott. "Any relatives that can claim the body?"

"None that we've been able to find. The closest he had to a friend would possibly be Mr. Goodmountain up in MuckChuckBuck. He's the printer that this guy worked for."

"Well, then, I believe that I'll collect my Rabbi and go up to MuckChuckBuck to talk with this Mr. Goodmountain. Thank you kindly for your help."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

In his climb up the telephone pole, Sammy had reached a major milestone. After resting a few moments, to let the shivering go down a bit, he was going to climb up to the next major milestone.

He was about halfway up the pole by now. He thought. He wasn't quite sure. Looking down to see how far he'd come did not appeal to him, and looking up to see how far he had to go even less so. This didn't leave him with many options.

Okay, now this was no way for a respected Rabbi to be thinking. Ever since he'd been a toddler, he'd tried to live in a way that would make his Grandpapa Levi proud of him. A Rabbi had to be able to face any situation with courage.

Opening his eyes might help.

Sammy decided to go for a positive attitude. This was an adventure! So he was up very high on a telephone pole – think of the view he was missing!

That was it. The view. The view had to be great. So he might as well enjoy it. With that, he confidently opened his eyes.

He was snout to snout with Murphy.

It was enough to make anyone jump.

Sammy shrieked and made a grab for the ladder. He managed to snag a rung before falling too far.

It was several moments before his heart eased up somewhat on slamming against his ribs and the hyperventilation slowed down enough for him to speak. "Don't DO that!!"

Murphy replied, "I'm terribly sorry. I just wanted to let you know that we'll be going over to MuckChuckBuck when you're through here."

Sammy opened his eyes again. His eyes were on a level now with the buckle on Murphy's Sam Browne belt. "Fine… fine. Thank you for telling me. Did you find out anything about the dearly depart – uh, about this person?"

Murphy began scrambling down the pole. He didn't seem to need the ladder, which bothered Sammy somewhat. "Yes, I did. It was almost certainly murder." It didn't take Murphy hardly any time at all to reach the ground. "The trail is pointing to MuckChuckBuck. It's only a few miles away. We can walk there."

Sammy managed to place his legs on a rung. "Sounds fine to me."

"Okay, then. When you're done with your phone call, we'll be on our way."

Sammy thought for a moment. "How big a place is this – MuckChuckBuck, is that the name?"

"That's it. It's a small town, with a handful of businesses along the main street."

"Do you think they might have a telephone there?"

"I'm sure they do."

"Okay. I think maybe I'll wait on the phone call, then." Sammy carefully felt for the next rung below. He muttered to himself, "Alright, Grandpapa, I hope you're getting a big laugh out of this."

To be conuinued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 4

It was an easy walk to the small town, and Sammy enjoyed it, especially after the attempted phone call. The view was spectacular. On one side of the trail was a series of ridges, dominated by a small hill, and the ground fell off on the other side to a large valley. The forest had been spared the lumberman's ax – so far – and the trees were thick around them. There were hills and lakes all around, and in the distance Sammy could see the Canadian Rockies.

The conversation between the two ferrets was easy and relaxed. As they approached the town, Sammy said, "MuckChuckBuck – that's an odd name for a town. Is it Inuit?"

Murphy replied, "Yes, it is, good guess. A word from a local Inuit dialect."

"What's it mean?"

"'Your finger, you idiot'."

Sammy looked hurt. "That wasn't very nice, Murphy."

"No, no, `MuckChuckBuck' literally means `your-finger-you-idiot'! I'm sorry for the confusion."

"Oh."

"There's a story behind the name, of course."

"Oh, I have got to hear this!"

"Well, it's like this. A trapper came through in the early Nineteenth Century by the name of Calvin Klein –"

"Calvin Klein?!"

"No relation. – and he decided that this was an ideal spot for a trading post. He was right; business was very good. Soon a small settlement sprang up, and Klein figured that he ought to name it after a local landmark. This hill over here, specifically. So, he stepped up to an elderly Inuit who lived nearby, pointed at the hill, and asked, `What's that?' The Inuit replied, `MuckChuckBuck', and that's what Klein named the town. It was years before he discovered that the Inuit had said, `Your finger, you idiot'. By that time it was too late – the name was on all the maps and everything."

"Ah. I see. I think."

"There is some controversy over the name nowadays."

"Controversy."

"Oh, yes. Some folks want to use the English translation and some folks want to keep the original Inuit name."

"How do the Inuit feel?"

"They want the English version. They've always gotten a laugh over it, but it's no fun when others can't get the joke. They figure the English name would serve the Anglo-Saxon settlers right."

They walked along for a bit before Sammy said, "You know, now you've got me wondering – how many other native-language placenames translate to `your-finger-you-idiot?'"

"Quite a few, I would imagine. That, or `I-don't-know-the-name-I'm- not-from-around-here.'"

"There's that, too."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You-Finger-You-Idiot, Manitoba, was a small settlement with a handful of businesses for both humans and ferrets fronting one of those two-lane blacktop roads which tend to become theoretical in the dead of a Canadian winter. The businesses included three churches, two taverns, a general store, a school, and a video rental place. Since Murphy and Sammy weren't interested in renting a movie, they headed for a business where they were sure to get information.

A Mountie and a Rabbi walk into a bar.

The bartender looked up from the never-ending task of cleaning glasses and said, "What is this, some sort of joke?"

Murphy and Sammy looked at each other. Murphy said to the bartender, "Well, no."

The bartender continued wiping the glass. "Well, that's fine. It didn't look like a good joke, anyway. You would've needed a priest to make it a good joke."

The bartender put down his glass and leaned on the bar, all smiles. "Okay, then, gentlemen – what can I do for you? Care for something to drink?"

Murphy replied, "No, thank you, sir. We're here to ask you some questions."

Sammy spoke up. "Come to think of it, maybe we can buy you a drink."

The bartender smiled even wider. "Now there's a ferret who knows how to conduct a business transaction! Don't mind if I do." He drew a beer from the tap while Sammy dropped some Loonies on the bar.

The bartender looked down at the coins and said, "You've got change coming."

"No, I don't."

"Then you've just bought yourself as many answers as you want, kind sirs." He took a long pull from the glass, smacked his lips and let out a long sigh. "Local resident brews his own, and, boy, does he know his beer!" He set the glass down. "Now, then, gentlemen, what do you want to ask me about?"

Murphy said, "There was a ferret that lived around here, by the name of McDermott." He pulled a photo out of his pocket and handed it to the barferret. "We wanted to get some info on him."

The bartender looked at the photo. "Yes, that's him. I'd know that scar anywhere." He looked more closely. "The way his eyes are closed..." He looked up at Murphy. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so. He came floating down the river. We figure that he was killed somewhere up here."

The bartender shook his head. "Sorry to hear it. He'd come in here pretty often. Not exactly friendly, but not hostile, either. Never got into any trouble in my place."

"Do you know if he was involved in any golddigging around here?"

"Gold?" The bartender thought for a moment. "Nooo. If he did, he kept it to himself. He wasn't a big spender. But he paid his tab."

"He worked for a printer here in town, didn't he?"

"Oh, sure! Mr. Goodmountain has a printing and engraving business a couple of stores down. Nice place. He does good work. He can tell you more about McDermott."

"We'll talk to him, thank you kindly! You've been a big help."

"You're welcome." He topped off his beer. "Anything else you need to know?"

Sammy replied, "One more thing – is there a telephone around?"

"Oh, yes, there's a pay phone down the street at the corner. You can't miss it."

"Um… how far above the street is it?"

The bartender looked at Murphy. "Weasel Droppings phone?"

"Weasel Droppings phone."

The bartender chuckled and said to Sammy, "Don't worry. It's set low enough."

"Thank you, sir." Sammy turned to Murphy. "While you're talking to Mr. Goodmountain, I'll phone home and let them know how I'm doing."

"Sounds good. Thank you for talking with us, sir."

"My pleasure. Come back anytime."

Sammy and Murphy headed for the door. As they were going out, a ferret wearing a clerical collar came in. The bartender said to him, "You should have come in a few minutes earlier. Now that would have been the makings of a good joke!"

The priest stood there looking bewildered as Murphy and Sammy went outside. Before the door closed, Sammy looked back and asked Murphy, "So, what was he?"

"Presbyterian."

"Boy, you are good!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

A bell attached to the shop door tinkled when Murphy opened it and walked in. From behind another door someone called out, "I'll be out in a minute!"

While he waited, Murphy looked around. It was a small shop, and the showroom was crowded with bins that held matted prints. These also covered the walls.

Murphy browsed the prints. The engraver was very good. The lines were simple and clean, but the pictures were wonderfully detailed. There was a fine study of an old windmill on the wall, along with a few farm buildings, but it looked like the engraver's specialty was aircraft. Murphy admired a nice print that showed both the 1909 Silver Dart and the 1958 CF-105 Avro Arrow interceptor – pity the Arrow had been canceled, he thought. Canada had a good airplane there. There were several American fighters from World War II, but by far the largest number of planes were pre-War biplanes.

As Murphy looked around, he saw a metal tub in one corner. It was partially full of what looked like water, in which was soaking a flat metal plate. Etched in the plate was a drawing of an aircraft. Murphy leaned over to get a closer look.

The door to the back opened and a middle-aged ferret came out, holding a small bottle of red ink in his paws. He said, "I wouldn't put my paw in there if I were you. That's acid."

Murphy looked up. "Really? Do you use it to clean your plates then?"

"I do. It's not strong enough to hurt the metal, but it dissolves any organic substances."

"I see. You shouldn't have hazardous chemicals out here in your showroom. A customer could get injured, and you'd be liable."

"I know, but my back room is crowded as it is. I don't get many customers during the day, so I figured it would be okay here for now. I'll move it later when I can."

"I would strongly recommend that you do, sir." Murphy held out his paw. "I'm Constable Murphy."

The other ferret replied, "Oh, yes, I've heard quite a bit about you; you're well-known in these parts. I'm John Goodmountain. I'm pleased to meet you." He and Murphy shook paws. "What can I do for you, Constable?"

"I've come here to talk about McDermott – he worked for you, didn't he?"

Goodmountain nodded. "You speak in the past tense. Has something happened to him?"

"I'm afraid so. He was found floating downstream a few days ago."

"Oh, no! What, did he drown?"

"No, sir, he was murdered. Trauma to the head."

"My God." Goodmountain sat down on a stool and stared at nothing, turning the ink bottle in his paws. Murphy discreetly kept quiet.

Finally Goodmountain looked up. "I can't – I can't believe it. Who would want to do that to him?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out, sir. When was the last time that you saw him?"

Goodmountain thought it over. "I haven't seen him for four days. That's nothing unusual, not around here. People disappear for days at a time and go off to do God knows what. Then they'll come back, go back to their job and no one thinks a thing of it. McDermott's been gone for as long as two weeks before, so four days was nothing."

"Was he a good worker?"

"Oh, yes! I've never had anything to complain about. He isn't – he wasn't an engraver, but I do printing work, too – handbills, flyers and the like – and he was excellent at typesetting." Goodmountain shook his head. "He was very useful. I'll miss him."

"Has anything suspicious happened around here lately?"

"Not that I can think of." The engraver frowned. "No, I take that back. A couple of strangers came through town a few weeks ago – seedy-looking types, too – and they hung around outside in the street. I sent McDermott out to talk with them and send them on their way."

"Did they cause any trouble?"

"No. McDermott talked to them outside, and whatever he said, he convinced them to move on. They walked out of town after that and didn't come back. I never thought anything about it until now."

"Could you describe them?"

"Panda Blaze and Sable, with a fairly light mask. Medium height, but they were both hefty-looking. Other than that, pretty average."

"I'll keep an eye out for them. On a related note, is there much gold prospecting around here?"

Goodmountain shrugged. "I hear about some, but I don't see much of it. There are probably a few pockets in the hills around, I guess."

"Could McDermott have been involved in digging for gold? We found traces under his nails."

The engraver frowned. "I don't know. He disappeared for days at a time, as I said, but whether that meant he was off digging, I couldn't say. If he was, he never let it slip."

"H'm. I think that's all the questions I've got. Thank you for your cooperation." Murphy turned to go, and he looked around the shop. "Actually, I am curious about one thing. Your business is pretty much out-of-the-way out here. How do you make any money at it?"

Goodmountain smiled. "Most of my sales are online." He picked a business card from a holder on the counter and held it out. "I've got a website, in case you're interested."

Murphy took the card and looked at it. There was a URL and an e-mail address. He placed the card in his pocket and said, "I'll keep this in mind. You have some good pieces here. All of these your own work?"

"Yes, they are, every one." The engraver was obviously proud. "I've always loved to draw, and I love airplanes. Just e-mail me and tell me what you want. I'll most likely have it, or I can do it special."

Murphy smiled. "Thank you kindly." The bell tinkled as he left.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 5

Murphy met Sammy outside the engraver's shop and said, "Were you able to make your phone call?"

"Oh, yes. Thankfully my Mama answered and not Old Abraham. Mama is much easier to talk to. She said they were making arrangements to get the synagogue roof repaired."

"Did you tell her you're helping me look into a murder case?"

"Yes, I did. She was very interested in what I was doing. She's also worried about me and told me to be very careful and not get hurt. And to keep my fur clean." Sammy smiled. "You know what they say about Jewish mothers."

Murphy replied, "Sammy, I have a friend from India – from a devout Brahmin family – and he's constantly telling me how his own mother frets over his health and his eating habits and clean clothes, and how she keeps telling him that he needs to marry a nice girl and settle down – you know the drill. He says that he firmly believes that every mother is a Jewish mother." The two ferrets laughed over this.

As they walked down the street, Murphy filled Sammy in on what he'd learned for the engraver. Sammy thought this over and said, "So, what do we do now?"

"I've thought about that, and I think that gold prospecting is the key. We need to go into the countryside here and start looking for something resembling a goldmine. I'm afraid it's going to be tedious. I'm not even sure where to start."

"I think I can help with that! Remember when we came in on the floatplane? While we were banking for landing, I saw a small lake, and it looked like someone had been digging right next to it. Think that might be a good place to start?"

"It sounds like it. Good call!"

Sammy frowned. "Trouble is, I don't think I can find it now."

"No problem. I remember our flightpath, and I can figure out where the ground was underneath. Let's go."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Traveling to the lake in question was a bit more difficult than they'd expected. Walking in a beeline brought them to the base of a cliff about sixty feet high, and they had to make a detour and climb a steep path to the top. The lake was located at the peak of a small hill. The ground dropped away from the side of the lake before leveling off to a grassy meadow sloping away from the lake for about one hundred yards before meeting up with a stand of trees; beyond the trees was the brow of the cliff.

Murphy and Sammy stood just behind a small ridge and looked out over the meadow. Someone had certainly been doing some digging – there was a mine opening in the hillside just below the lake. It had a dark, quiet air about it; there had been no activity for some time.

Murphy said, "I'd guess that they weren't able to dig very deep before they ran into the lake. I'm surprised that they didn't break through."

Sammy replied, "Even I can see the problem there. They must not know much about mining if –" Sammy was cut off abruptly when Murphy pulled him down behind the ridge.

After Sammy reorganized himself, Murphy held up a finger to shush him and pointed over the ridge. Sammy carefully rose up and looked around the meadow. He was about to ask Murphy what the trouble was, when he saw it.

On the other side of the mine entrance, almost out of sight beyond the hill, were two ferret-sized ATVs. As Sammy watched, a Panda Blaze in a black leather jacket came strolling into sight next to the ATVs. What really caught Sammy's attention was the machine gun that the Blaze cradled in one arm.

Sammy hunkered back down and whispered to Murphy, "I wonder what he's doing nosing around here. Do you think he's got anything to do with this goldmining thing?"

Murphy quietly replied, "Most likely. He and he cohort may have worked this place, then abandoned it and moved on."

"I wonder why they came back?"

"Maybe they left something behind and they came back to hunt for it."

"I saw two ATVs there. That means that someone else was with him. I wonder where that guy is?"

"I'm right behind you."

Murphy and Sammy looked over their shoulders and saw a light-mask Sable standing behind them. He had two pistols with him and right at the moment was covering Murphy and Sammy.

"Okay, you two. Up on your feet and up with your paws!" There wasn't much that they could do but comply.

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"Hey, Averell, got a couple of snoopers here!"

The Panda Blaze looked around and saw his partner walking forward from the edge of the meadow. Ahead of him was a Dark-Eyed White wearing a black skullcap and a Sable dressed as –

"Oh, we've got a Mountie nosing around, do we? Well, too bad for the both of them!"

The Mountie, with his paws on his head, said, "You know, this does look rather suspicious."

Averell chuckled. "It does, doesn't it? It's a real shame that you aren't going to find out any more about what's going on. Jack, we'll have to take care of them."

Jack hefted his pistols. "What, should I do it right here? The next time the plane flies in, they'll see them."

"No, not out here in the open." He pointed to the abandoned mine. "Take them in there and do it."

"Good idea. You heard the man, you two. Start walking!"

Murphy and Sammy walked ahead of the thug into the mine entrance. It was dark, but Sammy could see that the shaft extended a few yards into the hill before widening out into a larger chamber. The chamber wasn't too deep, which was no surprise. Sammy could see that a little bit of water was seeping out of the back wall and puddling on the floor.

Murphy and Sammy were a few paces ahead of Jack, when Murphy whispered out of the side of his mouth, "When the time comes, run and make a quick turn right."

Sammy whispered back, "How will I know when?"

"You'll know it."

Just as the tunnel began to widen, Murphy did a quick somersault. Jack shouted, "Hey!", just as Murphy hit the floor, and somehow a small piece of rock flew up and back. There was a smack and a howl behind them as Sammy ran forward. Murphy jumped up and ran, too. Sammy headed right, Murphy headed left, and they ducked behind some outcroppings in the tunnel wall.

Jack was still howling. "By dose!! By dose!! He broge by dose!!"

"Oh, for – get out of the –" The machine gun yammered into life, filling the tunnel with bullets and a lot of noise. Sammy flattened himself against the wall. The bullets chipped away at the outcropping protecting him, but most of them smashed into the back wall, resulting in a surprising amount of shrapnel flying through the air.

Over the din, Sammy shouted to Murphy, "I don't see how this has improved our situation any!"

Murphy replied, "It at least bought us a few minutes of time."

"Fine. What does that do for us when those few minutes are up?"

"A lot can happen in a few minutes."

"I'd feel more comfortable about that if you were doing something like shooting back at them!"

"I'm not carrying a gun. Most of the time I find that I can do quite fine without one. I don't want to rely too much on firepower."

Sammy couldn't argue with that. A chip of stone stung his cheek. Right now he thought that someone else was relying entirely too much on firepower.

The machine gun quit firing, and the silence echoed through the tunnel. Averell called out, "Hey! You in there! We need to talk!"

Murphy leaned out and replied, "What about?" He quickly pulled his head back when several pistol shots rang out. The bullets did little harm, except for gouging out a bit more of the back wall.

"Jack, ease up! I want to talk with them!"

"He broge by dose!"

"Calm down! We'll get you into the hospital later. – Okay, you in there, how about we strike a deal?"

Murphy was obviously skeptical. "What kind of deal?"

"Now look, I really don't want to kill you guys. It's messy and way too much of a downer for me. So, tell you what – if you promise us that you won't say anything about all this for, oh, a month or two, in return we won't hurt you and we'll let you go."

"Let us go. Just like that." You could cut the skepticism with a knife.

"Sure! You can trust me! Everybody knows I'm a ferret of my word!"

This was a bit much for Sammy. He shouted, "Yeah, right, and I'm the Pope!"

The machine gun roared into action again, peppering the back wall and chipping even more off of Sammy's outcropping. The barrage went on even longer than before.

When it finally let up, Sammy shouted, "What was that for?"

Averell was angry. "That was for blaspheming!"

Sammy's flabber was gasted. "Blaspheming!?"

Murphy said, "This may have something to do with the cross he's wearing around his neck."

Sammy said, "You're kidding! This guy wants to kill us and he's worried about blasphemy against the Pope? Now some of my best friends are Catholic, but this –"

Sammy cut off sharply when he heard something go crack ahead of him. He looked at the back wall and saw a stream of water shooting out of a hole that hadn't been there a moment ago. The water hit the mine floor only a short distance from Sammy's feet.

"What in -?" As Sammy watched, there was another crack, and a small piece broke off of the wall in another location, and another stream shot out.

"What is happening here?"

Murphy said, in a very even voice, "Sammy, when we get out of here –"

"When we get out of here?!"

"- when we get out of here, make a grab at something solid, preferably a tree, and hang on tight."

The back wall made several more cracking noises, and it added to this a long, deep, slow groaning. Sammy could have sworn, too, that it was starting to bow inward like a balloon, but that had to be wrong. Wasn't it?

Murphy continued, "But for the immediate future, go with the flow!"

The back wall of the abandoned mine exploded inward, and Sammy soon felt like an Egyptian soldier after Moses had decided that holding back the Red Sea was no longer worth the trouble.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 6

Averell hadn't really thought it would work to just ask the two noseys to come out, but he figured that it never hurt to try. Much to his and Jack's surprise, however, they did come out, but considering what they brought with them, he wished that they hadn't.

An immense amount of water shot out of the mine entrance and cascaded down the meadow, sweeping the four ferrets and the two ATVs along with it. In no time at all they were among the copse of trees.

Through what Sammy considered pure luck, he impacted with a tree. He was able to dig his claws into the trunk, but his position was awkward and he was just barely able to hang on. The pressure of the water rushing by was too much for him to move.

He had no idea what had happened to Murphy; he couldn't look around to see. But Sammy was able to see what happened to the thug named Averell.

The Panda Blaze's back smacked into a tree of his own, but he hit very hard and was most likely seriously hurt; Sammy guessed that there was a spinal injury. But that quickly became academic. Averell only had time for a short shriek before one of the ATVs came along and slammed right into his chest. The ATV pinned him to the tree, quite possibly literally.

The other thug had grabbed on to the only solid thing that he could reach – the other ATV. As they were swept down the slope, Jack desperately clung to the ATV. As Sammy watched, they both disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

Sammy had his own difficulties to think about. His paws were slipping.

Sammy kicked frantically, trying to get some sort of purchase on the ground, but the water was too swift. The tree trunk was too wet now for him to get a good grip. The current was about to pull him away.

He scanned the slope below him, trying to find something that he could grab before he followed the other thug over the cliff. Not much, but he had to try. Or else –

"I've got you."

A Sable paw grabbed hold of Sammy's wrist and pulled. Sammy began to move against the current. He looked up to see a Sable ferret in a red tunic, bracing himself against the tree trunk.

Murphy said, "Hang on!" and pulled harder.

Sammy was able to get purchase on the ground now, and Murphy helped him to get to his feet. The current was still strong, but Sammy could handle it now. He managed to say, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Let's get to dry ground. Think you can make it?"

"I'll try." Together the two ferrets waded through the water and finally managed to plop down on the meadow beyond the rushing water.

Sammy, was soaked to the skin and quickly began to shiver from the cold. After what they'd just been through, he figured that he deserved a little bit of shivering.

He sat there and watched the water gushing out of the mine entrance. He tried not to think of the other two ferrets.

Sammy finally blurted out, "Man, were we ever lucky!"

Murphy, in an infuriatingly calm voice, replied, "Oh, I don't know. This wasn't entirely unexpected."

Sammy stared at him. "You're not telling me that you planned this!"

Murphy shrugged. "Let's say that it was… a calculated risk."

After a moment, Sammy said, "Explain yourself."

"Okay, it was like this. You know that we figured that they'd stopped digging because of the lake. When I got a good look at that mine, it looked to me that they'd dug too close. It was a miracle that they hadn't already broken through. As it was, the back wall of the mine was very unstable; it would have taken very little for it to collapse and flood the mine. Maybe a few more hits with a pick –"

"- Or some bullet impacts."

"Exactly. So, I figured –" He looked at Sammy. "Very well, I was hoping that their trigger-happy antics would break through."

"And if it hadn't?"

"Well… we might have gotten lucky."

"Right." Sammy lay back and let the sun dry him off. He was no longer shivering.

Shortly he raised his head and looked over at Murphy. He said, "You lost your hat."

Murphy nodded. "It's long gone. Probably at the base of the cliff by now. It's just as well; it's likely a soggy mess. I can always replace it. You, on the other hand, are very fortunate that you didn't lose your yarmulke."

"True." Sammy took the black skullcap off and looked at it. It was as wet as Murphy's uniform, but still in good shape. "This has been in my family for a long, long time, and it's been through much worse than this." He placed it back on his head. "I'd say that there's a strong bond between me and my headgear."

"Understood." Murphy opened the pack on his belt and took out a letter. He held it up and said, "Fortunately my pack is waterproof. This isn't damaged."

"It's no more damaged than it was before, you mean. The murder victim was carrying that, wasn't he?"

"Yes, it was on him when he was fished out of the river."

Sammy looked more closely at the envelope. "But that stamp was hardly damaged, you said? That's strange. May I see that?"

"Sure." Murphy handed the envelope over. Sammy hadn't seen the stamp before now and looked at it more closely.

"H'm. Pretty odd stamp. Looks like some sort of airmail stamp gleep blop bibble noosh –"

Sammy's eyes had registered just what it was that they were looking at and had taken over his voice without going through the proper channels, with the results as recorded above. When his brain had caught up and resumed its job, it didn't do any better. All it could do was bug out his eyes, move his mouth up and down and point his finger at the envelope. When Sammy's brain finally regained control of the speech centers, all it could come up with was "uh… uh…"

"Something the matter, Sammy?"

"The… the…" Sammy gulped. "The stamp! Did you see the stamp?!"

"Oh, yes. It's an old airmail stamp from 1918. It shows a picture of the first mailplane, although it wasn't standard practice for the pilot to fly upside-down."

"Upside -? Murphy, do you know what this is? It's an Inverted Jenny!! It's the most famous printing error in postage-stamp history! This stamp could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars!"

Murphy took the envelope back. "So it would appear."

"What in the world was this doing on the murder victim – Hey, wait a minute, what do you mean `so it would appear'? What are you implying?"

Murphy said nothing; he just looked innocent.

Sammy looked at Murphy and at the stamp, and he began to take slow, deep breaths. When he'd calmed himself down, Sammy said, "Alright, Murphy. You know more about what's going on than you're saying, and I guess you have your reasons."

Murphy replied, "Seriously, I have a good idea of what's going on, but I want to find out more. Until then, I don't want to say anything."

"Fair enough. Okay, now what do we do?"

"I'd say our next step is to backtrack and find out where these two came from. I want to look for more clues here." He began to walk downslope beside the rushing water.

"Sounds like a good idea, but where – hey, where are you going?" Sammy watched as the Mountie stopped, just opposite Averell's tree, and began to wade through the water. "Murphy! What are you doing?!"

Murphy called back, "There might be something on the ATV!" He reached the tree and began looking over the ATV closely. He didn't pay much attention to the thug pinned behind the vehicle. Sammy tried to keep an eye on him and not on Averell.

Murphy looked at the tires and removed the gas cap and looked in the tank. Lastly, he removed something from the ATV and waded back. Sammy couldn't see too well what Murphy was carrying. It looked like some sort of heavy chain with rings attached to both ends, and it clanked as he moved.

As Murphy walked back up the slope, he called, "The right rear tire has a gash in it; it shouldn't be hard to find the tracks. And they can't have traveled far; the gas tank is almost full."

"Sounds good. What is that thing you got there? It looks like – oh." Sammy sat down on a rock. "Oh, no."

Murphy hefted the thing. "I believe these are leg irons."

"Oh, Lord, no."

Murphy dropped the irons on the ground. "I'd say that whoever is digging for the gold, they're not doing it willingly."

Sammy said nothing; he just sat there and stared at the leg irons. Murphy said nothing either; he just sat down on another rock and waited.

Finally Sammy began to speak.

"When I was growing up, my Mama told me stories about my great-great- grandfather, Joseph. He was a Rabbi, too, like my Grandpapa Levi and me. I guess it runs in the family. Great-Great-Grandpapa Joseph was ordained in the 30s, and he lived in the Warsaw Ghetto for a time. In the 50's, he and his family emigrated to America. Mama said that he never talked about the time in between.

"I never knew Joseph – he died before I was born. I have our family stories, though. And I have a photo of Joseph on the wall of my office. He's not smiling at the camera – I've been told that he seldom smiled, and no one could recall ever hearing him laugh. The one thing about the photo that everyone notices is the eyes. There's… something there. Not fear; Great-Great-Grandpapa Joseph was afraid of nothing. But those were the eyes of someone who has seen things that he does not want to remember and can never forget.

"Mama told me that Joseph had a few quirks in his personality. He was never a social animal. He was always wary of any strangers he met, and he'd have to know you for a long time before he could relax around you; some people he never got around to trusting, and it was not their fault. His eating habits were odd, too. He wasn't a slob at the dinner table, but he ate… fast. It was like he wasn't certain when his next meal would be.

"He never talked about that terrible time in his life, but there were things he did not hide. Mama said that Great-Great-Grandpapa never wore long sleeved shirts. And you can see them in the photo – the numbers tattooed on his arm."

Sammy looked at the ATV up against the tree. This time he did not look away.

At last, he said, "Is there anything else we need from around here?"

Murphy replied, "No, I don't think so. We just need to hunt for the tire tracks and then we can be on our way."

"Good." Sammy stood up. "I'll be a few minutes." He began to walk down the slope.

Murphy watched him and said, "You don't need to do that."

"Yes, I do." Sammy began to wade across the water to the tree. The current wasn't bad here; he could keep his balance easily enough.

He reached the tree. Averell had been pinned so that his head was on the other side of the ATV. Sammy worked his way around.

Averell was staring at something that no one else could see. The look on his face was not one of terror, but of sadness, perhaps of resignation.

The Dark-Eyed White Rabbi reached out with his fingers and gently closed Averell's eyes. Sammy whispered, "I apologize for the blasphemy." He stood up. "I meant no harm."

Sammy turned around and waded for dry ground.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 7

It didn't take long to find the right tire tracks; even Sammy could see the distinctive gash mark. And, as Murphy had figured, they didn't have to travel far. They found another mine only a couple of miles down the trail.

The mine was again set in a hill, only this time one without a lake on top. The mine entrance was dug in to the hillside just below the crest, back from a ledge. Below the ledge, the ground sloped down about fifty yards and flattened out to a small meadow, through which a small stream flowed, and beyond were a series of small ridges. Murphy and Sammy had learned their lesson and crouched down behind one of these ridges to examine the layout.

This mine was active. The faint sound of pickaxes chipping away at rock came down from the mine entrance. A sluicing frame had been set up next to the stream to separate the gold-bearing ore from the mine leavings.

Two ferrets – a couple of tough-looking characters – were by the sluice, talking to one another. A third ferret stood in front of the mine entrance. He was carrying another machine gun.

Murphy said, quietly, "I can hear several picks at work, and the rattle of chains. I estimate that they have five prisoners working that mine."

Sammy looked over his shoulder and whispered, "It would be just our luck to have someone else sneak up behind us."

Murphy replied, "I don't think so. I've been keeping an eye and ear tuned, and I've seen and heard nobody else around the area."

"What, they've got no patrol around here? That doesn't sound like a smart way to run an operation like this."

"Agreed. It may well be that they've just lost the smart ones of the gang by attrition. Those two we ran into might have left the less- than-sharp tacks back in the box."

"Well, that ought to work to our advantage. Do you have a plan?"

"I might. How are you at picking locks?"

"Probably about as good as you'd expect a Rabbi to be at picking locks."

"Good point. Okay, how are you at creating a diversion?"

"I think I can handle that."

"Great. Here's what we'll do. You crawl around behind these ridges to a point directly in line with the mine entrance. I'll crawl around behind the hill and climb up to the crest. You keep an eye out for me – it shouldn't be hard to stay out of sight of these characters – and when I give the signal, you distract them. Hopefully the guy with the gun will turn around to watch, and I'll sneak into the mine and do some quick lockpicking. How does that sound to you?"

"It ought to work. Let's do it." The two ferrets crawled away from each other.

It took awhile for Sammy to get into position, which gave him plenty of time to think. He thought of the surprising things that had happened to him since he'd gone on vacation. He also thought of his family. It never occurred to him to wonder if he'd ever see them again. Being swept out of a mine by a flood tended to put a lot of things in perspective, and he actually felt quite a bit of confidence. He wondered what his Grandpapa Levi would think of him now. Maybe he'd be proud of his little Sammy.

But most of all, Sammy remembered the time as a toddler when he'd visited his four cousins. They'd been in one of the boys' bedrooms, where cousin Aaron had introduced the little kit to the wonders of the air guitar. Aaron had hopped around the room on one leg, just like the guy in AC/DC, banging his paws against absolutely nothing and making "wah-wah-wah" noises. Sammy had been hugely entertained and had clapped his little paws in glee.

Sammy knew exactly what he was going to do to create a diversion. He grinned. This was going to be fun.

Sammy got into position and carefully raised his head above the ridgeline. The two ferrets were still talking together to one side. The one with the gun was shouting something into the mine. He sounded threatening. None of them were paying the least bit of attention to anything beyond their little world. Sammy knew that Murphy would be careful when he signaled, but one got the impression that they could have stood up and used Semaphore flags, and these bozos still wouldn't pay attention.

Sammy kept an eye on the crest of the hill. He had to wait a little while – ah, there was a Sable ferret, dressed in red, on top of the hill. Murphy got into position and then raised his paw and waved.

Sammy jumped up on the ridge.

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One of the two ferrets by the stream looked down the trail. He saw nothing.

"Joe, I'm telling you, I'm worried about those two guys. They've been gone for hours."

The other ferret replied, "Aw, William, quit worrying. They said it might take awhile. They wanted to take the time to search around the old mine for that pair of leg irons. They wanted to make sure nobody was snooping around."

"Yeah, but I don't like it. The bossman goes into town a few days ago, and we haven't seen him since. Then Averell and Jack go off and leave us here on our own. We're spread a little thin here now. And I still say that wasn't thunder we just heard!"

"Ahh, we're doing okay. Those diggers up there wouldn't put up much of a fight, even without the leg chains. So what's there to worry about?"

"Veren zol fun dir a blintsa!"

"What!?"

Joe and William looked at one another. Then they looked at the ridgeline. It surprised them to no end to see a Dark-Eyed White ferret wearing a skullcap standing there. It surprised them even more when he began hopping around on one leg, making "Da-da da da-da DUM!" noises as he strummed a guitar that wasn't there.

The guy stopped, looked down at them and said, "Meccha leccha hi, meccha hiney hiney ho!" before starting to jam on his invisible guitar again.

The ferret with the gun turned away from the mine entrance and walked over to call down the hillside, "What's going on down there? What's that noise?"

The two ferrets kept watching goggle-eyed as Sammy rocked down. William called over his shoulder, "This crazy guy is down here playing air guitar, Charlie!"

Charlie peered down the hill and watched as Sammy sang.

"Our temple's had a fair share of rabbis in the past,
But most of 'em were nudniks and none of 'em would last.
But our new guy's real kosher, I think he'll do the trick!
I tell ya, he's to die for – he really knows his shtick!!"

"What's that black thing on his head?"

Joe said, "Some sort of skullcap. I think that means he's Jewish."

Charlie snorted. "Tell him we don't have an oven big enough to hold him and send him on his way."

William said, "Aw, he's pretty good! Can't we let him do a couple more songs?"

"I said send him away!" Charlie turned back to the mine entrance, and a Sable fist slammed into his nose.

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Joe and William turned backed around when they heard something behind them, and they were very surprised to see Charlie tumble down the slope, accompanied by his machine gun. William was even more surprised to look up and see a Sable ferret in a red tunic leaping through the air at him.

Joe, like just about everyone else in what was left of the gang, was not a quick thinker. While William and the Mountie wrestled on the ground, all he could do was stare at them. When they got up and got into a knock-down, drag-out fight, he finally figured that maybe he ought to do something about it. It was then that a rock came sailing through the air and bounced off of the side of his head. He fell to the ground.

When he looked up, Joe saw three of the mineworking ferrets making their way slowly down the hill. Somebody had gotten their leg irons off. They seemed to be heading for him, but Joe wasn't worried. They were weak; he could handle them.

But Joe was wrong about that. True, they were in general weak, but swinging a pickaxe for long periods of time will build up a person's arm muscles. What's more, these weak ferrets were very angry. And there were three of them.

Just as Joe stood up, one of the prisoners hit him hard and knocked him down again. Then the three ferrets got down on their knees and began hitting him some more, in the face and in the torso. And they kept hitting him – over and over and over again. Joe brought his arms up to protect his face, but it didn't help much. They hit him hard and they hit him and they hit him and they hit him and they wouldn't stop…

It took him a few moments, but Charlie got his wits about him again. He'd only gotten a vague look at whoever it was that had knocked him down the hillside. He got to his feet and looked around.

That was the guy – the Sable Mountie over there who was fighting William. William wasn't doing too well. He missed one swing at the Mountie and clipped him in the face the next time, and the Mountie popped William three good ones in a row. Elsewhere Joe was curled up in a ball and was being whaled on by three of the diggers.

Not good. Charlie had to do something, but what?

The machine gun. It was lying on the ground over there. Yeah, that would even things up nicely.

Charlie walked over to the gun and was about to bend over to pick it up when a foot covered in white fur stomped down on it.

Charlie looked up and saw that it was the crazy Dark-Eyed White guy that had been playing air guitar earlier. But he looked anything but crazy now.

The dark eyes were as black as coal. They also looked as hard as diamonds and as cold as ice.

"You shouldn't have said that about the oven."

A white-furred fist flew up and connected hard with Charlie's chin. It snapped his head back and lifted him off of the ground. He fell down and didn't get up.

Sammy looked down at the other ferret and felt a little twinge of guilt. Grandpapa Levi probably wouldn't have approved. But Sammy thought of a photo on his office wall and a pair of dark, haunted eyes, and he figured that Grandpapa would at least have understood.

Sammy looked around. Murphy seemed to be doing fine on his own. His opponent was staggering by now and looked like he wouldn't last much longer. Sammy looked to the other fracas.

The thug wasn't moving anymore, and two of the escaped prisoners were still pounding their fists into his body. The third had picked up a rock and was raising it over his head.

"No… NO!" Sammy rushed forward and knocked the rock out of the ferret's paw. "Stop! You'll kill him! STOP!!"

He had to knock the three ferrets down. The one who'd had the rock scowled back at him; he looked like he was about to hit Sammy.

The ferret growled, "You don't know what they did to us! They starved us – they forced us to work all the time – they only let us sleep when we couldn't go any longer! I've got an infection in one foot that they ignored, and it's festered! You don't know what it was like!!"

"No, I don't." Old photos. Haunted eyes. "But I can guess. What these people did to you was heinous, and they must be brought to justice." He pointed at the rock on the ground. "But that is not justice – its vengeance. All that vengeance does is make you no better than they are. Is that what you want? Do you want to go through the rest of your life knowing that – at least for one moment – you were just like them?"

The ex-prisoners said nothing. Sammy looked down at the thug. He was unconscious, and his breathing was ragged. His nose was bleeding and he had to have some internal injuries.

Sammy looked back at the other ferrets and continued, "It's over for you. These people will not hurt you again. They will answer for their crimes. But it's not your place to decide their punishment."

"My friend is right." Murphy came up. Beyond the swelling that was starting around his right eye, he was none the worse for wear. His opponent was stretched out on the ground behind him. "We'll bring these criminals in, and they will be brought to trial. I can guarantee that they will be made to pay."

The three ferrets sat on the ground and said nothing. The anger seemed to have drained out of them. Finally, one of them croaked, "Please… I'm so thirsty…"

Sammy ran to the sluicing setup. There was a bucket there and he dipped it into the stream. When he came back, Murphy was bending over the unconscious thug.

Sammy held the bucket and helped the ex-prisoners drink. "Take it easy. Not so fast or you'll get sick. How is he, Murphy?"

Murphy stood up. "He's alive, but seriously injured. He'll need medical attention." Murphy looked up at the mine entrance. Two more ferrets had come out of the mine and were staring down at the others. They still wore leg irons. Murphy had worked fast in the time he'd had, but was only able to get the irons off of three prisoners.

Murphy said to Sammy, "I'm going to free those two up there, then I'll hike to Your-Finger-You-Idiot to call for help. Can you stay here and care for these folks?"

Sammy nodded. "What about those two other thugs? What if they wake up?"

Murphy pointed at the machine gun. "Keep them covered with that. Threaten them if they start to cause trouble." He began to trot into the woods.

Sammy stared at the gun. "Hey, wait! I've never fired a gun in my life! I don't like guns!"

Murphy called over his shoulder, "Not so loud!" He began to climb the slope.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 8

Sammy made sure the ex-prisoners were all comfortable and had all the water they could handle. He also bathed the unconscious ferret's forehead with water; no one else objected. When the two other criminals came to, Sammy hefted the machine gun and tried to look like he knew what he was doing with it.

It was slightly over two hours later when Sammy heard the whit-whit-whit of an approaching helicopter's blades. Soon two ferret-sized copters appeared over the trees and headed for them. The first one was Medevac. After it landed, several ferret paramedics hopped out and began going over the sick and wounded. All five of the ex- prisoners – and one of their captors – were strapped onto stretchers and loaded into the copter.

After the Medevac left and flew south, the second copter moved in and landed. When it was down, a surprising number of RCMP ferret constables hopped out. The two remaining criminals were pawcuffed and loaded into the copter.

One of the constables came over to Sammy. It was Murphy, dressed in a clean red tunic and wearing a new campaign hat. His eye was developing a beauty of a shiner.

"The medical emergencies are being shuttled to a hospital in Toronto. All of them – all of them – will likely recover." Murphy pointed at the second helicopter. "Those two crooks will be taken to Niagara Falls and locked up pending trial. You can ride along if you want."

Sammy nodded. "Oh, I want. I'm worn out now and I think I could sleep for a week. Are you coming along, too?"

"No, I'm not. I've got one more thing to do." Murphy began walking down the trail to Your-Finger-You-Idiot.

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The bell on the front door tinkled as Murphy came in the shop door. From the back room came the engraver's voice, "I'll be out in minute!"

Soon Goodmountain came out of the back room, carrying a large metal plate with a picture of an airliner etched into it. He smiled and said, "Ah, Constable Murphy, good to see you again! That's quite a black eye you have there! Get into a fight?"

Murphy replied, "Oh, yes. But, you should see the other guy!"

"I can imagine. So, what can I do for you this time, Constable?"

"I wanted to let you know that my investigation into McDermott's death is over. I found out quite a lot of interesting things about your partner."

The graying ferret sat down in the proprietor's seat behind the counter. "Do tell."

"It turns out he was a busy ferret. He was involved in digging for gold, all right. But someone else was doing the digging for him. That much I was able to tell from examining his body; gold ore under the fingernails, but no calluses or broken nails. He was part of a gang that forced others to do the digging – in fact, he was the leader. You saw him talk to a couple of his cronies in the street that day. They were, in effect, using slave labor."

"I see." Goodmountain shook his head. "How sad. And here everyone thought that he'd reformed."

"Obviously not."

"No. And so he died for his greed."

Murphy looked thoughtful. "Yes… I guess greed did do him in. But here's the odd part. His death had nothing to do with the goldmining operation. It turns out that there were two crimes in this case."

An odd look came over Goodmountain's face. "Really."

"Really. I would have probably figured that McDermott had been killed by one of his cohorts – falling-out among thieves and all that – and they may have been charged with his death. Except for one key piece of evidence. This."

Murphy pulled an envelope out of his pocket; affixed to the corner was a red and blue stamp. "This had been found on his body after it had been fished out of the stream. The envelope itself and the letter are damaged from water immersion. And the ink has run terribly so the paper is stained blue, and it's virtually impossible to read now. That was no help, and I wonder if the writing would have been relevant anyway. But the stamp… now that is really important!"

Goodmountain stared at the envelope and said nothing.

"It's an old airmail stamp. Indeed, it was the first airmail stamp issued by the United States Post Office, in 1918, just in time for the first regular airmail service, which started in May of that year. The stamp was worth 24 cents, and it depicted a Curtiss Jenny biplane, which was to be used for carrying the mail.

"The stamp is printed in two colors, with the airplane in blue and the border – which contained the words `US Postage' and the price – in red. Two colors meant that the stamp had to be imprinted twice, and at the time the process was known to be error-prone. When the new airmail stamp was released, collectors were on the lookout for any misprints. Sure enough, one fellow went to the post office and managed to buy an entire sheet of 100 misprinted stamps. And the misprint is quite an eye-catcher – the airplane was imprinted upside-down.

"The stamp is known as an Inverted Jenny, and it is probably the most prized Invert error stamp in the history of philately. One example recently sold at auction for over half a million dollars."

Murphy looked closely at the stamp. "It's amazing that an Inverted Jenny should turn up on a letter in the pocket of a murdered ferret, here in Canada. This stamp would be worth a fortune on the collectors' market. Except for one thing." Murphy smiled at the engraver. "I'm certain that this is a forgery."

Goodmountain said nothing.

Murphy continued. "Oh, it is a good reproduction. The forger did a fine job. In fact, he did too fine of a job. When I first saw this envelope, it struck me as odd that the writing on the envelope would be almost obliterated, with the ink running so terribly, but the stamp itself showed virtually no water damage at all. What's more, it is still stuck firmly to the envelope.

"The forger was very proud of his work, and he used the best materials he could find. That meant that he used waterproof ink and waterproof glue. That's fine for preserving his work, but not authentic at all."

Murphy put the envelope back in his pocket, and looked around the room. The tub was still in one corner.

"Dr. Shepard, the coroner at the Weasel Droppings station, is a good man, and he does his job well, but he did make a mistake when examining McDermott. He looked at the fatal wound and assumed that it was made by a steel bar with a square cross-section, about a half- inch to a side. It never occurred to him that the wound might have been made by a steel plate a half-inch thick, which had struck the head edge-on." Murphy wandered over and looked into the tub. It was still half-full of acid, though the engraving plate was gone. "The problem – as always with a murder weapon – was how to remove any organic traces afterwards. Forensics experts say that there are always traces on the weapon that you can never get rid of completely, but an acid bath is worth a try, I suppose."

Murphy looked at Goodmountain; the ferret was gripping the steel plate until his knuckles were turning white. Murphy calmly said, "I noticed the bottle of red ink you had the last time I was here. Was that the ink you used for the stamp?"

Goodmountain scowled at Murphy. When he spoke, it was with a snarl.

"I had a good business going. I'd print up two or three rare stamps once in awhile and sell them on the Internet – it was easy and nobody asked questions. Then – then he came along!"

"McDermott."

"Yes! He'd broken into my shop and I caught him rummaging through the back room. He figured out what I was doing with the stamps. And he had nerve. Oh, he had nerve. He actually asked me for a job!

"I hired him – I couldn't do anything else. And right away, he made out that we were partners. He kept going on about his `plans'. Said he had big plans for the business. He said that with his brains and my skill, we could make millions."

Goodmountain snorted. "Brains – hah! He knew nothing about engraving or disposing of forgeries! Nothing! He couldn't even find potential buyers online– no net-savvy at all. But he kept telling me that I needed to branch out into counterfeit money. Yes, I considered it, but I needed special paper, special ink – he never understood any of that!"

The engraver looked down at the metal plate, with the picture of the airplane etched into it. "And he – he never understood the airplanes. I really do love drawing airplanes. I told him that and he laughed, said that nobody would pay money for airplane pictures. Huh! I have lots of online customers for my airplane prints!

"But, I put up with him. When he started his goldmining operation, and was gone for days at a time, I put up with that, too. But he kept pushing me to try his schemes, even though I told him they'd never work. A few days ago, I couldn't take it any more."

Murphy nodded. "So, you struck him with one of your engraving plates. You dragged his body to the river and dumped it in, and began soaking the plate in acid to remove the… results. But he'd taken the counterfeit stamp with him. The engraving of the Jenny is very fine, I must say, especially at that size."

"Thank you." The ferret looked up at Murphy and he stood up, hefting the metal plate in his paws. "We've heard a lot about you here, Constable – you're quite well-known. We've heard, for instance, that you never carry a gun."

Murphy replied, "No, I don't carry a gun."

The bell on the front door tinkled, and three ferrets, dressed in RCMP uniforms, entered the shop.

"But my colleagues do."

The three ferret Mounties pulled their guns from their holsters and held them at the ready.

The engraver looked at the Mounties and simply deflated. He put the metal plate down on the counter and sat back down again.

Murphy was now all business. "John Goodmountain, you are under arrest. You are hereby charged with forgery, international fraud and murder."

The ferret said nothing. He looked tired.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The trip back to Niagara Falls on the de Havilland Beaver was uneventful. Goodmountain gave no trouble. As he was surrounded by four ferret Mounties, this was not surprising.

The Constable behind the Booking Desk at the RCMP station was an old friend, so as he was handing over his prisoner, Murphy said, "Hello, Keith! Good to see you. How are you doing?"

Constable Keith seemed nervous as he replied, "Oh, uh – Hi, Murphy. I'm, uh, I'm fine."

"How are those newborn kits doing?"

"Well, they're – they're fine. So's Sylvia." Murphy didn't think much of the constable's odd attitude. He attributed it to new- fatherhood on Keith's part.

As he was walking down the hallway to the main office, Murphy met Constable Marciano going the other way. He smiled at her and nodded. "Constable. I hope you're doing well."

Marciano looked at Murphy, then ducked her head and hurried past him, mumbling some sort of hello. It seemed to Murphy like she was holding back tears. Now he was starting to wonder.

As he walked into the main office, Constable Scott looked up from his desk and looked back down again. Inspector Starr was in his private office; when he saw Murphy, he got up and walked out into the main room. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Murphy was beginning to worry. Something wasn't right.

"Murphy."

Murphy turned around to see a solemn Dark-Eyed White ferret wearing a black skullcap walking toward him.

"Sammy! I would have thought that you'd be konked out in bed by now!" Murphy looked at Inspector Starr, then back at Sammy. "What's going on?"

Sammy softly said, "Murphy, something terrible has happened.

"It's your Father."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Sammy spent two hours at the station getting debriefed on his part in the goldmining and murder investigations. Constable Marciano was very helpful and patient with him as she took his statement down. Sammy appreciated it; he was tired and forgetful. But she was good at asking the right questions and teasing out his memories.

When he was done, he could hear Murphy giving his report in Inspector Starr's office. Murphy was being precise and succinct in his statement. As Sammy stood up, he could see Murphy in the office; his face was set in stone.

Constable Marciano stood next to Sammy and watched Murphy. Sammy finally said, "He ought to go home. This must be tearing him up inside."

Marciano replied, "He insisted on giving his report now, while it's still fresh in his mind. He's like that. I wouldn't be surprised if he stays here all night."

"Is there anything that I can do?"

"I don't think so. You've helped Murphy so much on this case as it is. His Father and the two other Constables are being transported here tonight. They'll arrive tomorrow. We're already making the funeral arrangements." She shook her head. "It seems like we're always doing something like this for our comrades. It never gets any easier."

"No doubt." Murphy was sitting upright and gazing steadily at something that no one else could see. Sammy said, "Thank you for being patient with me about this report."

Constable Marciano smiled at him. "Thank you. You've helped us all."

"You're welcome. I guess that I'll be going on, then. I've talked to the hotel, and they've reserved a room for me. I think I'll go and, in a word, crash."

"Have a good night's sleep, um… Rabbi."

He smiled. "Call me Sammy."

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 9

Sammy made arrangements with the front desk for not being disturbed for anything short of an earthquake, and he slept until almost Noon. After getting up, he luxuriated in a hot shower for at least a half an hour. After that, he made his way over to the nearby deli for a not-so-early lunch. The proprietors welcomed him with open arms as before, but they seemed subdued. The news of recent events had gotten around the ferret community fast, and Sammy was treated with respect. They refused to accept any sort of payment from him.

After lunch, he went back to his hotel room, sat down on his bed and picked up the phone to dial out.

The phone rang a couple of times before someone picked up the other end and said, "Levi's Food Market. Jakob speaking."

"Hello, Papa. This is Sammy."

"Sammy! My boy! How are you doing up there?"

"To be honest, Papa, I'm worn out. I feel like I've been through the wringer." He thought of the abandoned mine and the flood. "Not to mention the rinse cycle. So much has happened the last few days. If this is the sort of thing to expect on a vacation, it might be awhile before the next one for me."

There was a note of anxiety in Jakob's voice. "Your mama and I have worried about you so much, Sammy. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Papa. I've not been hurt. But others haven't been so fortunate. A friend of mine has been injured – in his body and mainly in his soul."

"Injuries to the body can heal. Injuries to the soul can heal, too, but not so easily. My sympathy and support goes to your friend."

"Thank you, Papa."

"So, Sammy, the – the murder you were helping to investigate. Has that been solved?"

"Yes, it has, Papa. It turns out that there were two crimes. Both of them have been solved. It's a long story."

"It can wait until you return. For now – it's enough to hear that you're doing well. I want to tell you something now, though."

"What's that, Papa?"

"Sammy, your Mama and I – we've thought a lot about you the past few days. And we are very proud of you."

"Thank you, Papa. That means a lot."

"You're welcome. Don't tell your Mama what I said, though. It would upset her."

"I won't, Papa. It's our secret."

"Good boy! Take care, my son, and come back safe to us."

"I will, Papa. I will."

After Sammy hung up the phone and lay back on the bed for awhile, lost in thought. Then he got up and left the hotel to look for Murphy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Sammy stopped in at the RCMP station, but Murphy wasn't there. Constable Marciano said, "We're not sure where he went, er, Sammy. He just said that he was going for a walk." So Sammy left to look around.

It turned out to be easier to find Murphy than he'd expected. After leaving the station, Sammy walked along the sidewalk by the Falls and stopped to look down at the trail by the riverside below him. Some way downstream, he just managed to catch a glimpse of red.

Sammy found the red uniform folded neatly and placed by the trail, along with the Sam Browne belt and the campaign hat. Just a little further along, a Sable ferret was sitting on a rock by the stream. Murphy said nothing; he just sat and stared over the turbulent waters before him.

After a few moments, Sammy sat down nearby and looked over the river himself. After awhile you got used to the continuous roar of the Niagara Falls upstream, and it became a peaceful spot. Ideal for thinking. Sammy kept quiet and patiently waited. It was a few minutes.

"I should have gone with him."

Sammy turned to Murphy. "And would that have made any difference? It's not like your Father was alone; he went up into the Yukon with a whole team of Mounties – about a dozen, right? Murphy, that Gerrard guy was vicious. He ended up killing your Father and two other Mounties before he was caught! If you'd been up there, it might just have given him a chance to kill a fourth Mountie."

Murphy faced Sammy and scowled. "I could have taken him."

"You don't know that. It took five ferrets to wrestle him down."

"I COULD HAVE TAKEN HIM!"

Murphy had jumped to his feet and started shouting. Sammy didn't so much as flinch. He just sat there and watched as the other ferret raged.

"Don't you understand? I wasn't there! I offered to go with my Dad up into the Yukon – I wanted to go with him, to help him catch this creep! But I let him talk me out of it. So my Dad goes up there and gets killed! I wasn't there for him. Instead I go traipsing off to Manitoba!"

Sammy waited for a few moments, but Murphy had apparently run out of things to say. So Sammy began to speak.

"Yes, I understand. No, you didn't go `traipsing' off to Manitoba. You went there to solve a murder. And you did. You also stopped some greedy people who were using slave labor to dig for gold. And what would have happened when they couldn't get any more work out of their captives? You know what happens to slaves that have outlived their usefulness. You saved those ferrets' lives, Murphy."

Murphy sat back down on the rock and stared at the water. Sammy kept talking.

"Your Father knew the risk he was taking in going after Gerrard, and he didn't hesitate. Because that was his job, and that's your job. He didn't send you off to protect you. He went off to do his duty as a Constable for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and he believed enough in you that he sent you off on another investigation and he thought that you'd do your duty. And you know what? He was right.

"No, Murphy, you weren't there for him in the Yukon Territories. You were there for him in Manitoba."

Murphy continued to stare at the water. He finally said, "I wish…"

"What do you wish, Murphy?"

"I wish… I wish Gerrard had escaped."

Sammy calmly asked, "Why do you wish something like that?"

"Because…" Murphy paused and blurted out, "So I could track him down myself!"

Sammy nodded. "Why? What would you do when you caught him? Remember what I told the ex-prisoners at the mine? I'll tell you the same thing, Murphy. Vengeance is not justice. If you caught Gerrard, and did to him what you think you want to do – it would make you just like him. And I'll ask you what I asked the others. Is that what you want?"

Murphy finally whispered, "I – I don't – know." Then he bent his head and began to cry.

Sammy got up and walked over and placed his paw on Murphy's shoulder. He kept his paw there as Murphy rocked back and forth and his shoulders heaved with sobs. Sammy said nothing; he was just there for his friend.

After Murphy's sobbing died away, Sammy said, "I just talked to my Papa awhile ago, and he said something that I will cherish. He said he was proud of me. You did your duty, Constable. I'd think that your Father would be proud of you."

Murphy stood up and walked over to his uniform. He picked up the red tunic, put it on and buttoned it up. He then picked up the Sam Browne belt, threaded the strap over his right shoulder and buckled it about his waist. Finally he picked up the campaign hat and placed it just so on his head. When he was done dressing, Murphy took a shiny object from his pocket and turned it over in his paws.

He said, softly, "I've got a human friend in Metropolis - well, I say `human', but that's not quite true."

Sammy said, "I know who you're talking about, then. He's a crimefighter, too, isn't he?"

"Yes, among other things. He's not an official law enforcement officer, you understand. But, oh, my, does he ever have a large collection of honorary badges, from police departments all over the world."

"I can just imagine. I presume his collection includes an RCMP badge, too?"

"Two, actually. One's human-size, and the other is a ferret-sized one that I presented to him myself. My friend has a particular phrase that he uses to describe the work that he does – that my Dad did – that I do. He calls it `the never-ending battle'."

"I've heard that, and he's right." Sammy looked at the badge in Murphy's paws. "I would think that it's an honor to wear one of those."

"Yes." Murphy undid the clasp on the back and pinned his badge to the chest of his tunic. "It is."

Murphy swiped at his eyes with a paw and took a deep sigh. Then he looked at Sammy and said, "Well, I've got a funeral for three fallen comrades to see about."

"I know. Is there anything that I can do to help?"

"Yes, there is, Sammy. I was about to ask you if you could do a favor for me."

"Anything, Murphy."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It's a strange fact that there's little interaction between the human world and the ferret world. Humans and ferrets get along fine, especially socially, but the difference in size between the two means that those of one world can't operate easily in the other. Indeed, it's easy enough for one world to forget the existence of the other.

The funeral for the three ferret Mounties was a notable exception. St. Michael's Cathedral of Toronto offered the use of its nave for the services. The cathedral staff removed the human pews from the central aisle and replaced them with smaller, ferret-sized benches. This made room for thousands of ferrets. Human seats were set up in the side aisles and in the transept.

Sammy had seen Murphy's father the day before the funeral. Constable Gordon was a Sable like Murphy, with a liberal sprinkling of gray hair. Even in death, he looked strong and fit. He looked like a ferret who could – and did – carry a wounded otter over thirty miles in a rugged Canadian winter. Sammy could see a lot of Murphy in his father.

In contrast, one of the other fallen Mounties had looked so young in his casket – far too young to attend the RCMP cadet academy. But the Constable had been old enough, and he'd been old enough to be married and the father of three kits.

The third casket remained closed. Everyone agreed that it was just as well.

Now, the three caskets were resting on bowers in front of the human- size altar. Sammy, dressed in his yarmulke and his prayer shawl, sat on the front row next to Murphy. With them were sixteen other ferret Mounties, dressed in their red uniforms. Behind them, the rows upon rows of ferret-sized pews were completely packed, as were the human seats off to the sides. Sammy learned later that one of the humans in attendance was the Prime Minister of Canada.

On another bench nearby sat the young constable's widow and her three children. She was a pretty Cinnamon, now dressed in black and gazing at her husband's casket. At her side sat two sad little kits, and in her lap sat a confused-looking toddler. Sitting next to them on the bench was a middle-aged ferret couple, the parents of the constable in the closed casket; the mother would occasionally wail her grief into her husband's shoulder.

The service was quiet and peaceful. Sammy did not take Mass, of course, and the usher was respectful enough of him to not offer it. Sammy did join in singing the hymns.

Inspector Starr gave the eulogy for the fallen constables. He spoke of honor and duty – and of friendship and loss and love. He didn't speak long, but he said so much.

After the services were over, the ferrets and the humans filed by the caskets and paid their last respects. Then, the two caskets were closed. It was time for Murphy and Sammy and the sixteen other ferrets to perform their duties. They came forward in three groups of six and stood beside the caskets; Murphy was at the front of his father's casket, and Sammy was on the other side. As one, the pallbearers picked up the caskets and slowly carried them out to the hearses.

A huge crowd of humans and ferrets were outside, and they watched as the three tiny caskets were carried out the cathedral door and down the steps. Sammy saw some TV news cameras; he understood that the funeral was being televised live to Toronto TV. He wondered if it would be telecast on the news programs in the States; would his Mama and Papa see him?

Sammy, Murphy and the other four pallbearers placed Constable Gordon's casket in the lead ferret-sized hearse and got into the limousine behind. Behind that were two more hearses and two more limos. A human escort on a motorcycle led the funeral procession to the cemetery. The remainder of the procession consisted mainly of small ferret vehicles, but there were a fair number of human cars, too. Somehow there were no mishaps; the human drivers were careful.

All along the procession route and outside the cemetery, there were mixed crowds of human and ferrets. There was no noise; these folks were respectful enough to pay silent tribute to the three brave animals.

The three constables were buried in Mt. Pleasant Cemetery, in a special section for ferrets. A human Catholic priest said a few words over the little caskets, and as they were lowered into the ground, an RCMP constable played "Taps" on a bugle. The constable's widow hugged her children close, and the other constable's parents held one another's paws.

Sammy decided that he'd say a few words to the bereaved families later, to give them some comfort. For now, he bowed his head and prayed for these ferrets that he'd never met.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

PART 10

Two days later, Sammy was relaxing in the Toronto International Airport, and it was just twenty minutes before the first boarding announcement for his flight home.

"Sammy!"

He looked around at the sound of his name, and grinned wide when he recognized the Sable ferret in the red serge uniform pushing through the airport crowd toward him.

"Hiya, Murph!" Sammy stood up and gave his friend a big hug. After a few moments, they stood apart and smiled at one another. "I was wondering if I'd see you before I left for Kansas."

Murphy shrugged. "I had to go back up to Manitoba to tie up a few loose ends, but you should know that I'd be back to see you off!"

"I understand; a Mountie's work is never done. I appreciate you being here."

"I can't stay long, though. I'll be leaving for British Columbia in a short while to look into a smuggling operation from Washington state. You're right about a Mountie's work."

"What's being smuggled?"

"Rutabagas."

"'Rutabagas'. What, is that some sort of street slang for a new drug?"

"No, we're talking vegetables here."

"What? Rutabagas? Yellow turnip things? Those rutabagas!?"

"Yep."

"Huh. I didn't know rutabagas were illegal in Canada."

"They're not."

Sammy stared at him. "You're kidding. What kind of loser smuggles something legal?"

Murphy looked serious. "A lot more people than you might think. One of the difficulties I figure we'll have with this crew is explaining to them that they're not doing anything wrong. People get upset about that; trust me on this."

Sammy was still laughing when the overhead PA squawked out, "First call for passengers for Mus Tel Airlines Flight number RCW-139, bound for Kansas City International. Repeat - first call for passengers for Mus Tel Airlines Flight number RCW-139, bound for Kansas City International."

Sammy said, "That's my flight, Murph. I'll have to get in line to board pretty quickly."

"Yeah, well, I'll have to be on my way, too. I hope you've enjoyed your stay here in Canada."

"It's been – not what I expected from a vacation." Sammy smile turned soft. "I wouldn't have traded it for the world."

Murphy nodded. "Thank you, Sammy, for all the help you gave."

"And thank you, Murphy, for everything."

The two ferrets clasped their paws together in a good, firm grip that would last forever in many ways.

As Murphy moved away, Sammy said, "And if you're ever in Wichita, look me up! You'll be very welcome in my synagogue, and we'll offer you all the hospitality you deserve."

"Thanks. I'll hold you to that. Have a nice flight!" Murphy gave one last wave and pushed through the crowd.

"Good-bye." Sammy knew Murphy couldn't hear him. Then he turned to board the plane.

As Mus Tel Airlines Flight number RCW-139, a scaled-down version of the Boeing 737-800, climbed away from Toronto International, one Dark-Eyed White ferret sat beside a window and held a black skullcap in his lap. As he watched Toronto grow smaller beneath the aircraft, Sammy muttered to himself.

"Rutabagas." Sammy shook his head.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

As the taxi exited West Kellogg at the South Seneca interchange, Sammy was looking forward to seeing the synagogue again. How long had it been since he'd left on his vacation? It seemed like years.

There it was ahead. Sammy smiled as he contemplated the familiar building. It was a rather nice bit of local architecture – the Wichita Eagle had done a special photo layout some months back that had been quite flattering. As the taxi pulled to a stop in front, Sammy's eyes took in all the familiar things – the sign in front; the Star of David on the outside wall; the dark-blue panels set up on the roof –

Sammy had to go into mental reverse to register that last part. Dark blue panels – on the roof? Where did they come from? What were they?

Solar panels – that's what they were. Someone had put solar panels up on the synagogue while he was gone.

The cab driver spoke. "That your church?"

"Well, yes – synagogue, actually."

"Yeah, never could keep that straight. Nice to see the solar thingies up there. Great idea. Anything to help the environment, I say."

Sammy paid the fare and gave the driver a nice tip, and thinking of the last electric bill, he realized that it was a great idea. Apparently the congregation had planned to surprise him.

The cab drove away, and Sammy turned around to see a very old ferret hobbling down the synagogue steps, leaning on a stout cane. Sammy smiled and called, "Hello, Sir! Good to see you again!"

Old Abraham walked up to Sammy and scowled. "And where have you been the last two weeks, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Uh…"

"Here we need a strong leader for our synagogue, and our Rabbi goes off lolly-gagging about for two weeks! Who gave you permission to take off for parts unknown, eh?"

"Uh, Sir, it was you that said I needed a vacation."

It was like a sailboat changing tack very fast. "And so you did, Little Sammy. Working yourself to the bone, piling books and papers all over your desk, you needed time off." Old Abraham smiled. "How was your vacation, by the way?"

"What? Oh, it was interesting. Got up close to Niagara Falls, somebody shot at me, washed out of a mine by a flood, got into a fight with crooks. Oh, yes, and I tried my paw at air guitar."

"Air guitar, eh? What band?"

"Offspring – Sir."

"Hmph. I prefer Led Zep myself. Well, good to have you back, Little Sammy." Old Abraham started hobbling away. "Sounds like you've been busy, though. What you need is a vacation."

Sammy watched the old ferret walk down the street and shook his head. A typical conversation with Old Abraham. He found some comfort in it.

"My Little Sammy! You're back!"

Sammy turned around and saw a still-beautiful jill ferret standing at the synagogue's front door. He immediately broke into a grin that threatened to split his face in two.

"Mama!!" Sammy ran up the steps and into her arms. They gave each other rib-cracking hugs, and he spun her around a couple of times. It seemed like the kisses on the furry cheeks would go on forever.

Eventually she stood back and looked Sammy up and down. With a dry look in her eyes, she said, "My son, the vigilante."

Sammy bit his lip. "Ah. I was wondering if the news would show up here."

"It did. I also heard what you said to Old Abraham. Shots. Floods. Fights. Air guitar. Was all of that true?"

"Yes. Yes, Mama, all that and more."

His Mama shook her head. "Oh, Sammy, that isn't exactly proper behavior for a Rabbi – well, except for the air guitar, maybe." She placed her paw on Sammy's chest. "Your Papa and I were so worried about you. We wanted so much for you to come back home safe and sound. You shouldn't have put yourself in such danger."

"I know, Mama. But I was doing what I thought was the right thing."

Mama nodded. "Yes, that's the way you are. I hope that you never have to do anything like that again. I want to tell you something now, though."

"What's that, Mama?"

"Sammy, your Papa and I – we are very proud of you."

"Thank you, Mama. That means a lot."

"You're welcome. Don't tell your Papa what I said, though. It would upset him."

Sammy smiled and gently kissed his Mama on the top of her head.

"I won't, Mama. It's our secret." She gave him another hug.

A drill started howling from somewhere in the synagogue. As Sammy listened, he could hear a hammer pounding away. "Mama, what is that?"

His Mama grinned. "Oh, we've been busy since you were gone! We hired some contractors to refurbish the building."

"That sounds fine. We've needed that for a long time." Sammy and his Mama walked in through the front door.

The interior walls of the main meeting room had been stripped to the studs. Some ferrets in coveralls were working on the exposed wiring in one wall; other ferrets were spraying quick-expanding insulation foam between the beams in another wall. The carpet was gone and several more ferrets were working on the wood floor. In the center of the room, three ferrets were sawing and drilling wood panels on a workbench.

One of the ferrets at the workbench looked up as Sammy walked in. He raised his safety goggles from his eyes and smiled. "Hi, there! You must be the Rabbi! They said you'd be back today!" He extended his paw.

Sammy smiled back and shook paws. "Yes, I'm Rabbi Sammy. Pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure. I'm Skippy, and this is part of the Crew. The guys doing the wiring are Skippy and Skippy. These two helping me cut the trim are Skippy and Skippy. And those two doing the insulation are Skippy and Carl."

"Well, I'd heard of you before, and it's good to meet you now. Uh, wait – Carl?"

Skippy leaned forward and said quietly, "We're working on him. Anyway, after you left, your Papa contacted us about doing some serious repair work to this place, and we were happy to oblige. We've already done a lot of work already."

"I noticed the solar panels when I got here."

"Oh, yes. That was a big priority for us after we fixed your roof. The panels are our own special high-efficiency design. We're working on getting a patent. More electricity for less bucks. Our goal is to make this building as eco-friendly as possible. Those panels, plus new insulation in the walls and double-pane windows. And we're working on a new furnace and a mini-recycling center for the basement. When we're done, your utility bills will drop like rocks! It's the Skippy Guarantee."

"I have no cause to doubt your word. Speaking of money, though…"

"Got a copy of the estimate right here." Skippy handed a paper to Sammy.

Sammy began to look the paper over. "H'm. I would have liked to have gone over this myself, but since it's already done, all I can do is say that –" He looked over the figures again. "- say that… actually, this is quite reasonable."

Skippy grinned. "Your Papa helped draw up the contract, but he let some other guy do the actual dickering over the price. Some old ferret named Abraham. I'll tell you, that old guy is a fierce negotiator!"

Sammy chuckled. "That's Old Abraham, all right." He looked around the meeting room. It was a mess now, but he was seeing what it could become – what it would become. And his heart sang.

Sammy looked again at Skippy. "This looks great. I'll tell you what – if you do as good a job as I think you're going to do, we'll want you to continue to do our maintenance work for us. How does that sound?"

Skippy nodded. "I'd say it sounds like we're developing a long and beautiful relationship here."

Sammy and Skippy shook paws on the deal.

To be concluded...

[pauljmsn]

EPILOGUE

It didn't take long for the paperwork to pile up on the Rabbi's desk again. Sammy had received another wall plaque for a gift; it read "I AM NOT A WORKAHOLIC – I WORK TO RELAX." This time he could appreciate the humor.

One day, he was sorting through the bills – which demonstrated how good the Skippy Guarantee was – and generally cleaning up his correspondence. He'd received another letter from the Mountie's widow; she was struggling to raise her three children on her own, but he was glad to see that she was keeping her spirits up – her letters were starting to become quite chatty. Sammy made a note to write her back and to send a letter to the other constable's parents as well; they were having difficulty dealing with their own grief and he was worried about them. Just outside his window, Skippy was up on a ladder doing some work on the eaves. The world continued to turn.

There was a knock on the office door. Sammy looked up to see a Sable ferret dressed in a red serge tunic and wearing a campaign hat. The constable grinned and asked, "Excuse me, is this where the Head Honcho puts his feet up on his desk?"

"Murphy!" Sammy jumped up and ran over to give the Mountie a big hug. They whooped, slapped each other's backs and – well, whooped some more and slapped each other's backs again.

When they'd calmed down a bit, Sammy said, "It's good to see you, Murph! Have any trouble finding the place?"

Murphy shrugged. "A little. Not much. I'm surprised at how many synagogues in Wichita cater to ferrets. And it's good to see you, too."

"What have you been doing with yourself? I haven't heard a peep out of you since I left Canada."

"Well… I'm not much on writing. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's okay. So, how did that smuggling investigation turn out?"

Murphy looked solemn. "That turned out bad. Not tragic bad. Embarrassing bad. I told you those guys wouldn't take it well when they learned smuggling rutabagas wasn't illegal, and I was right. They actually decided to go down fighting. We had to arrest them for that, at least."

"Fighting over vegetables?" Sammy pinched the bridge of his snout and shook his head. "Oh, brother."

"Tell me about it. I tell you, when you're caught in a battle with an overweight, balding human who's lobbing rutabagas at you and screaming, `YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!!' – well, you start thinking seriously about taking some time off."

"I can imagine. All that did it for me was an old ferret standing on my desk. Are you on vacation, then?"

"Extended leave, actually. I bummed around Northern Canada for a few months after that silly smuggling thing." Murphy turned thoughtful. "But I wanted to come South of the border for awhile. The things that happened while you were up there – I want to get away and let my head clear up a bit. I figure I'll hang out here for awhile." He looked at Sammy. "If you'll have me."

Sammy smiled. "Murphy, you're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like."

Murphy nodded. "Thank you, friend."

"You're welcome, friend."

Murphy and Sammy clasped their paws together.

From outside came a yelp and a crash. Murphy and Sammy looked at one another with concern and rushed out the door.

They found the ladder laying flat in the grass and Skippy hanging by his paws from the edge of the roof.

Skippy looked down at them and said, "Hey, could someone give me a hand here?"

Murphy and Sammy began to applaud.

"Oh, very funny. That's a real knee-slapper. Now, could somebody set the fershlugginer ladder UP again?!"

As he and Sammy picked up the ladder, Murphy said, "You know what? I think I'm going to like it here!"

THE END

All characters are fictional; any resemblance between these characters and real people, living or dead, is unintentional.

The characters Murphy, Sammy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, etc., are copyright 2008 by Paul E. Jamison.

Excerpt from lyrics for "Pretty Fly (For a Rabbi)" by "Weird" Al Yankovic