A Map Made in Heaven
Part 1

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Babbleonanonia
June 1940

The fiery orange sun, half concealed by a rocky hill, sat low in the cloudless western sky, pausing for a last look at this corner of the world before retiring for the night. As it had done for countless centuries, it placidly gazed into a shallow basin ringed with hills - an arid basin containing slowly shifting sand.

Located within this basin were the ruins of an ancient metropolis known as Loquacity. Crumbling stone pillars, decaying temples, eroding statues, and the shaky shell of the great palace stood desolate and dark against the sunset.

Loquacity had once been the hub of a prosperous empire. At its peak - circa 560 B.C. - the city had teemed with people. Tribute from conquered nations filled its overflowing coffers. Its palace had been the largest and most elaborate in the region. Its rulers had been, in turn, the most benevolent and the most tyrannical. Centuries after a rival empire had burned Loquacity and captured its surviving citizens, the city had remained silent save for the howling of the hot wind.

Since Loquacity’s rediscovery in 1915, archeologists had been constant visitors. Today was no exception. An archeological team from the neighboring country of Aridia was studying the catacombs that were dug into the hills surrounding Loquacity. This team consisted of Dr. Myra Foxworthy and a native guide.

While the sun slipped beneath the horizon, the guide - a pudgy, scruffy tan canine in a loose fitting blue shirt and baggy green trousers - packed equipment into canvas pouches that were slung over the camel’s back. He cast numerous wary glances at the big, black gaping holes in the hills where thousands upon thousands of skeletons reposed. Anxiously, he said, “Excuse me, Effendi, but the sun has gone down. Is it not time to retire?”

Myra - a petite brown fox wearing a khaki shirt, matching shorts, and pith helmet - was circling what looked like an ordinary sand dune. The lack of daylight didn’t bother her. She shone her flashlight all over the dune, judging its size and shape with a critical eye. “I can’t quit now. I have a feeling that this is Emperor Karat’s tomb. According to my research and the evidence that we found today, it should be at this very spot.” She took a small brush from her pocket and started to vigorously brush sand away from the mound’s surface.

“That is what she said yesterday,” the guide murmured wearily to the camel. “And the day before that. Crazy archeologists and their dead people.” Since early that morning, they had traversed miles of treacherous catacombs filled with rats, snakes, and other vermin. In his opinion, they had accomplished nothing, and, most importantly, they had come out with nothing.

As if in agreement, the camel snorted softly.

The guide slouched tiredly against the camel, watching as darkness consumed the desert. A myriad of stars twinkled in the inky black sky. A sliver of a crescent moon hung in the east. The wind wailed ominously through the catacombs; it sounded as if the dead were trying to reach him, to warn him, from beyond the grave. His mind became flooded with all of the scary, superstitious tales that he had heard in his youth. Despite the warm temperature, he shivered.

“I think I found something!” Myra brushed more sand away from the ochre-colored stone that she had revealed. Giddy as a schoolgirl, the seasoned archeologist pushed her square, wire-rimmed glasses further up on her nose to read the cuneiform characters that were etched into the stone. “It is! The long-lost tomb of Emperor Karat has been found!”

Her contagious enthusiasm as well as the prospect of a great discovery made the guide forget his fears. He hurried over to help. He, too, started to scoop sand away from the tomb using his hands.

Long into the night, they continued to move sand, stopping now and again to study the ornate, yet functional, cuneiform pictographs that covered the beehive-shaped tomb.

Hours later, the guide sat back on his heels, puffing and sweating from the exertion of moving heavy sand. “Perhaps this is not Emperor Karat’s tomb, Effendi. We have dug on all sides. There is no door.”

“Theremust be a door somewhere.” The indefatigable Myra shone her flashlight at the sand-encrusted cuneiform carvings. Using her fingers, she dug sand from between the pictographs. “Ah-ha! To open door, press bellybutton,” she deciphered. “Bellybutton?”

The guide’s face mirrored her confusion. He repeated the unfamiliar term. “Bellybutton?”

The flashlight’s beam danced over the tomb as Myra searched for another clue. Then, she spotted something - the cuneiform character meaning ‘bellybutton’. “Of course!” She pressed that specific stone block and stood back, smiling expectantly.

An avalanche of sand from the top of the tomb accompanied a low rumbling - the sound of stone scraping against stone. A door slid open before their very eyes.

For a second, Myra and the guide stood there, choking on sand and dust. Then, they rushed to the open doorway and peered in with wide, awestruck eyes. Inside, all was darkness. The air was stale in the cool, dry tomb.

“And to think that no one has been here for over two thousand years,” Myra murmured, sweeping her flashlight from side to side as she stepped in.

They were in a large, round room filled with amazingly well-preserved treasures. Carved chairs, painted urns, ornate headdresses, and jewelry had been placed in the tomb to honor the dead. Every inch of the walls and domed ceiling were covered with colorful, two-dimensional murals depicting ancient gods, Emperor Karat’s greatness, and everyday life in ancient Loquacity.

And in the middle of the room, upon a golden dias, was the jewel-encrusted sarcophagus of Emperor Karat.

Myra struck a match and lit the torches embedded in the walls. While the guide examined the delicately-crafted jewelry, the archeologist gravitated towards the sarcophagus. She took her brush and gently dusted off the thin layer of sand to reveal an austere tiger’s face embossed in gold and onyx on the sarcophagus’s lid.

“Do you require my assistance, Effendi?” the guide asked absently, fingering a golden necklace with a tiger-shaped jade pendant. He quickly dropped it when Myra glanced his way.

“Oh, yes. If you could just...”

Together, they managed to slide the heavy lid partially off of the sarcophagus, revealing the head and upper torso of the mummy.

“Nice to finally meet you, Emperor Karat,” Myra whispered reverently to the swathed remains of Loquacity’s most powerful ruler.

The guide shuddered at the sight of the mummy. He quickly returned to the jewelry.

Myra let out a gasp when she saw something clutched in the mummy’s brittle hands crossed upon his breast. “It really does exist! The fabled treasure map of Emperor Karat.”

“Treasure map?” the guide said, trying not to sound too interested. He poked the necklace deeper into his pocket.

“According to legend, Emperor Karat was obsessed with gems, especially diamonds. He hoarded jewels in a secret place, the location of which was known only to him and his most trusted advisor. No one’s sure how much he collected, but it’s said that one percent of the collection would make the owner rich beyond imagining.”

The guide reached for the yellowed piece of parchment, saying, “Perhaps we should look for this treasure. It would indeed be a great archeological find.”

Perceiving his greedy intentions, Myra added quickly, “It’s also said that there will be ten terrible curses cast on anyone who removes even the tiniest gem from the collection.”

“Surely you do not believe in ancient curses,” he scoffed. Again, he stretched his grimy, fat fingers towards the map. He, himself, happened to believe in curses, but many wealthy buyers did not - much to his delight and profit.

Myra shook her head vehemently and swatted his hand away. “I’ve seen too much in my line of work. I can’t afford to not believe in ancient curses,” she countered. “We must leave it untouched until we get it back to the museum at Aridia. Then we can properly catalog and study it. You must promise not to tell anyoneabout it. It’s a priceless artifact that belongs in a museum.”

Myra didn’t see the sly gleam in guide’s eyes when he bowed humbly and murmured, “If you wish it absolutely, Effendi.”

“Good,” Myra said with a satisfied, trusting smile. “Help me get this lid back on. I must contact the Babbleonanonian officials right away!”

With difficulty, they slid the lid back on the sarcophagus.

Higher for Hire
The Next Afternoon

Rebecca von Bruinwald, a petite brown bearess wearing a magenta cardigan over a white turtleneck and purple slacks, sat at her desk, talking to a prospective client on the telephone while simultaneously trying to prevent her eleven-month-old daughter Cassie from chewing on the phone cord.

“No, baby, don’t eat that,” Rebecca admonished quietly. She picked up a rubber giraffe and squeaked it in front of Cassie’s face.

With a delighted “Eeee!”, the little grey bearess wearing a lavender sun dress grabbed the toy and began slobbering on its head instead.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Bixby. Could you repeat that?” Rebecca said into the phone.

The door of the office/living room opened and in stepped the bearess’s husband, Baloo. The big grey bear wearing a button-down yellow shirt and red pilot’s hat greeted her with a smile and a cheerful, “Hi-ya, Beckers. Made it back from Kalakazoo, Wishagen.” For the hundredth time that day, he started to sing Glen Miller’s latest hit, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I got a gal in Kalakazoo...”

Behind him trailed fifteen-year-old Kit, a lanky brown bear cub who hadn’t quite filled out around his height. The boy, who was slightly taller than his adopted father’s shoulders, seemed to be all arms and legs. His bony wrists protruded from his green pullover. Kit was listening to his nine-year-old sister, Molly, a pretty yellow bearess wearing a pink T-shirt and blue shorts, chatter on about navigation.

“I gotta learn how to navigate now so I can be your navigator when you start flying, Kit,” Molly said earnestly. “That’s only two years away.”

Plopping down on the sage green couch, Kit took off his blue baseball cap and studied it. It was almost too small for him, but so special that he didn’t want to give up wearing it. He said cautiously, “I dunno, sis. Navigation’s a hard thing to learn, and you’re kinda young.”

“Youknew how to navigate when you were my age. You said so!”

“That was different.”

“Differenthow?” Hands on hips, Molly glared at him defiantly.

Exasperated, Rebecca said in her polite phone voice, “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Bixby.” She put her hand over the receiver and whispered loudly, “Guys, keep it down! I’m on the phone!” She shot a reproving look at Kit and Molly, then whispered, “Take her, Baloo,” gesturing to Cassie, who was now trying to devour a pencil.

Baloo scooped Cassie in his arms and repeatedly tossed her in the air, prompting joyful squeals and giggles from the baby.

With a sigh of relief, Rebecca turned her undivided attention to the client on the telephone. “Can you please repeat that, sir?...Yes, sir. You can have the utmost confidence that Higher for Hire will deliver your cargo anywhere in the world, on time, and for far less money than the competition. We even promise same-day delivery.”

Meanwhile, Cassie had wriggled out of Baloo’s arms and had gone in search of a new amusement. She toddled over to a pot and wooden spoon that were lying on the floor near the stairs and started ‘drumming’.

Grinning, Baloo got his bongos from the top of the filing cabinet and joined her on the stairs. His drumming added to the cacophony. He proclaimed proudly, “Lookee, gang. We got us a new member for Louie’s Aloha Night Band.”

“That noise?...Oh, no, that’s not a fire alarm. That’s just my youngest daughter.” Rebecca glared at Baloo and mouthed, “Stop that!”

However, Baloo was too engrossed in playing that he ignored her, causing Rebecca’s anger level to be upgraded from ‘mildly peeved’ to ‘really steamed’.

Rebecca covered her free ear to block out the noise. Sotto voce, she said, “I’d like to stick those bongos in that fat bear’s ear!” Aloud, she said pleasantly, “Oh, you have a little girl, too? How nice. Now, about that contract...Eighteen months, huh? That isa cute age.” She forced a polite laugh. “A quarter up each nostril? Kids will do the darndest things...Mine? Kit’s fifteen, Molly’s nine, and Cassie’s almost one. I could tell you some stories...” Straining to hear Mr. Bixby’s reply over the din, she shot death glares at her soon-to-be late family.

Baloo and Cassie continued their enthusiastic jam session, while, on the other side of the room, Kit’s and Molly’s argument escalated.

“Navigation’s not all fun and games, Molly. Some cargo runs are dangerous,” Kit pointed out. “There’s a war on. Then, there’s air pirates, storms...”

“Iknow,” Molly interrupted impatiently. “You’ve told me all this lots of times.”

In the infuriatingly superior air of a real man-of-the-world, fifteen-year-old Kit retorted, “But you haven’t been through it. There’s a big difference between knowing about it and actually going through it. Baloo and I are used to danger.”

“I can get used to danger, too!” Molly shouted. “Stop treating me like a little kid!”

Kit stood. At his full height, he towered over his sister. He ruffled his hair, laughing, “You are a little kid, Short Stuff!”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

Through gritted teeth, Rebecca said, “Yes, children are wonderful, Mr. Bixby. Excuse me a second. I must check up on the...ahem...little angels.” She put a hand over the receiver and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Enough!”

A startled silence fell over Baloo and the cubs.

Frustrated, frazzled, and furious, Rebecca whispered, “If any one of you so much as thinks about making a sound while I am on this phone, you will be living on bread and water for a month!”

Baloo swiftly grabbed the spoon from Cassie.

In a honeyed voice, Rebecca said into the phone, “What were you saying, sir? A...a play date? Why, um, yes, that would be awonderful idea! Simply marvelous! I’m sure your Susie would get along with my Cassie very nicely. Just name the date...July 2nd at two o’clock? That will work just fine. I’m looking forward to meeting you and Susie. Thank you very,very much for your time, Mr. Bixby. Bye.”

Rebecca hung up the receiver. For a moment, it looked like she would scream or cry or both. Then, to everyone’s amazement, she smiled and made a notation in her appointment book. “One play date closer to landing the Bixby Ballpoint Pen account. Thank you, Cassie.”

Cassie happily pounded on the pot with her little palms. Seeing that his wife’s temper had cooled, Baloo resumed tentative playing of the bongos.

“Mom, tell Kit that he has to teach me navigation. He promised he would,” Molly whined, running up to her mother.

Rebecca sighed wearily and rubbed her temples. It had been a long day. Between trying to line up new clientele and appeasing existing clients, she had a tension headache. The last thing she needed was a case of sibling rivalry. “Kit, come over here.”

“Now you’re in trouble,” Molly said with a smirk.

Kit wandered over to the desk and stood in front of it, fiddling with his baseball cap.

Rebecca had to crane her neck to look her tall son in the eye. “Teach her the basics, please. For me?”

Kit shot an annoyed look at his sister, who was batting her eyelashes at him. “Okay, Mom, but just the basics.”

“Yippee!” Molly cried.

“Molly, I don’t want you pestering your brother,” Rebecca warned.

“I won’t.” Molly grabbed Kit’s paw, dragging him outside to theSea Duck. “C’mon, Kit, teach me right now.”

But before they reached the door, Kit’s friends, the former Jungle Aces, came walking in - tan hyena Ernie, grey hippo Felix, brown rabbit Sam, white crane Burt, and beige bear Oscar.

Ernie, the unofficial leader of the gang, was saying, “If Usland was in the war, we’d blast old Hilter out of the water in no time. He wouldn’t know what hit him.”

“Yeah!” the other boys agreed heartily.

“Just wait ‘til we’re old enough,” added Burt.

“We’ll show him a thing or two,” Felix said confidently.

Baloo and Rebecca exchanged worried glances.

“What’s up, guys?” Kit said, pulling his hand away from Molly’s.

“We’re going to the malt shop,” Oscar said, pushing his round wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose. “Wanna come along, Kit?”

“You bet.” Anything was better than teaching complicated navigation to his sister. He knew that precocious Molly wouldn’t be totally lost when he taught her navigation, but he didn’t want to spend his summer vacation in school, so to speak.

“I’m ready,” Molly chimed in, squeezing into the circle of big boys.

“Youcan’t go, pipsqueak,” Ernie laughed.

Molly fixed her indignant eyes on him. “Why not?”

Sam said, “We’re gonna talk about cars, planes, and girls.”

“I’m a girl,” the nine-year-old said, pointing to herself. “I know all about girls.”

“Not the right kind of girl,” Ernie countered.

“What’s the right kind of girl?” Molly said wonderingly.

Ernie outlined a curvy female silhouette with his hands. “Biggirls, if ya know what I mean,” prompting a few snickers from the other teenagers as they headed outside.

Kit frowned at Ernie’s back. He said quickly, “Never mind, Molly.”

Oscar, the only boy besides Kit who hadn’t laughed at Ernie’s tasteless remark, explained with a kind smile, “High school girls.”

“Maybe next time, little sis,” Kit said, affectionately tugging on one of Molly’s blue hair ribbons.

Molly turned on her heel and stomped into the kitchen, muttering dourly, “Too young to do this. Too young to do that.”

“Got any money, Kit?” Rebecca asked.

Kit produced a five dollar bill from his pocket.

“Hey, where was that when we were in Kalakazoo, an’ I wanted a burger and fries?” Baloo exclaimed, missing a beat on the bongos.

“Guess I forgot I had it, Papa Bear.” Kit shrugged and flashed a mischievous grin at Baloo before leaving.

Baloo said glumly, “It’s a conspiracy. You’re all tryin’ ta keep me hungry.”

“No, we’re trying to keep you healthy,” Rebecca rejoined, giggling at his dejected expression.

“Mom, we’re all out of Frosty Pep,” Molly sang, coming from the kitchen.

A crafty idea lit up Baloo’s eyes. He saw his chance to get ice cream, too, and he took it. “No Frosty Pep, huh? How’s ‘bout I treat my gals to some ice cream at the corner stand?” He tapped out “Shave and a Haircut” on the bongos.

“Yeah!” Molly shouted.

“Yeah!” Cassie echoed, imitating her big sister. She enthusiastically banged the wooden spoon against the step.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Baloo wheedled, crossing the room to wrap an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “One little ice cream cone never hurt nobody.” At risk of life and limb, he added, “All work an’ no play makes Becky a cranky gal.”

“I’mnot cranky!” Rebecca snapped, her eyes flashing. Then, abashed, she murmured contritely, “Maybe I am a little, but youwould be too if you had to put up with what I have to put up with.” Her gaze shifted from the girls to her husband, all of whom were smiling expectantly at her. Once again, she was outnumbered. Not for the last time did she wonder: How does Baloo always manage to get around me? “Okay, we’ll go.”

Baloo dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then reached for his wallet. It was empty except for his pilot’s license and a few photographs. “Uh, got any money, honey?”

Rebecca, anticipating her husband’s lack of cash, had already retrieved her purse from her desk.

Out they stepped into the mellow afternoon sunshine. Molly and Cassie, hand-in-hand, led the way. Baloo and Rebecca, also holding hands, followed. They traversed the three blocks to ice cream stand where they all got ice cream cones. Then, they sat on a nearby bench to enjoy the sweet treats.

Since it was Cassie’s first ice cream cone, more of the sticky vanilla ice cream got on her clothes and face than in her mouth. She shied away with an impatient squeal when Rebecca tried to mop her messy face with a napkin. Meanwhile, Baloo, seated beside Rebecca, held a chocolate ice cream cone in each hand - his and Rebecca’s. He hungrily slurped down his ice cream and furtively took a lick of Rebecca’s when she wasn’t looking.

Molly, sitting on the other side of Baloo, asked between licks of her Frosty Pep, “Daddy, how old does Kit have to be before he goes to war?”

The pilot was so startled by the question that he accidentally shoved Rebecca’s cone in her nose, inciting an indignant, “Baloo!”

“Sorry, Beckers.” He dabbed at the ice cream dripping from her face while Rebecca said, “Don’t worry about that, honey. Kit won’t be old enough for three years.”

Molly thought about that for a while. Quietly, she inquired, “Will the war be over in three years?”

“I hope so, Pumpkin.” Rebecca, giving up the losing battle of cleaning Cassie’s face, glanced at her husband. He had that scared, sick look on his face as he did every time the subject of war came up, which was becoming more often with each passing day. With a comforting pat on his arm, she took her ice cream cone from him, noting its greatly diminished size with a frown. She pointed at her ice cream, which had been leveled off to the cone.

Grinning foolishly, Baloo shrugged. “Hey, it was meltin’.”

“Melting on your tongue,” Rebecca said sarcastically before taking a bite of her cone. “Let’s talk about something fun. What do you want to do on your summer vacation, Molly?”

“Go on all the cargo runs with Daddy and Kit, have lots of adventures, and learn to navigate,” was her prompt answer.

Finishing his cone, Baloo beamed at her and affectionately tousled her hair. “That’s a lot for one summer, Button-nose.”

“Yup, but I can do it,” Molly said proudly, also finishing off her cone.

“Do you think that you could fit a family vacation in your busy schedule, Miss Molly?” Rebecca asked with a smile.

“Sure, Mom.” Molly giggled.

“Lake Flaccid, here we come! Wahoo!” Baloo whooped like an excited little boy. “When can we go, Becky? When? When?”

Rebecca held up a silencing hand. “First, there’s good news and bad news.”

“Let’s get the bad news over with,” Baloo said, steeling himself by gripping the bench with both hands.

“I don’t think we can afford a week at Lake Flaccid this year.”

Baloo’s face fell. “No campin’? No fishin’?”

“No swimming? No toasting marshmallows over the campfire?” Molly said disappointedly.

Eyes twinkling, Rebecca said cheerfully, “The good news is that there’s a little extra money in the ‘fun fund’ this year. I think we could do more than just a week at Lake Flaccid.”

“Twoweeks?” Baloo said incredulously, looking as if Christmas had come early. He hugged Rebecca, ice cream cone and all. “Man, you’re the best little wife a guy ever had, Becky.”

Rebecca ruefully looked at the cold chocolate blob on her white turtleneck. “I’m the messiest little wife a guy ever had.”

Grinning from ear to ear, he wiped her shirt with a wad of napkins, but only managed to smear the stain around more. “Soon as we get home, I’ll have Wildcat tune up the Duck.”

“The car, Baloo,” Rebecca corrected, playfully swatting his hand away.

“The car?” Baloo echoed, surprised. “What for? We can put more campin’ gear in the Duck.”

“We’re not going camping.”

“We’re not? But you just said...”

“I want to take a road trip. See some of the sights with the kids before...before...we can’t.” Munching on the last of her cone, she gave Baloo a solemn, meaningful glance, one that even he understood.

“You mean because of the war, Mom?” Molly surmised, also understanding her mother’s look.

Rebecca took Cassie on her lap, cuddling the cub protectively. She sighed sadly. “Yes, honey, because of the war.”

In spite of the dark shadow that the encroaching war threw over her family, Molly’s face lit up with a sunshiny smile. “I can’t wait to tell Kit about the vacation!”

Prison Island
That Same Day

Thirty miles northwest of Cape Suzette, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a yellow seaplane taxi landed at the dock outside of Prison Island. A short brown weasel paid the taxi driver, told him to wait, and alighted. The weasel - one Marion A. Weazel - tilted his head back to look up at the prison. The slate grey stone building loomed mountain-like before him - a formidable fortress complete with barbed wire, searchlights and the tightest security in the world. Eight stories housing Usland’s worst criminals.

Weazel gulped nervously. He, himself, had been freed from the Cape Suzette jail only months before.

Two-and-a-half years ago, he had been incarcerated as an accessory to a crime. The Heimlich Maneuver, which had united every criminal in the city under the leadership of criminal mastermind Heimlich Menudo, had been a diabolical plan - threatening to bomb Cape Suzette if they didn’t turn over every diamond. But, because of police intervention as well as a meddling skywriting pilot, the Heimlich Maneuver had choked up and died. On the day that he was locked up behind bars, Weazel vowed that if he ever found that bear again, he would find some way to pay him back.

His legs feeling like jelly, Weazel gathered up his courage as well as the newspaper he carried and strolled inside. At the front desk, he was greeted by a porcine policeman dressed in a navy blue uniform.

Taking a sip of coffee to wash down his donut, Officer Malarkey’s shrewd eyes surreptitiously took in every detail of the weasel from the top of his frayed brown fedora to the button missing on the jacket of his cheap green suit. “Checking in, Weasel?” The cool question betrayed his Irish brogue.

It took every ounce of self-control for Weazel not to correct the mispronunciation of his name. Running a finger around the inside of his collar, he mumbled, “No...um, I’m here to visit, uh, my cousin. Yeah, that’s it. My cousin. Came to wish him a, uh, happy birthday.”

“And who might this cousin be?”

Weazel gulped again, clutching the crumpled newspaper in his sweaty hands. “Heimlich. Heimlich Menudo.”

“Hmm...” As if trying to read his thoughts, the officer fixed his piercing black eyes on the weasel, who was fidgeting like a man in desperate need of a bathroom. “Okay, but before I let you see your cousin,” Weazel winced; “you’ll have to undergo a weapons search. Standard procedure.”

Weazel nodded.

Officer Malarkey patted the weasel’s pockets; then, finding no weapons, seized the newspaper from him and searched through every page. Finding nothing, he handed it back to Weazel with a brisk, “Follow me.”

They quickly walked down a long, grey-tiled hallway. At the end of the hall, Weazel was shown into a small room with three cubicles. Weazel sat down at the middle one and waited impatiently.

After a few minutes, Heimlich Menudo was led out, handcuffed to an armed guard. Years of being in prison had done little to alter the former crime boss. The brawny hyena’s eyes were still steely, his countenance still determined, his spirit still unbroken. Heimlich sat down opposite Weazel. Between them was a bulletproof glass partition that stretched from the top of the desk to the ceiling.

Both picked up a telephone receiver hanging on the wall.

“Hello,cousin,” Weazel said, casting nervous glances at the guard, especially the guard’s gun that was right at his eye level.

“Nice to see you, too,” Heimlich said with a thick German accent. He grinned at his former lackey, flashing a mouthful of broken diamond teeth. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I thought that I would bring you a present on your birthday.”

Heimlich lifted his eyebrows with an amused smile. “Ah...I see. A cake with a file hidden in it?”

Weazel laughed nervously. “Uh, not quite.”

“Soap so that I can wash my roommate’s socks? I’m telling you, that dog is disgusting!”

“No, Heimlich. Something better.” Weazel pressed the front page of theCape Suzette Tribune to the glass.

Heimlich’s eyes lit up at the headline, which read, “Emperor Karat’s Treasure Map Unearthed”. “Ah...yes, truly a wonderful birthday gift. And a very unique one.”

Weazel beamed at the rare praise. “You always said that it was a lifelong dream to find Emperor Karat’s diamond stash.”

Squinting, Heimlich peered at the picture beneath the headline. His smile widened. “And it is doubly wonderful to see an old friend.”

“Thank you, Heimlich. It’s good to see you, too,” Weazel replied, blushing a little.

“Notyou, Weasel,” Heimlich snapped.

“Uh, it’s Weazel.”

“Whatever,” Heimlich said curtly. “No, this picture. The stalwart fellow behind the archeologist lady. It has been too many years since I’ve seen Kazim.”

“Who?” Weazel said, turning the newspaper around so that he could look at the grainy photo.

Heimlich glanced out of the corner of his eye at the guard before whispering into the phone, “Withdraw $200,000 out of my Swizz bank account. You still have my authorization signature?”

Weazel nodded, vainly trying to remember where he had put that important little slip of paper.

“Contact Kazim in Aridia and make him an offer for the map.”

“With the $200,000, Heimlich?” Weazel whispered.

“Of course, you fool!” Heimlich angrily ground what was left of his teeth.

“But what if he refuses?” Weazel asked timidly.

“Make him an offer he can’t refuse. Give him all my money, if necessary. I must have that map at any cost! Do you understand me, Weasel?”

“That’s Weazel.”

“Whatever. For your loyalty, you also will be rewarded. Take about...let's say $200 dollars for yourself and get a new suit.”

Weazel looked down at his suit, wondering what was wrong with it. “Thank you, sir. That’s very generous of you.”

“I know,” Heimlich said magnanimously.

The guard’s booming voice rang through the room. “Time’s up, Menudo.”

“Do not forget all that I have told you, and do not mess up!” said Heimlich as the guard yanked him to his feet, making him drop the receiver.

“No problem, Heimlich. It'll be a piece of cake,” Weazel said with more confidence than he felt. “Uh, happy birthday, cousin!” he called as Heimlich Menudo was led back to his cell.

Weazel folded up the newspaper, placed it in his jacket pocket, and exited the room. Officer Malarkey was there, just outside the door, waiting to escort him back to the entrance.

“Kazim. Aridia. $200,000. Swizz bank account. Treasure map,” Weazel repeated over and over under his breath.

“What did you say?” the officer asked, peering down at the little weasel walking beside him.

Weazel’s beady eyes studied the floor until he came up with a good story. “Uh...it’s just my, um, grocery list. I need to, uh, pick up a few things for my wife on the way home. Milk, bread, chicken soup.” He quickly slipped outside to avoid the officer’s suspicious eyes.

After the door had shut, Officer Malarkey, choosing a powdered donut from the box, said sardonically, “Sure, and I’ll be believing that cockamamie story when pigs fly, Weasel.”

“It’s Weazel!” the weasel said angrily, opening the door to correct the officer. He slammed the door and stomped down the dock to the waiting taxi, murmuring, “Kazim. Aridia. $200,000. Swizz bank account. Treasure map...”

End of part 1

A Map Made in Heaven
part 2

Higher for Hire
A Week Later
Saturday Morning
Day 1

The weather was beautiful for the start of the von Bruinwald family vacation. The rising sun turned the wispy cirrus clouds floating over Cape Suzette pink with halos of gold. A warm breeze gently ruffled the azure water in the harbor. Seagulls swooped over the small brown building by the harbor’s edge.

Excitement was in the air at Higher for Hire. The von Bruinwald’s dark grey Chevrolette sedan was parked close to the office door to facilitate loading. Rebecca stood beside the open trunk, holding the official trip clipboard upon which was the official trip list and official trip schedule. She was checking off each bag that was packed into the automobile while Cassie played at her feet.

“Here’s my stuff, Mom,” Kit said, swinging a duffel bag into the trunk.

Rebecca made a neat checkmark beside that particular item on the list. “Check.”

“And mine, too, Mommy,” Molly said, emerging from Higher for Hire, doll Lucy in hand. Her blue suitcase bumped along the cobblestones as she dragged it behind her.

Kit took her bag from her and stowed it in the trunk.

“Thanks, Kit. Who knew that clothes could be so heavy!” Molly put Lucy on the backseat, then sped off to remind Wildcat to feed Goldie, her pet goldfish.

But before Molly could scramble down the ladder leading to Wildcat’s houseboat, Rebecca asked, “Did you remember to pack your swimsuits and your toothbrushes and plenty of clean underwear?”

“Yes, Mommy!” Molly answered, her blonde head disappearing down the ladder.

“Yes to all, Mom.” Kit nodded as he scooped up his baby sister before she could eat a pebble. “We’re going for a ride in the car, Cassie. Whatcha think about that? Can you say ‘fun’? Fun. Fun.”

“Fun, fun, fun...” the toddler repeated the newest word in her vocabulary over and over.

“Aw, man, don’t get the little broken record started,” Baloo said through a yawn. He staggered out to the car, lugging the heavy, ice-filled cooler. Stacked atop the cooler was the picnic basket. He peeked over his shoulder at the full trunk, and plunked both cooler and basket down on the ground, puffing, “The ol’ car can’t hold any more, Beckers. Now, if we’d take the Duck, we’d have plenty of room.”

“For the last time, Baloo, we’re not taking the Sea Duck! We’ll just have to rearrange,” replied practical Rebecca. She swiftly pulled each bag out, then, just as swiftly, put each bag in, leaving a large empty square in the middle of the trunk. “There. Plenty of room for the food, and there’s even room for souvenirs,” she said, shooting her husband an impish grin.

“You mean we gotta go shoppin’ on this trip?”

“Of course,” she replied matter-of-factly. “We can’t go on a family vacation without bringing home souvenirs.”

“Shoppin’,” Baloo grumbled under his breath as he put the cooler and picnic basket in the trunk. He had to slam the trunk lid three times before it latched.

Rebecca once again looked over the official clipboard; everything on her list had been checked off. “Molly! We’re ready to go, honey!”

As they ascended the ladder, Molly told Wildcat, “The food is right beside Goldie’s bowl. Remember that she gets a pinch every morning and every night.”

“Got it, Mollycat.” The lion mechanic’s grin turned to bewilderment. “Uh, what do I pinch? The fish?”

Giggling, Molly said, “A pinch means a little food, Wildcat. A few flakes.”

“Snowflakes?” Wildcat said, becoming even more confused.

“Fish flakes. I left instructions by Goldie’s bowl. You’ll figure it out.” She hugged Wildcat, saying, “I’ll bring you back lots of souvenirs, and Mom said she’s gonna take tons of pictures. I promise I’ll tell you everything that we did when we get back.”

“See you when I see you,” Wildcat murmured a little sadly, returning her hug.

“Everybody in front of the car for a picture,” Rebecca said brightly. At the sight of her family’s grumpy faces, she added, “The sooner we take the picture, the sooner we can leave.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Baloo said, pulling Kit and Molly to his side. “Huddle up, gang.”

“Say ‘fun’,” Rebecca said, focusing the camera.

Everyone, including Cassie, chirped, “Fun!” with big smiles.

A split second after Rebecca snapped the picture, Baloo and the cubs piled into the car - Baloo in the front, the cubs in the back.

“Remember, Wildcat, you’re in charge while we’re gone.” A scared look crossed Rebecca’s face at that thought. “Make sure you bring in the mail, and if any customers call, tell them that we’ll be back in a week, and...”

Baloo impatiently tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Annoyed, he said, “C’mon, Becky, let’s pull chocks, already.”

Before Rebecca got into the car, she handed a thick stack of papers to Wildcat. “Here’s a list of places that we’ll be, categorized by the date that we’ll be there, and also the phone numbers of all the motels that we might stay at. If there’s an emergency...”

“Which there won’t be,” Baloo interrupted.

“I want you to call us immediately,” Rebecca concluded through clenched teeth.

“A-okey dokey, Ree-becca,” Wildcat said, sagging under the weight of the list as he headed to his houseboat. “Bye, guys! Say ‘hi’ to Santa Claus if you run into him!”

“Everyone ready?” Baloo asked, turning his head to look at the kids in the backseat while Rebecca double-checked her list.

“Yeah!” the cubs answered.

“Whattaya say, boss lady?”

“All checked off and ready to roll, darling.”

“Here we go!” Baloo started the car, put it in gear, and started off.

“Yay!” Kit and Molly shouted excitedly.

“My purse!” Rebecca cried, causing Baloo to stomp on the brake and back up.

Rebecca sprinted to Higher for Hire, got her purse, and ran back to the car. “All set.”

“Here we go,” Baloo said again.

“Yay!” Molly and Kit said, a little less enthusiastic this time.

“I forgot my squishy pillow!” Molly exclaimed. “I can’t sleep without my squishy pillow.”

Once again, Baloo backed up. Molly retraced her mother’s steps and returned with the pillow. “Got it.”

“Here we go,” Baloo murmured dully, putting the car in gear a third time.

“Yay! Yay!” came Kit and Molly’s curt, quiet cheers.

One block later, it became apparent that Cassie needed a serious diaper change. Frowning and grumbling under his breath, Baloo circled the block and headed home. Rebecca took Cassie into the house to change her.

While they waited in the car, Wildcat meandered out of his houseboat, wiping his greasy hands on his already greasy overalls. “You guys back already? That was a short vacation.”

“We haven’t even started,” Baloo groaned, switching off the engine.

A few minutes later, Rebecca and Cassie got back into the car. “This time for sure, darling.”

Cassie, on her mother’s lap, gurgled happily. She smelled pleasantly of baby powder.

“All right,” Baloo growled angrily. “Does anybody need anythin’else before we start?”

Everyone answered, “No.”

Baloo turned the ignition.

Nothing but a click.

He turned the key several more time, becoming increasingly frustrated with every try.

Click, click, click, click!

He plunked his forehead down on the steering wheel in disgust. “Oh, man! Just my doggone luck!”

“Sounds like you got a sick little starter.” Wildcat pulled out his trusty wrench from one of his overalls pockets. “They always click their tongues when they don’t feel good. I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

The von Bruinwalds all got out of the car, disappointed.

An hour later, they were truly on their way with a repaired starter and the car ‘running smooth as a kitten and purring like silk’ as Wildcat put it. It was a bright, sunny day, but not too hot. Their state-of-the-art ‘air conditioning’ - fifty-five miles-per-hour with the windows rolled down - made it comfortable.

Everyone was in a good mood, and all were looking forward to the sights that they were about to see. Baloo hummed to himself as he drove. He grinned over at Rebecca, who held Cassie on her lap. The toddler was fascinated by the passing scenery, lisping, “Twee” or “Moo-cow” every so often. In the back seat, Kit alternated between gazing out the window at the countryside and planning out their course. Molly was curled up in her seat behind her mother, reading a book.

Baloo grinned at Kit in the rearview mirror before breaking the long, comfortable silence with, “Ya know, you’ve had some humdingers of ideas, Becky, but this one’s different.”

“What do you mean - different?” Rebecca said suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

“This trip was actually a good idea,” he chuckled, reaching over to squeeze her paw three times, meaning ‘I love you’.

Rebecca’s face softened into a smile, and she squeezed his hand back.

Aridzona Welcome Center
Three Hours Later
11:30 AM

Weazel leaned against the front of his black Fjord in the shade of the brick welcome center. His eyes, concealed behind orange-rimmed glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, darted around the bustling parking lot. He pretended to read a newspaper while scrutinizing every tourist that came and went. Blazoned across the front page of the paper was “Treasure Map of Emperor Karat Stolen! Huge Reward!”

The welcome center was a perfect place for a secret, highly illegal transaction. It was located in the middle of the Great Usland Desert, miles away from any city, and most importantly, police.

The weasel swiped his hand at the sweat that was trickling down his forehead and glanced at his watch. Kazim was two hours late, but Weazel knew that he had to wait there, all day, if necessary. If Heimlich Menudo ever learned of his failure to retrieve the map, he knew that his life wouldn’t be worth the paper that that map was printed on. Menudo had contacts everywhere. He could orchestrate Weazel’s death, even from prison. In fact, two of Menudo’s masters of torture - Jerry the Nipper and Mickie Finn - were still at large. That terrifying thought alone kept loyal Weazel glued to that very spot, despite the sweltering heat and the utter boredom.

Weazel stared at a maroon Packard-Bruin over his newspaper as it pulled up beside his car.

The Packard-Bruin’s driver side window rolled down. From the interior of the automobile, an accented male voice said, “The rooster crowed...”

“At midnight,” Weasel replied readily. He retrieved a battered brown briefcase from his car and scurried over to the posh Packard-Bruin. “Do you have it, Kazim?”

“Please, no names,” murmured the canine, casually scanning the parking lot. “Do you have the money, Effendi?”

“Got it right here. All $200,000.” Weazel said loudly in a nasal voice that grated on Kazim’s sensitive ears. He thrust the briefcase through the open window, nearly hitting Kazim in the nose.

There was a click of a clasp, then a soft rustling as Kazim thumbed through the stacks of one hundred dollar bills. Pleased with his prize, he drew a folded up, yellowed map encased in a brown paper sleeve from his jacket pocket and handed it to Weazel.

“You’re sure that this is the original?” Weazel said suspiciously, peeking inside the paper sleeve.

“As sure as the hot wind blows across the desert. I don’t need to remind you that you must never reveal where you got this map, or speak about it to anyone.” Kazim ran a skeptical eye up and down over Weazel. “Or do I?”

“Don’t worry, Kazim. I’m a professional,” Weazel averred with a broad grin.

“Professional what?” Kazim said dryly, causing the goofy grin to drop from Weazel’s face. The weasel’s gaudy green suit and fumbling ways reminded him that it was becoming harder to find good lackeys. Aloud, he said, “Relate my best wishes to my friend Heimlich, Weasel.”

“Uh, that’s Weazel.”

“Whatever.” Kazim touched his fingertips to his forehead in a salute, rolled up the window, and exited the parking lot.

Weazel, cloaked in dust and exhaust from the receding maroon car, felt both relieved and nervous now that he had the treasure map in his possession. So nervous, in fact, that he had to use the restroom. “Good thing there’s a bathroom here,” he murmured to himself, stowing the map carefully in his pocket as he headed inside.

Meanwhile...

“Aridzona Welcome Center,” Baloo read as they pulled off the road into the gravel parking lot. “What say we stretch our legs an’ use the little pilot’s room, gang?”

Getting out the car, Kit squinted into the bright sunlight. “Whew, it’s hot! Almost as hot as that time when we were in Boomstone. Remember, Papa Bear?”

“No stones that go boom-boom here.” Baloo chuckled.

“Bring the diaper bag, Molly,” Rebecca said, “and I’ll change Cassie.”

“Got it.” Molly shouldered the big pink bag that was on the floor beside her feet, got out of the car, and slammed the door. “Lookee, Mom, they got a playground!” she squealed, pointing to the swings, slide, and merry-go-round. “Can I play on the swings? Please?”

Rebecca glanced at the small park area, which also had a few picnic tables enclosed in a small shelter house. “Maybe after we eat, Pumpkin.”

As the von Bruinwalds entered the restrooms, Weazel came out, drying his damp hands on his new pea green suit coat. He gingerly pulled out the brown paper sleeve and smiled at the map inside “Now all I have to do is get this map to Heimlich Menudo, and I’m home free.” He confidently strolled towards the exit.

Just then, two policemen entered the welcome center, causing Weazel to freeze in his tracks.

“Oh, no! Cops!” Weazel squeaked with fright. “And I’m violating my parole!” He looked at the map in his hand. “If they find this on me, I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life.”

Without further ado, he shoved the map into a nearby rack containing Aridzona state maps and brochures for tourist attractions. Then, he dove behind a trash can and breathlessly watched as the policemen made their way to the men’s restroom.

“‘Scuse me, officer,” Baloo mumbled as he lightly bumped into the panther policeman in the bathroom doorway. “The ‘Big Guy’s’ rumblin’ louder than a dumptruck drivin’ through a dynamite plant. What’s takin’ those gals so long anywhoo, Li’l Britches?”

Kit pored over the colorful brochures in the rack that was situated between the men’s and women’s restrooms. “Mom’s changing Cassie.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Baloo said, leaning against the wall, patting his ample belly. “Wish she’d hurry it up.”

Behind the trash can, Weazel gasped in trepidation as Kit picked up a brochure and turned it over. The weasel sighed with relief when the boy put it back.

“See anything good, Kit?” Rebecca asked, walking from the restroom over to her son. Molly followed her, carrying Cassie. “Anything we should add to the schedule?”

“Nah. Just something about the world’s biggest ball of twine.” Kit grinned.

“That don’t sound very promisin’ unless you’d like to stringthe vacation along,” Baloo joked.

The cubs snickered at the pun.

When Rebecca started searching through the brochure rack, Baloo whined, “C’mon, Becky, the kids are hungry.”

“You mean you’re hungry, Baloo,” Rebecca chuckled, adjusting the heavy diaper bag that was slung over her shoulder.

“Hey, all that drivin’ works up an appetite.”

She smirked. “Then maybe I should drive. I don’t want you passing out from hunger and endangering the lives of our children.”

“Hardy-har-har, Rebecca. I just meant it’s been a long, long time since breakfast.”

Men are bigger babies than babies, Rebecca thought to herself. She plucked one of each brochure and map from the rack - including the treasure map - and stuffed them in the diaper bag to look at later. “All right. I’m coming.”

After the policemen had gone and the lobby was empty, Weazel casually sauntered over to the brochure rack and looked for the map. He nearly went into hysterics when he couldn’t find it. “Where is it? Where is it!” he murmured, grabbing handfuls of brochures and strewing them around frantically. He ripped the last brochure in the rack open - advertising the world’s largest ball of twine - and tossed it over his shoulder in disgust. “That lady must have took it! It must be in that pink bag!”

Weazel dashed outside with a pounding heart and a brochure stuck to his foot. He raced around the parking lot like a chicken with his feathers in a knot, searching for the bearess with the pink diaper bag. When he didn’t find her in the parking lot, he wearily slumped against the nearest car, thinking, I’m doomed!

Then, he heard a peal of laughter.

Following the sound of voices, Weazel skirted the building and came to the park. The bearess he was looking for was sitting at a picnic table in the shelter house. “Thank goodness!” he whispered in relief. He crept closer and hid behind a tall saguaro cactus that was a few feet away from the shelter house. Something’s real familiar about these bears, he thought.

“Whatcha want, Muffin? We have bologna or bologna,” Baloo said, holding a sandwich in each hand.

“Hmm...” Molly mused. Her eyes shifted from one identical sandwich to the other as she pretended to make up her mind. “Bologna, I guess, Daddy,” she giggled.

“I’ll take bologna, too, Papa Bear,” Kit said, returning from the car with four cold Strawberry Fizzies, a small bottle of milk, and the bottle opener.

“Bologna sandwiches all around.” Baloo dealt the sandwiches out as if he was dealing cards.

“Thank you, Baloo.” Rebecca draped a bib around Cassie’s neck, then started to pinch pieces of her sandwich off for the baby.

“Dealer takes two.” Baloo piled two sandwiches on a napkin in front of himself.

“Trésexcellent and tastes good, too,” Molly said between bites.

“Ya know, Papa Bear, George Townsen’s hangar is just a few miles away,” Kit mentioned nonchalantly. He reached in the picnic basket for a bunch of grapes, picked a few off, then offered the bunch to his father.

“It is?” Baloo said with a spray of bread crumbs. He winked at Kit conspiratorially, took a grape, and popped it in his mouth. “Well..since we’re in the neighborhood, we’d better stop an’ say howdy to ol’ Georgie.”

“George Townsen?” Rebecca cried. “Not that man we spent an hour talking to in Picante City last year?”

“That’s the one.” Baloo slurped down a handful of grapes. “I heard through the grapevine that he’s test flyin’ some experimental aircraft. Real cuttin’ edge stuff.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, Papa Bear - Derrick Vertaplanes!” Kit exclaimed, his eyes aglow with excitement. “I saw some awesome pictures in last week’s edition of Flyboy Magazine, but it would be way better to see one up close.”

Baloo clapped Kit on the shoulder. “Flyin’ one would be better’n seein’ it.”

“Do you really think he’d let us?”

“No harm askin’.”

“Flying, flying, flying,” Rebecca muttered in exasperation. “Is that allyou flyboys ever think about?”

“Yes,” Baloo and Kit said simultaneously.

Rebecca helped Cassie to get a sip from the milk bottle. “But if we stop there, it’ll throw our whole schedule off. I planned on reaching Flaggstone by...”

Baloo waved her aside. “Aw, schedule, schmedule. This is a vacation, honey. Ya gotta lighten up. Relax. Go with the flow.”

“See some airplanes,” Rebecca said dryly.

Baloo nodded vehemently and chomped into his second sandwich.

“If I wanted to see airplanes, I could have stayed at home,” Rebecca retorted, wiping milk from Cassie’s chin.

“I bet you a billion buckaroos that you’ve never seen nuthin’ like this, Becky,” Baloo averred, gulping down half his soda.

“It’s a cross between Buzz’s helicopter and a regular airplane, Mom,” Kit explained. “Capable of vertical takeoffs.”

“What’s ‘vertical takeoff’ mean?” Molly asked. She stood on the bench to reach into the picnic basket for a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

“It can go straight up in the air when it takes off,” Kit told her. “It doesn’t need a runway.”

“Neat-o!” Molly chose a cookie, then passed the paper sack to her brother.

“That would come in handy in tight spots, like the inside of volcanoes. In a sing-song voice, Baloo said, “Hey, Becky, I know what I want for a souvenir.”

“Ha! Keep dreaming,” Rebecca snorted. “One plane’s upkeep is enough for Higher for Hire.”

Baloo clasped his hands together melodramatically. “Can we go, Beckers? Pretty please with a cherry an’ whipped cream an’ sprinkles an’ chocolate chips an’ sparklers on top?”

Rebecca couldn’t help giggling at Baloo’s plethora of ice cream toppings. He was cute when he tried to get around her, which was about every other minute.

But the thing that really swayed her was Kit’s hopeful, “Please, Mom?”

“Fine. We’ll stop by for a quick visit.”

“Fan-dang-tastic, Becky!” Father and son shared high fives. “Ya know, kid, I heard that them Vertaplanes don’t even got rudders or ailerons or...”

Taking a thoughtful drink of her soda, Molly said, “Pilots always have their heads in the clouds, don’t they, Mom?”

Frowning at her husband, who had absolutely no regard for time, Rebecca said testily, “Pilots definitely need to be grounded every once in a while, especially your father.” She mentally reviewed the schedule. This unexpected stop was going to throw the entire trip’s timing all off, and she had it planned almost to the very second.

“Whoa-ho! Dairy deluge!” Baloo cried, standing up quickly. Cold milk streamed down his legs onto the ground.

Cassie, who had accidentally knocked the bottle over, was blissfully unaware that she had done anything wrong. She giggled at the little jig that her father did.

“Aw, man, my sandwich is soggy,” Baloo groaned. He waved the last few bites of his limp sandwich in front of Cassie, who promptly grabbed onto it. “I hope you’re happy, young lady.”

“There’s no use crying over spilt milk, Baloo,” Rebecca pointed out, prying the sodden sandwich from Cassie’s hands. Eyes twinkling, she threw his own words back at him. “This is a vacation. You’ve got to lighten up, relax, go with the flow - the milk flow, that is.” She burst out laughing.

“You’re gonna milk this one for all it’s worth, ain’t ya, Rebecca?” He wrung out his shirttail, grimacing.

Rebecca could only nod. She was laughing too hard.

Behind the cactus, something pricked Weazel’s memory, and it wasn’t the cactus spines. Planes! That was it! This was the same fat pilot that he had hired two years ago to do some skywriting for Heimlich Menudo’s master plan. It turned out that the pilot wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

And here the fat pilot was again, foiling another one of Heimlich Menudo’s plans. It was too much of a cruel irony. He had to get that map from them. He ran through a few possible scenarios in his mind.

I could just walk up to them and say, “I think you have something of mine - a map.” No, no, no. That won’t work. They’d turn me in to the cops, get the reward, maybe even the treasure. Heimlich wouldn’t like that. How about, “This is a hiccup, er...stickup. Hand over the map and nobody gets hurt.” But...I don’t have a gun or a mask, and that approach works better with a gun and a mask. What would Heimlich Menudo tell me to do? I know! Look in the pink bag, Weasel. Find the pink bag, and you’ll find the map. But I don’t see the pink bag. It must be in their car!

He turned towards the parking lot where there were approximately thirty cars. Which one’s theirs?

Deciding to go about it systematically, he snuck up to the first car and peered in at the backseat. Car by car, he worked his way around the parking lot. Finally, at the last car in the second row, he spied a large pink bag in the backseat. He stealthily glanced around the parking lot. Since no one seemed to be paying attention, he quickly opened the back door and reached for the bag. Just as he zipped it open, he heard a low growl.

Startled, Weazel looked up. A little brown and white dog with a pink bow around its neck was staring at him from over the front seat.

“Good doggy,” Weazel said, smiling with relief. “Nice doggy.” He patted the cute little dog’s fuzzy head.

The next second, he wished that he hadn’t touched the dog.

Yipping, snarling, and snapping, the dog latched onto Weazel’s arm and went to town.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! Bad dog! Bad dog!” Weazel shook his arm wildly - up and down, around and around, and side to side - but the territorial terrier wouldn’t let go. “Get off me, you mangy mutt!”

Then, to make matters worse, the dog’s owner - an elderly racoon wearing a bright pink dress adorned with blazing orange polka dots - started beating Weazel over the head with her large purple handbag.

“Ow! Hey, cut it out, lady!” Weazel choked out as he was pounded into the ground.

With a happy yip, the dog let go of its victim and leapt into the woman’s arms.

“Oh, poor widdle Sadie,” the old lady crooned. “Was this mean, nasty man bothering you?” She glared at the bleeding, woozy heap that was Weazel.

Poor Sadie? Weazel thought, his head reeling. He was in too much pain to verbalize his thoughts. What about poor me? That little sadistic Sadie almost KO’d me. And you’ve got a mean backhand, lady.

“That’ll teach you not to attack a defenseless little puppy,” the woman scolded, giving Weazel a parting whack over the head.

“Yip,” barked Sadie, as though in agreement.

She and Sadie got in the car and drove off, leaving Weazel lying face down on the pavement, writhing in pain.

Two cars down, Weazel saw the von Bruinwalds piling into their automobile.

“Oh, no,” Weazel moaned weakly when the family of bears left. He wiped the dirt from his face with his torn sleeve. Despite the searing pain, he started to crawl towards his car. He had to follow that map.

George Townsen’s Hangar
Four Hours Later

Down a dirt road, out in the middle of the desert, were a cluster of hangars. The hot afternoon sunlight glinted off of the domed, metal roofs. Aircraft of all shapes and sizes were taking off and landing on the nearby runways.

Inside the largest hangar, Rebecca sat on a crate in the corner with an impatient Cassie squirming on her lap. The baby had been wiggly ever since she had awakened from her nap a half hour before, and she was mad because her mother wouldn’t let her run around the hangar.

“Cassie, don’t hit Mommy.” Rebecca caught the cub’s paw before she could slap her on the arm again. “No. Hitting is not nice.”

Molly looked up at Rebecca from the floor where she had been drawing shapes in the sand. “Aren’t Daddy and Kit done talking yet? We’ve been here forever!”

Rebecca glanced at her watch. “Three hours and forty-seven minutes to be exact. There goes the schedule for today.” She shouted across the hangar at the top of her lungs, “Ba-LOOOOO!”

Baloo’s languid voice echoed across the hangar. “Yeah, Becky?”

“Let’s go!”

“Just a few more minutes, honey.”

“You said that an hour ago! Now, flyboy!”

“After we take this one for a test flight. I promise, Becky.”

“Ooo...that bear! I’ll test flight him,” Rebecca murmured darkly. “Ouch! Don’t hit Mommy, Cassandra!” She sighed wearily. “Molly, could you run out fo the car and get Cassie’s diaper bag? It has some of her toys in it.”

“Okay, Mom.” Molly hopped up, eager for something to do.

“And get my purse.” Rebecca placed a hand to her aching head, mumbling, “I need an aspirin.”

Meanwhile...

Weazel had just pulled up beside the grey Chevrolette after driving down what seemed like every road in the county. Donning his sunglasses to protect his identity, he got out and, remembering the dog, cautiously peeked into the Chevrolette’s windows. Seeing the pink bag in the backseat and no dog, he grinned from ear to ear. This time for sure. He was about to open the car door when Molly came skipping outside.

A wide-eyed Weazel dropped to his knees and hastily crawled under the car, pulling his brown fedora in after him. He breathlessly watched as Molly got the pink diaper bag out of the car. She set it on the ground mere inches from his nose while she rummaged around for her book. It was so close, yet so far away! Pinioned between the car and the ground, he lacked maneuverability.

He watched helplessly as Molly slammed the car door, picked up the bag, and headed to the hangar.

“Drat!” Weazel swore under his breath.

His spirits rose when he saw Molly returning - or rather her feet returning. She plopped the diaper bag on the ground again, tantalizingly close to him. It was even closer than before. Grunting softly, he scooted his body around so that the fingertips of his right hand could close around the bag.

Molly slammed the car door. She shouldered her mother’s purse and reached for the bag. But when she tried to pick it up, it wouldn’t budge. Must be caught on something, she thought. She bent down to look under the car when...

“Molly!” Rebecca called frantically over the noise of the squalling baby. “Where’s Cassie’s toys?”

“Got ‘em, Mommy!” With a fierce tug, Molly yanked the bag out of Weazel’s grasp and ran to the hangar.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid girl!” Weazel fumed, pounding his fist on the ground. “I almost had it. I was this close to...getting...that...map.” He laughed nervously. A snake was eye-to-eye with him.

“Ssssss!” hissed the snake.

“Aaahhhhhh!” Faster than a streak of lightning, Weazel shot out from underneath the car. He ran and ran and ran some more, right onto the runway, into the path of a Piper Superduper Cub airplane was taking off.

“Aaahhhhhh!” Weazel screamed again, taking off in the opposite direction. He ran as fast as his short, stumpy legs would go, but it wasn’t fast enough.

The hem of his raggedy coat got jammed between the strut and the landing gear, and he was whisked into the air along with the plane. Legs dangling, he glanced at the receding ground below before shutting his eyes, shouting, “There’s gotta be an easier way to get that map!”

Flaggstone, Aridzona
The Dewdrop Inn
9:30 PM

The von Bruinwalds were relaxing in the clean, modest motel room that they had rented for the night. All had taken their baths and had gotten ready for bed. In fact, Cassie was already asleep in one of the double beds.

Baloo drifted in and out of consciousness as he lounged, hands folded behind his head, on the other bed. Kit and Molly were curled up side-by-side on the small roll-away bed listening to Kit’s portable radio.

The comedian - George Burning - said over the radio, “Say goodnight, Macy.”

“Goodnight, Macy,” Macy replied.

Rebecca emerged from the bathroom where she had been washing Cassie’s diapers. She flicked off the radio. “It’s time we say goodnight, too, kids. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow at the Colossal Canyon.”

Molly picked up her doll from atop the pile of luggage and climbed into bed beside the slumbering Cassie. “You know what, Mommy?”

“What?” Rebecca asked quietly, tucking the blanket around her daughters. She lovingly patted Cassie on the back.

Molly beamed, exclaiming enthusiastically, “I like vacations!”

“Amen, sister!” Baloo said heartily, waking from his doze.

Rebecca chuckled softly and kissed Molly on the cheek. “Night, Pumpkin.”

“Night.”

Baloo rolled off the bed to give Molly a kiss. “Nighty-night, Cupcake.”

“Night, Daddy. Kiss Lucy, too.” She held up the doll so that he could peck Lucy’s cloth cheek. “Can I sleep in the little bed tomorrow night, Mom?” Molly asked drowsily, snuggling down under the covers.

“Sure, honey,” Rebecca replied with a smile. She leaned down to pull the blanket around Kit, who was stretched out on the roll-away bed. “Comfortable, Kit?”

Kit shrugged and grinned; his feet hung over the edge, but he wasn’t one to complain. “I’ve slept on worse.”

A concerned frown momentarily crossed Rebecca’s face. “Oh, sweetie...” she murmured, brushing the hair from his face before planting a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Mom.”

Baloo ruffled Kit’s hair with a “Night, kiddo.”

“Night, Papa Bear. Man, those Vertaplanes were awesome!”

“You better believe it. An’ flyin’ ‘em! Oh, baby! That was like...like...”

Rebecca cleared her throat. Sternly, she said, “I think we’ve had enough planes for one day, guys.”

“You can never have too many planes, Beckers,” Baloo retorted, getting into bed beside his wife.

“You wanna bet?” Rebecca said teasingly.

“Yeah,” Baloo rejoined, grinning mischievously.

Rebecca moved closer to her husband, placing her paws on his chest. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Baloo replied, grinning as he pulled her close for a long kiss. “Night, honey.”

“Goodnight, darling.” Rebecca flipped off the lamp.

Out of the darkness came Baloo's voice. "Say, Li'l Britches, didja notice how that Vertaplane...?"

"Oh, Baloo," Rebecca interrupted impatiently, "go to sleep!"

Meanwhile...
On the Road to Flaggstone

Weazel, swathed in bandages, drove through the desert, along the near-deserted highway. He scowled into the darkness, thinking, I’ll get that map if it’s the last thing I do! And I’ll get those bears if it’s the second-to-last thing I do, or my names’s not Weazel. For emphasis, he slammed his bandaged fist down on the steering wheel.

“Owwwww!”

End of part 2

A Map Made in Heaven
part 3

The Dewdrop Inn
Flaggstone, Aridzona
Sunday
Day 2

The early morning sunlight glinted off of the grey sedan patiently waiting for the von Bruinwalds in the motel parking lot. However, the weasel rifling through the car wasn’t quite as patient.

Inside the motel, the von Bruinwalds, with the exception of Baloo, were up, dressed, and ready to go. The family patriarch was still lazing in bed, pretending to sleep, when Rebecca and the cubs returned from gathering their complimentary breakfast of donuts, cereal, and milk from the motel office/lobby.

They crowded around the small table and dug in. Rebecca transferred a handful of dry Cheery-O’s from her bowl to the tabletop for Cassie’s consumption. The toddler carefully picked up a Cheery-O and put it in her mouth. Then, she offered one to her mother.

“Thank you, baby.” Rebecca smiled, eating the proffered Cheery-O. “Yummy,” she said, kissing the top of Cassie’s head. She poured milk over her cereal, ate a spoonful, then flipped through the official trip schedule that was beside her bowl.

“Daddy’s missing out on breakfast,” Molly sang loudly. She took a big bite of her powdered donut, leaving a white ring around her mouth. “Sure is good.”

“Daddy needs to get up,” Rebecca added pointedly, turning a page in the schedule. It was obvious that Baloo wasn’t sleeping. The lack of snoring was a dead giveaway.

“Mama?” Cassie said, holding up another Cheery-O for her mother.

“Yeah, Papa Bear needs to get up. But how should we do it?” Kit said, winking at his sister. He had seen Baloo’s eyes open and shut quickly before the big bear rolled over, turning his back to his family.

“Eat his donut?” Molly grinned when her father cleared his throat.

From the sly smile on Kit’s face, it appeared that he was going to suggest something, then he shook his head. “Nah...where are we gonna get a duck and a hose? How about tickle torture?” he whispered. With mock-solemness, he added, “I’m afraid there’s no other way.”

“Yeah!” Molly whispered back, barely able to contain the laughter bubbling up inside of her. “Tickle torture.”

Both cubs snuck over to the bed, pounced on the big bear, and tickled his ample stomach.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Baloo gasped out between guffaws. “Think ya could get away with a surprise attack, huh? Well, here’s yoursurprise.” He tickled both children, inciting a lot of laughs before ruffling their already blowsy hair.

“Very effective wake-up call, kids.” Rebecca plumped Cassie onto her husband’s chest. She planted a kiss on his lips, saying, “Good morning, darling. Now, get up!”

“But, Becky, this is vacation,” Baloo whined as Cassie slid off his stomach onto the bed. He sat up. “Ain’t ya s’posed ta rest on vacation?”

“Not this vacation. There’s too many things to see, and we need to get going if we’re going to keep this vacation on schedule.”

Yawning, Baloo ran a hand through his messy hair. “Vacation an’ schedule don’t belong in the same sentence, an’ I for one ain’t followin’ no schedule on my vacation.”

Hands on hips, Rebecca said, “It’s my vacation, too, and on myvacation, we follow a schedule.”

“Ya wanna bet, Rebecca?”

Both adults silently, stubbornly squared off against each other, scowling. From their grim expressions, it was obvious that neither was willing to compromise.

Rebecca said through gritted teeth, “Kit, take your sisters to the lobby for more juice or something. Your father and I are going to have a loud discussion.”

“Avery loud discussion,” Baloo growled, clenching his fists.

As soon as the door shut behind the cubs, a battle began.

“How come they always have to fight and spoil all the fun?” Molly said softly, gently squeezing Cassie’s little paw as they walked down the sidewalk, past rows of doors They didn’t see the weasel rummaging around in their car’s backseat; of course, the weasel didn’t notice the cubs either.

Glancing back at the room from which emanated the sounds of muffled shouting, Kit sighed. “I dunno, sis. I guess it’s because they don’t always see eye-to-eye.”

Molly’s gloomy face brightened. “That’s ‘cause Mom’s shorter than Daddy.”

Kit smiled wanly. “That’s one way of looking at it, Short Stuff.” He took Cassie’s other hand, saying, “Wanna get a donut, Cassie?”

“Yummy donut?” Molly echoed, patting her stomach. “Yummy.”

Cassie giggled. “Nummy dough-dough.”

Just as the cubs entered the lobby, an extremely disgusted Weazel opened the grey sedan’s door, climbed out, and slammed the door shut. He had searched the car thoroughly, including in the glove compartment and underneath the seats, yet had produced nothing, nada, zero, zip, zilch. The treasure map of Emperor Karat was nowhere to be found. In fact, he wasn’t even sure that this was the car belonging to the fat pilot and his family.

Weazel slumped to the ground, exhausted. He had spent a trying night going from motel to motel, looking for the von Bruinwalds’s car. There must have been at least two thousand grey cars in Flaggstone. He had searched every one of them, but there hadn’t been a trace of the fat pilot, let alone the map.

Frankly, he felt like giving up. He hadn’t slept a wink all night and his body ached from the previous day’s fiascos. But he knew that quitting wasn’t an option. In the back of his mind loomed the fearsome Heimlich Menudo, Jerry the Nipper and Mickie Finn.

Weazel leaned against the side of the Chevrolette, thinking, What would Heimlich tell me to do? While pondering that, he absently stared at the row of ponderosa pines opposite him as they serenely swayed in the breeze. Heimlich would tell me: “How stupid can you be, Weasel? Find the fat pilot and his family, and you will find the map.”

“But how am I s’posed to do that, Heimlich?” he wondered aloud. “There’s a bazillion motels in this town. What if those bears already left Flaggstone? What if they stayed in another city? Then what do I do?” The knot in the pit of his stomach tightened. He hoped that his death would be swift and painless.

But, then, fate smiled on him. Or, rather, fell on him.

A clipboard flew out of the window of the nearest motel room and bonked Weazel on the head. “Ow!” he whined, rubbing his sore pate. “That’s a pain that’s gonna linger.”

From inside the motel a familiar, bossy woman’s voice demanded, “Howdare you do that, Baloo? That’s our schedule!”

A familiar male voice said stonily, “Ya mean, was our schedule, Becky.”

The woman snapped, “Baloo, why did you do that? Stop stuffing your face and pay attention to me when I’m yelling at you, buster! Ba-LOOO!”

The window slammed shut.

Weazel shook the stars from his head, then picked up the clipboard. When he realized what it was and who it belonged to, he leaped up and whooped for joy.

“Owwww,” he moaned, holding his aching head. In that head, a plan was taking shape. He sped towards his car, saying happily, “For once, I’ll be one step ahead of those map-stealing bozos.”

One Hour Later

The grey sedan wound its way north by northwest through sandstone-walled canyons. Kit and Molly gazed out the open windows, looking with eager eyes at the rugged cliffs that flashed by them.

“Lookee at the river, Kit!” Molly exclaimed, pointing to a rushing rill running beside the road on the right side of the car.

Kit glanced out her window, then focused his attention on the left side of the car. “Hey, look at that big boulder way up there on top of the cliff.”

Molly scooted over beside him and caught a glimpse of it before they rounded a bend in the road. “Wow, that thing is huge! How does it stay balanced on that little pointy end?”

Kit shrugged. “Very carefully.”

“Just as long as it stays up there a little while longer,” Rebecca said, smiling at the cubs in the rearview mirror.

“How much further is it to the Colossal Canyon, Kit?” Molly asked.

“Why don’t you tell me, Molly?” Kit handed her the maps and compass.

“For really?” Molly exclaimed, her eyes bright with excitement.

“You’ve got to start navigating sometime.” Kit grinned. “First, find where we’re at.”

Molly opened the map and studied it, frowning. “Okay. We’ve gone past Vaille, so we’re somewhere on this road...”

While Molly calculated their position, Baloo shifted snoozing Cassie on his lap and craned his neck to look at the speedometer. “You’re goin’ too fast, Becky.”

“I am not! Have you noticed how many people have passed us? Uphill and around curves even. There’s a lot of crazy drivers on this road.”

“I know. I'm ridin' with one,” Baloo murmured.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you, Baloo,” Rebecca replied curtly, trying to keep both the car and her temper under control as they zoomed around a tight curve. “You don’t hear the kids complaining, do you?”

“‘Course they ain’t. One of ‘em’s sleepin’, an’ the other two are too scared out of their wits by your drivin’ ta say nuthin’.”

Rebecca glanced in the mirror and saw Kit and Molly bent over the map, engrossed in a navigation lesson. They didn’t seem scared to her. “Sure, Baloo,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, watch out for that car!”

“Eek!” Rebecca stomped on the brakes to avoid hitting a police cruiser that had pulled onto the road right in front of them. The von Bruinwalds were thrown violently forward. With a squeal of brakes, the car screeched to a stop right in front of the cruiser.

“Told ya you were goin’ too fast, Becky,” Baloo said smugly, pushing himself back from the dashboard. He looked down at Cassie safely cradled against him; she, unaware that anything had happened, was still sleeping peacefully, her thumb in her mouth.

“I was not!” she snappe, plucking the map from her head and handing it back to Kit.

“Isn’t ‘police’ spelled with a ‘c’ instead of an ‘s’?” Molly said, wrinkling up her nose in confusion as she stared at the sloppy ‘POLISE’ painted in white on the side of the black Fjord.

“Yeah, it is,” Kit said, fixing a suspicious eye on the policeman shuffling over to them. The fifteen-year-old, who had dealt with more than his fair share of cops in his short life, thought that this was the strangest looking cop he’d ever seen.

Rebecca rolled down the window and addressed the policeman with a nervous smile. “What seems to be the problem, Officer?”

The cop - a short, stout weasel in a baggy blue uniform - pushed his orange-rimmed sunglasses up further on his nose. In a slightly nasal voice, he said, “I’m, uh, been assigned to check every car that passes through here, ma’am.”

“You didn’t stop that car right in front of me,” Rebecca pointed out.

“Um, it’s a, uh, a random search. We’re randomly searching cars, making sure that you aren’t stealing any, uh...” Weazel blurted out the first thing he saw; “rocks. Yeah, that’s it! Rocks, from the Colossal Canyon.”

“Sorry to disappoint ya, Officer, but we ain’t got no rocks,” Baloo laughed.

“Except the ones in your head, Baloo,” Rebecca rejoined, silencing her husband with a stern look.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the policeman said. “Open the trunk.”

“But, Officer, we haven’t even been to the Colossal Canyon yet,” Rebecca said, getting out of the car to unlock the trunk.

After opening the trunk, Rebecca stood to the side while the policeman eyed the suitcases.

“Don’t look over my shoulder while I’m lookin’, lady!” Weazel cried. Upon seeing Rebecca’s astounded, slightly suspicious expression, he cleared his throat and said in a calmer tone, “Uh, I mean, it’s a violation of the federal law to watch a cop searching your vehicle, ma’am.”

“Oh...okay...” Baffled, Rebecca reluctantly got back in the car.

Weazel frantically rummaged through the bags in the trunk. With a triumphant laugh, he located the pink diaper bag and zipped it open, thinking, Somethin’ smells weird in here. He grabbed up all of the brochures and maps that he could find and stuffed them in his pockets. Hearing a ‘squeak’, he fished a rubber giraffe from his pocket and tossed it back into the trunk.

He slammed the trunk shut and sauntered back to the driver’s window, his lips twitching in an attempt to conceal his glee. “No rocks here. You’re free to go, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

“No.” Weazel patted his pocket with a irrepressible smile on his face. “Thank you.” He got into his car - getting white paint on his hands in the process - started it up, and backed onto the shoulder. He grinned and waved at the bears as they drove off.

When the grey sedan was out of sight, he reached into his pocket, retrieving the maps and brochures and sorted through them. “This time, I’ve got it I’ve got it! I’ve got...nothin’!” Furious, he ripped the brochures into tiny shreds, saying, “Who wants ta see the world’s largest ball of twine anyways?” After tossing the paper out the open window, he beat his head against the steering wheel, prompting a pained, “Owww!” He put his hand to his pounding head, only to smear paint all over his forehead. Looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror, he groaned, “This is a really bad day...”

Colossal Canyon
Forty-Five Minutes Later

After paying a nominal fee for entering the Colossal Canyon National Park, the grey sedan rolled into the information center’s packed parking lot.

The five bears piled out of the car. It was a hot, hazy day devoid of the smallest hint of a breeze. Heat radiated from the gravel lot and from the numerous cars parked there. They wound their way through the crowded parking lot to the information center. After walking through the gift shop crammed with souvenirs, they came out on a rail-enclosed landing overlooking the canyon and crawling with sightseers.

“Wow!” Kit breathed, taking in the awesome panorama before him.

“I can’t see!” Molly hopped up and down. “There’s too many big people in the way.” Before anyone could stop her, she wormed her small body through the wall of people to the railing. “Double wow!” she exclaimed, sticking her head through the wooden rails to peer down into the deep canyon.

“Molly!” Rebecca called frantically. Panic welled up inside of her. There were people milling around everywhere and more people seemed to be crowding onto the landing’s small space every second. Strange faces flashed before her eyes and strange voices echoed in her ears.

“Molly!” Baloo bellowed, causing Cassie to cover her ears with her paws. “Aw, doggone that girl. She knows she’s s’posed ta stick close in strange places.”

“Oh, Baloo, she’s so little. What if...?” Rebecca began, placing a trembling hand on his arm.

Baloo’s eyes darted around the crowd for a little yellow bearess. “Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart, I’m sure she’s...”

“I’m over here!” Molly shouted, trying to wade through the people clustered around her.

“Right over there,” Baloo concluded, relieved.

“Molly, you get back here right this instant!” Rebecca demanded.

“I’ll get her,” Kit offered. He laboriously made his way through the crowd, saying, “Excuse me, pardon me, pardon me, excuse me.”

“Hi, Kit,” Molly said brightly when her brother appeared beside her. “Isn’t the Colossal Canyon big?”

“That’s why it’s called the Colossal Canyon,” Kit replied, putting a protective hand on his sister’s shoulder. He wondered what it would be like to cloudsurf through the canyon.

“Watch that first step. It’s a lulu,” Baloo joked as he, Rebecca, and Cassie jostled their way through the other sightseers to the railing.

“Molly Elizabeth von Bruinwald, I will not tolerate your running off like that, young lady,” Rebecca scolded, taking her daughter firmly by the hand.

“Sorry, Mom,” Molly said contritely. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

Molly crinkled up her nose thoughtfully. “Does this mean I don’t get any souvenirs?”

Rebecca’s stern face softened. She affectionately squeezed Molly’s hand. “No, Pumpkin. You can still get souvenirs.”

“How would you like to fly through this canyon, Papa Bear?” Kit asked, arms folded across the top of the railing.

Baloo judged the canyon’s twists and turns with a critical eye, then said confidently, “Piece of cake. It’d be sure be a heckava lot easier than Mirkle Pass back home.”

“Anything’seasier than Mirkle Pass.”

“Lookee at the mountain goat. Do ya see it, Daddy?” Molly said. She tugged on the hem of her father’s shirt and pointed to a white speck on the opposite side of the canyon.

No matter how much Baloo squinted, he couldn’t see the goat. “Yeah, I see it, Button-nose,” he fibbed, patting her on the head.

“And lookit way down there!” Molly cried. “There’s people walking.”

“Molly, honey, don’t stick your head through the railing.”

“Aw...” Reluctantly, Molly drew back from the railing.

“Baloo, did you bring Cassie’s bonnet?” Rebecca asked.

“In my pocket, Beckers.”

Rebecca pulled a white sunbonnet from Baloo’s shirt pocket and tried to tie it on Cassie, but the cub had other ideas. She buried her face in her father’s shirt, whining impatiently. Finally, Rebecca succeeded and adjusted the wide brim so that it shaded the baby’s face. “Now wasn’t it worth coming all that way to see this, Baloo?”

“I still say it woulda been faster with the Duck.”

“Oh, stop complaining and enjoy the scenery. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Yeah, an opportunity to get heatstroke. Man, oh, man, what a scorcher!” Baloo said, fanning the toddler’s face with a brochure as he marveled at the view. Cassie promptly grabbed the brochure flapping before her face and stuck a corner of it in her mouth. “But all this nuthin’ is really somethin’,” he murmured, gently playing tug-of-war with Cassie over the brochure.

Rebecca opened her brochure and read, “The Colossal Canyon is a mile deep, 227 miles long and has an average width of ten miles. The visible sedimentary layers were formed over billions and billions of years.”

“Sedimentary layers. Is that what the different colored stripe-y rocks are called, Mom?” Molly asked.

“Yes, Pumpkin. It also says that it took the river...”

Baloo snatched the brochure from her hands. “Stop readin’ an’ start lookin’, Becky. We didn’t come all this way ta read somethin’ from a manual.”

Annoyed, Rebecca grabbed her brochure back and lightly smacked him across the arm with it. “I’ll read if I want to, Baloo. A little knowledge about what we’re looking at heightens the experience.”

“We don’t need to be any higher. We’re already up high enough. Hey, Cookie, look at all the pretty rocks,” Baloo said, prying the pamphlet from Cassie’s mouth. “Tons an’ tons of rocks.”

“Wocks!” Cassie squealed, clapping her hands. “Wocks, wocks, wocks, wocks..”

“The word of the day,” Rebecca murmured wryly to her husband as she slipped her arm through his with a wink and a smile.

“Speakin’ of rocks, I wonder if that cop ever found anyone carryin’ illegal rocks,” Baloo mused.

“I don’t know about that, but I do know that it’s picture time!” Rebecca sang cheerfully, prompting a collective groan from Baloo, Kit, and Molly. She pulled a camera from her purse. “Backs to the railing, everybody. And smile.”

A Half an Hour Later

Weazel, now dressed inconspicuously as a tourist in gaudy plaid pants and a yellow polo shirt, pulled into a parking space at the Colossal Canyon’s information center. He consulted the von Bruinwald’s official trip schedule. “Yep, this is the place all right. Now, all I have to do is find that map.”

He put a pair of binoculars to his eyes. A sea of automobiles stretched before him. The majority were some shade of black or grey.

“Talk about findin’ a needle in a haystack,” he groaned. Then, Weazel’s frown turned upside down. He murmured, “Looks like I found the needle and the haystack.”

The fat pilot and his son were threading their way through the parking lot.

Weazel put on his sunglasses, got out of the car, and casually sauntered towards Baloo and Kit.

“I’m not sure about this, kid,” Baloo was saying as he opened the Chevrolette’s door.

“C’mon, Papa Bear, it’ll be fun,” Kit said. “It’ll give us a chance to see the Colossal Canyon up close.”

Baloo slung the diaper bag over his shoulder and slammed the door shut. “Why’s Becky gotta be as stubborn as a mule?” In a falsetto tone, he mocked, “If a mule ride is on the schedule, Baloo, then we’re goin’ on a mule ride.” In his own voice, he continued, “An’ that’s another thing - how in tarnation does she remember what was on that doggone schedule? That thing’s solid gone.”

Kit shrugged. “Mom’s got a good memory.”

“Memory, schmemory.” Angrily, Baloo said, “Let that be a lesson to ya, Li’l Britches. Never marry a gal who’s smarter’n you.”

“Okay, Papa Bear,” Kit mumbled, knowing that deep down his father was proud of his wife’s abilities.

While tromping back to the info center, Baloo grumbled, “Still think we shoulda took the Sea Duck. Then, we coulda flown over the canyon. None of this mule business.”

Weazel had to trot on his short legs to keep up with the bears. He trailed behind them at a discreet distance, thinking smugly, Now I’ve got ‘em.

Inside the info center, the bears disappeared into the crowd, much to Weazel’s disappointment.

I don’t got ‘em. The weasel stopped in the middle of the stuffy info center, which was stuffed tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey with tourists. The information desk was to the right. The gift shop was straight ahead. The restrooms were to his left. Everywhere he looked, there were tired tourists roaming around aimlessly as well as screaming, whining children.

Over the din, Weazel said to himself, “Ya’d think a bear that fat would be easy ta spot.”

He impatiently plowed his way through the gift shop - knocking a paperweight off the shelf in the process - to the canyon overlook.

Here, there were more people, but not the ones he was searching for. He stood there for a few moments, scanning the crowd for the five bears. How’m I s’posed ta find those thieving bears with all of these stupid people in the way? What am I s’posed to do now, Heimlich?

A snippet of Heimlich’s advice came to him: When things look hopeless, Weasel, you cannot give in to despair. You need to find a way to gain perspective. Now, find that map or else!

“Ah-ha!” Weazel cried. He had just gotten a brainstorm.

To gain perspective, he decided to climb a scraggly pine tree that was growing just outside the wooden fence separating the overlook from the canyon. He clambered onto the fence railing and, using all of the strength that he had in his flabby arms, pulled himself up to the bottommost branch. “The things I do for a coupla quad-trillion dollars. Ouch!” He plucked a pine needle from his thumb.

Precariously perched astride the prickly limb, he put his binoculars to his eyes. Spying a foxy fox, he let out a wolf whistle. “Why can’t shehave the map instead of that fat pilot? Wouldn’t mind chasing her.” Then, he forced himself to focus on his objective. He finally found the family of bears. They were standing near a paddock full of mules that was beside the info center, listening to an attractive, young lioness dressed in cutoff shorts and a red flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows. Twin plaits of tawny hair hung over her shoulders.

“Howdy, folks. I’m Ellie Kay, your guide for today,” the lioness said with a pronounced southern accent. “Are you ready for your twelve-mile, narrated ride through the Colossal Canyon?”

Twelve miles? Weazel thought, alarmed. I’ve got to get that map now! In his haste, he fell from the tree, landing nose-down in the dirt. “Ow...” Despite the searing pain, he regained his feet quickly and hurried towards the paddock.

“Yeah!” Molly squealed in response to the guide’s question.

“One little lady’s ready.”

Weazel tried to sneak up on the bears undetected, but was betrayed by a mule braying, causing him to yelp and jump six and nine-tenths inches.

Ellie Kay said enthusiastically, “Oh, we’re got another rider. Welcome aboard, sir.”

“No...I...uh...that is...I’m just here for...” Weazel stammered, backing away.

Business-like, Ellie Kay said, “That’ll be five dollars, please.” She held out her hand.

With everyone’s eyes upon him, he had no other option. Weazel reluctantly reached for his wallet and gave her the money.

“Thank you, sir,” Ellie Kay said, slipping the money into her pocket. She resumed her perky tone. “Now, everyone pick out a mule, and don’t be afraid of them. They’re as gentle as kittens.” She took a good look at Baloo and suggested, “Why don’t you try Big Ben, sir?” She fondly patted the neck of the largest mule.

Seven mules were quickly saddled for the tourists and, one by one, the five bears and weasel mounted.

“Everybody ready?” Ellie Kay asked from the lead mule, looking over her shoulder at the group. “Here we go.”

“Whoa!” Baloo cried as his mule lurched forward.

Twelve miles, Weazel thought gloomily.

Six Miles Later

Frowning up at the broiling sun, Weazel slapped at a mosquito that was drowsily buzzing in his ear as he bumped along. Riding through the canyon may have been someone’s idea of a good time, but it wasn’t his. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place - literally. The jagged canyon wall loomed to his right. To the left was the steep drop-off into the gorge. All he wanted to do was get that map and go home, but he didn’t know how to do it. He was so deep in thought about his next move that he jumped in the saddle when a falcon screeched overhead.

Easy, Weazel, it’s just a little bird,he thought, trembling slightly. Chasing after that map was making him frazzled and jittery. He wished that he could be more like his surefooted mule, which seemed oblivious to all fear as it slowly, methodically plodded along the narrow trail, its long ears flapping.

The ride through the canyon would have been completely silent save for the steady clop-clop of the mules’ shod hooves against the rock and Ellie Kay’s annoyingly cheerful voice spouting a never-ending monologue.

“In addition to being one of Usland’s largest national parks, the Colossal Canyon serves as an ecological refuge. It’s home to over 1,500 plant species, 355 bird species, 89 mammalian species, 47 reptile species, 9 amphibian species, and 17 fish species.”

“Isn’t this great, Papa Bear?” Kit asked, looking over his shoulder at Baloo, who was on the mule right behind him.

“Yeah, sure, kid,” Baloo replied sarcastically. “Whoa, mule! Whoa!” He had been slipping and sliding on the saddle for the entire trip. His backside felt like one big black-and-blue bruise.

“And the view is spectacular,” Kit added, staring appreciatively at Ellie Kay’s slender form.

“Uh, the canyon’s over there, Li’l Britches,” Baloo chuckled.

“Kit likes a girl. Kit likes a girl.” Molly’s sing-song taunt echoed through the canyon, causing Kit’s face to flame beet red.

“Molly, don’t tease your brother,” Rebecca chided. She gently pried Cassie’s little fingers from the mule’s coarse mane.

Hearing a noise that started down low, then started to grow, Molly asked, “What’s that sound?”

“Uh, my confidence?” Baloo replied, wrenching himself back in the saddle with difficulty.

“The sound you’re hearing is the sound of the Twin Waterfalls, one of Colossal Canyon’s natural wonders,” Ellie Kay replied.

The mules rounded a bend in the canyon, allowing the riders a glimpse of the Twin Waterfalls. Two waterfalls, on opposite sides of the canyon, crashed hundreds of feet into the gorge below.

On the banks of a rushing river, Ellie Kay stopped and dismounted. Over the roar of the waterfalls, she shouted, “This is Promontory Point, folks, the halfway point of your tour. We’re now 1000 feet above the Coloradio River. We’ll stop here to stretch our legs and to look at the waterfalls. But be careful, people. Some of the rocks are slippery.”

Baloo fell off his mule with a ‘thump’ and a pained, “Oh...”

Kit and Molly hopped off easily, and Kit went to help his mother and baby sister.

When Ellie Kay ushered the bears to the ridge overlooking the canyon, Weazel saw his chance. He hurried to where the mules were standing, lined up beside the river, and stood on tiptoe to reach the pink bag that dangled from Big Ben’s saddle.

His fumbling fingers had almost freed the strap from the saddle horn when the rock he was standing on rolled beneath his feet. “Oh, nooooo!”

Arms flailing, he slid into the river and floated past the mules, who were placidly drinking.

“HEEEEELLLLPPP!” he spluttered, trying to keep his head above water as he was swept along with the current.

“Oh, my gosh! Look!” Rebecca gasped, pointing at Weazel bobbing in the river.

Quicker than a flash, Kit seized the coil of rope hanging from Ellie Kay’s belt, took out his airfoil, fanned it open, tied the rope around it, and flung the airfoil like a frisbee at the weasel.

Weazel miraculously grabbed onto the airfoil.

“Yay!” Molly shouted, clapping her hands.

“A little help here,” Kit said through gritted teeth, straining to hold onto the taut rope. Baloo and Ellie Kay also caught hold of the rope. Together, the three of them started to reel Weazel in.

But, then, Weazel’s strength gave out. He couldn’t fight against the current beating against him any longer. With a bloodcurdling, “Ahhhh!”, he was swept from the airfoil, over the waterfall.

Their equilibrium off-balance, Baloo, Kit, and Ellie Kay collapsed in a heap with a collective, “Oof!”

Molly gazed at the waterfall somberly and hugged her mother. Rebecca, tears beading in her eyes at the weasel’s horrible fate, hugged her daughters close to her.

Kit stood up and pulled his airfoil out of the river. He untied the rope from it and stared at it sadly.

“You tried, son,” Baloo said, putting a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I should have tried harder,” Kit said fiercely. He closed the airfoil with a click of a button and concealed it beneath his shirt.

“I want to go home, Mom,” Molly murmured with a shuddering sigh.

“Shh, honey, it’ll be okay,” Rebecca cooed, meeting Baloo’s sorrowful eyes.

To the von Bruinwalds’ utter surprise, Ellie Kay said in her usual cheerful way, “Time to head back, folks.”

“But what about...about...him?” Kit exclaimed, gesturing to the river.

Ellie Kay let out a dismissive laugh. “Oh, this sort of thing happens all the time. Don’t worry. A rafting party will be along. They’ll pick him up. Come on, now. Stay together, people.”

Downstream...

A soggy and spluttering Weazel pulled himself out of the river. “I’m starting - cough - to hate - cough - those bears.” Wringing out his shirt, he looked around in trepidation at his surroundings. He had no clue where he was, it was going to be dark in just a few short hours, and he was lost in the Colossal Canyon. He fished his sunglasses from his trousers pocket and put them on, only to have the lenses pop out. That was the proverbial last straw. He fell back flat on his back, moaning, “This is a really, reallybad day.”

End of part 3

A Map Made in Heaven
part 4

Southern Youtah
Twistiturny Scenic Byway
Monday Afternoon
Day 3

Molly listlessly gazed out of the car window at the unvarying landscape. The breathtaking panoramas of redrock towers dotted with scraggly pine trees superimposed against a brilliant blue sky had ceased to amuse her long ago. It felt like they had been traveling down this same winding road for a hundred years. Turning from the window, she went on a quest for a new diversion.

The nine-year-old reached for her book bag that was at her feet, unsnapped the flap, and extracted its contents. First, she pulled out Lucy. She lovingly smoothed the doll’s hair and dress before setting it on the seat. Then came five books. She’d already read all of them during the vacation, a few of them twice. At the bottom of the bag was a box of crayons. The crayons seemed promising, but she didn’t have any paper.

Seeing the diaper bag on the floor beside her bag, she unzipped it and rummaged through it. At last, she found what she was looking for - a map with a nice blank back. She draped the map across her lap and reached for her crayons. However, instead of eight individual colors, she had a box of mushy greyish goo.

Disappointed, Molly wiped her waxy fingers on the map, whining, “Are we there yet?”

“Yeah, are we there yet?” Baloo echoed from the driver’s seat, shooting an impish grin at Rebecca.

“We will get there when we get there,” Rebecca replied, trying to pry Cassie’s arms from her neck. “Don’t strangle Mommy, Cassie. I know you’re hot and tired, baby, but we’ll be there in a little while. How about some water?”

“No!” Cassie shouted. The fractious toddler clung more tightly to her mother.

“Animal crackers?”

The toddler petulantly shook her head with every, “No, no, no!”

“I’ll take ‘em if she don’t want ‘em,” Baloo offered, holding out his palm for the cookies.

“You’re not helping, Baloo.” Rebecca slapped his hand away. “Gah! Not so tight, baby.” She hoarsely choked out, “Tell Mama what you want so she can breathe. What do you want?”

“I know what she wants, Mom.” Molly fished around in the diaper bag until she found a well-loved teddy bear, whose dingy, matted fur had, at one time, been a pristine white. “Lookee here, Cassie. It’s Woobie! Dance, dance, dance. Watch Woobie dance on the back of the seat. Isn’t he funny?”

With a squeal of delight, Cassie lunged over the back of the seat to get the teddy bear.

Kit caught her before she hit the floor. “You shouldn’t jump without a parachute, Cassie.” He turned her right-side up and carefully put her on the seat where the toddler leaned against Molly, holding Woobie and sucking her thumb.

Rebecca massaged her sore throat. She rasped, “Thanks, kids.”

“How much farther, Kit?” Molly asked. She haphazardly wadded up the map and crammed it back in her school bag along with her crayons and books. Lucy she perched on her lap.

While Kit made his calculations, Baloo remarked casually, “Ya know, if we had taken the...”

“Don’tsay it,” Rebecca groaned.

Despite his wife’s protests, Baloo concluded, “Sea Duck, we woulda been there by now.”

“He said it,” Kit muttered, shaking his head ruefully.

“How come we didn’t take the Sea Duck, Mom?” Molly asked, observing how Kit walked the sextant across the map.

“Yeah, I’d like to hear that reason myself,” Baloo said with a smug smile.

“Because then we wouldn’t have all of this wonderful family bonding time,” Rebecca replied through clenched teeth.

“We coulda bonded in the Duck,” Baloo said, “an’ not to these seats.”

Rebecca sighed wearily and shifted in her seat, trying to get some feeling back into her legs. She was beginning to think that he was right about taking the airplane, though she’d never let him know that. “Just drive, flyboy.”

“We’re about three hours away,” Kit told them.

“Three hours!” Molly cried incredulously, slumping in the seat. She planted her knees on the seat in front of her. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Are we there yet?”

Rebecca spun in her seat to give her daughter a stern look. “Molly Elizabeth von Bruinwald, for the last time, and I do mean the last, we will get there when we get there! And if you say that again, I’ll...”

Chuckling, Baloo whined like a little boy, “Are we there yet?”

First Molly, then Kit dissolved into spasms of laughter. Rebecca tried in vain to keep a straight face, but she finally joined in on the infectious laughter. Cassie, not understanding the joke, looked at them all questioningly with her big brown eyes, sucking her thumb.

A Hundred Miles Behind Them

Weazel, the pedal to the metal, zoomed up on a dark blue car going the speed limit. “C’mon, hurry it up, ya slowpoke! Some people’s got a schedule to keep!” he yelled, irately blasting the horn. Without further ado, he whipped his car into the left-hand lane and into the path of an oncoming truck.

“Aaaaaahhhhh!” Weazel screamed, jerking the car to the right where he swiped the back bumper of the blue car, sending sparks flying.

The blue-haired driver of the blue car shouted out of her window, “This is no time to be playing bumper cars, sonny!”

“I ain’t playin’, lady! Whoa-oh-oh!” Weazel went careening out of control off the road, into the ditch where his battered black Fjord finally rolled to a stop. Steam billowed from under its hood.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Weazel got out of the car, opened the hood, and promptly was hit in the face with scalding-hot steam. Red in the face with anger and a steam burn, he jumped up and down in despair. Then, he gave the car a good, solid kick in the radiator, which promptly sent him hopping up and down in pain. “Gah!”

“What am I s’posed ta do now?” he wondered aloud, hobbling back to the driver’s seat.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A tow truck with “Bob Precision’s Collision Repair” stenciled on the side pulled up beside Weazel’s Fjord.

With a cry of delight, Weazel rushed over to welcome the repairman. “Thanks for stoppin’ by, mister. My car broke down, and I’m s’posed ta be somewheres at a certain time, and I’m running late and...”

A beige sloth clad in greasy overalls slowly climbed down from the truck. Languidly, he drawled, “Well...if ya want something done the right way, ya gotta do it the Bob Precision way; that’s what I always say. We’ll get ya fixed up and on the road in no time.”

“Great! Great!” Weazel said, glancing at his watch.

“Now, where’s my toolbox?” Bob drawled, scratching his bristly chin. “Oops. Musta left it back in the truck.”

Finally, after five long minutes, Bob lumbered over to the Fjord and looked under the hood. His beady eyes narrowed into a squint. “Where’s my glasses? Can’t see a thing without my glasses.” He began to pat his pockets in search of his spectacles.

Exasperated, Weazel took the glasses from atop the sloth’s head and shoved them on his nose.

“There they are!” Bob cried. “Everything’s crystal-clear again, not blurry like they was. Did I ever tell ya about the time when...?”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” Weazel interrupted. He jumped up and down with impatience. “What about my car?”

“Now, don’t get in an all-fire hurry, young whippersnapper. I’m a-gettin’ to your car. These things take time, ya know.”

“I ain’t got no time!” Weazel shouted.

“Sure, ya do. We’ve got plenty of time. Won’t get dark for hours. Hmm...let’s see what the trouble is.” Bob peered under the hood and clicked his tongue. “Well...looks like your sparks are firin’.”

“That’s bad?” Weazel said nervously, wringing his hands.

“That’s good, but your radiator’s overheated.”

“That’s good?”

Bob shook his greying head. “That’s bad.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Well...” the mechanic pondered, rubbing his bristly chin. He might have been a blind old coot, but one shrewd look told him that Weazel was a naive city slicker. “Yup.”

After a long silence, during which Bob stared at the Fjord’s innards, Weazel asked, “Today? Can you fix it today?”

Bob considered that for a long time. Finally, he drawled, “I dunno. Depends.”

“Onwhat?” Weazel screamed, his face red with fury.

“On how much your willin’ ta pay me.”

Weazel got out his wallet. “How much will it cost?”

Bob grinned, exposing a shining gold incisor. “How much ya got?”

Ten Minutes Later

“Thanks for the business, sonny,” Bob said, thumbing through his wad of bills.

Weazel got in his car and slammed the door, muttering, “Stupid chiseling rat! Why didn’t he say that all the car needed was some water in the first place? Coulda saved me a fortune.” He started the car and roared away. “Alls I gotta say is that this map better be worth all this trouble.”

Near Manitoo Springs, Coloradio
6:30 PM

The grey Chevrolette wound its way through the snow-capped Rock ‘n’ Roll Mountains. The road, which had been carved out of the face of the mountain, was sandwiched between a sharp, rocky precipice to the right and fragrant fir trees to the left. Rolling grey cumulonimbus clouds overhead indicated an approaching thunderstorm.

As the car came around a bend in the road, a large, luxurious hotel nestled on the side of the mountain loomed before them. Its light stone walls stood out like a beacon against the dark forest.

“Wowzers!” Baloo gave a low whistle. “Would ya take a look-see at that fancy-pants palace?”

“It’s bigger than the high school and elementary combined,” Kit added.

“I can’t see!” Molly cried. “All I see is Mom’s hair.” She leaned over the front seat to get a better look at the hotel. “Wow! That’s like Cinderella’s castle. What is that place?”

“A hotel, I think,” Kit said.

“Can we stay there, Mom?” Molly asked, holding Cassie up to the window so that she could see the hotel.

“No, honey. I’m afraid it’s too expensive for us.”

“Aw, who wants ta stay at a ritzy place like that? I’d feel like a plane who’d lost its props,” Baloo said. “We gotta find somewheres where you don’t gotta worry ‘bout which fork goes with which food.”

Watching a shining green Rolls-Boyce turn off the road in front of them onto the hotel’s driveway, Rebecca sighed wistfully. For a second, she wished that she was an occupant of that Rolls-Boyce.

They drove for a few more miles until they encountered a sign by the side of the road that said: Crazy Caleb’s Cozy Cabins. The sign, as well as the cabins themselves, could have used a fresh coat of paint.

“Cabins, huh? Now this is more my style,” Baloo said, pulling the car onto the gravel driveway.

“Unfortunately,” Rebecca murmured, remembering the posh hotel.

One glimpse of the cabins and Rebecca was against staying there. They looked like rundown shacks to her. She swore that she saw a pigeon fly from one of their windows. “This wasn’t on the schedule.”

“We ain’t goin’ by the schedule anymore, remember?” Baloo said, looking with approval at the cabins.

“Baloo, let’s to go a motel in Manitoo Springs.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Becky?”

“I left it at home along with your common sense,” she snapped.

“Aw, you’re always puttin’ too much on appearances. I bet they’re better on the inside. C’mon, kids.”

Everyone got out of the car, except Rebecca. She remained in her seat, her arms crossed and mouth set resolutely.

Baloo opened her door and offered her a hand out, smiling.

“We’re not staying here. I don’t want my children sleeping in a fire trap, Baloo,” Rebecca said, disdaining his hand.

“Rebecca, be sensible, will ya? It’s gettin’ dark an’ gettin’ sorta stormy.” As if to corroborate his statement, a thunderbolt crashed across the sky. “There ain’t a town for miles. Do you want yer kids ta sleep in the car instead?”

Rebecca shook her head stubbornly.

“It’s gonna get real cold an’ wet up in these mountains tonight, Becky, an’ we didn’t bring the campin’ gear.”

She still wouldn’t budge.

Baloo tried another tack. He whispered in her ear, “Them cabins got chimneys; I bet they got fireplaces. After the kids are in bed, we can curl up in front of the fireplace. Just us two. Whattaya say, sweetheart?”

Rebecca’s frozen expression thawed slightly. She thought that he must have been really desperate if he was trying the romantic approach. “Oh, all right, but there better not be any rats in there.” She took Baloo’s hand and got out of the car. They all walked towards the ramshackle office.

Inside, a scruffy bear dressed in a cowboy outfit was leisurely smoking a pipe with his size thirteen cowboy boots propped on the desk. He tipped his ten gallon hat back on his head and sat up when the five bears filed in. A big, toothy grin spread across his face. “Howdy, folks. Welcome to Crazy Caleb’s Cozy Cabins. What can I do ya for?”

“We’d like ta stay the night,” Baloo replied, affectionately squeezing Rebecca’s paw.

Rebecca murmured irately, “Crazy Caleb’s Cozy Cabins. What a name! We’re crazy for staying here.”

“How much do one of your cabins go for?” Baloo inquired, hoping that it wasn’t too much. He didn’t feel like hearing a big ‘I told you so’ from Rebecca.

“Well...” Caleb took a puff of his pipe and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, sizing them up. He charged rich people extra, but this family didn’t look wealthy, so he stated the usual fee. “Ten buckaroos a night for a two-bed cabin.”

“Sold.” Baloo smiled at Rebecca, who, frowning, retrieved the money from her purse.

“Here ya are, folks.” Caleb handed Baloo a key. “Cabin number three, an’ have a nice stay.” He returned to his comfortable position.

As Baloo opened the door of cabin number three, Rebecca cringed, waiting for something furry or slimy to emerge.

“This is neat!” Molly exclaimed. She took Cassie by the hand and led the toddler in to explore their home for the night.

Rebecca’s eyes flew open. The small cabin did indeed seem nice. Two queen-sized beds with dark green blankets, a fireplace with two comfortable-looking easy chairs before it, a little table with folding leaves and two straight-backed chairs. Before the fireplace was a bearskin rug. It didn’t smell musty or smoky. There wasn’t a single cobweb or spider in sight.

“Told ya it’d be a-okay, Becky,” Baloo said with a smug smirk. “Can Ol’ Baloo pick ‘em or what?” He plopped into one of the easy chairs with a sigh of contentment. The chair creaked and groaned and before he knew it the seat had sagged to the floor so that Baloo’s arms and legs were sticking up in the air comically.

Rebecca laughed at his stupefied expression. She gently tweaked his nose. “You can sure pick them, all right.”

Kit assisted his father out of the chair by tugging on his arms. They both plopped on the floor with an “Oof!”

Rebecca opened the door to what she thought was the bathroom. It turned out to be a closet, empty save for a few clothes hangers. She spun around, looking for another door. There was only the two - the closet and the outside door. “There’s no bathroom!”

“Sure there is, Mommy!” Molly pointed out one of the rear windows. An outhouse was a few yards away.

“Baloo...” Rebecca murmured through clenched teeth, hands on her hips.

“Hey, I didn’t know,” he said helplessly. “The price was right.”

“We couldn’t have gone to a motel instead? A motel with running water and electricity. No, we had to rough it in this...this shack!”

“At least we’re inside, Mom,” Kit reminded quietly. “And it’s starting to rain.”

Baloo flashed an appreciative smile at his son. “Yeah, we’re all in out of the rain,” he echoed, wrapping a placating arm around Rebecca’s waist. “An’ we’re all together. That’s what’s important, honey.”

“A bathroom is important,” Rebecca murmured sullenly.

“I’ll get the fire started, then it’ll seem cozier in here. Remember, we got a date for tonight.” Baloo kissed his wife’s cheek, prompting a reluctant smile from the bearess.

Later That Night
2:00 AM

Rebecca floated down the red-carpeted staircase at the posh hotel, a striking vision of loveliness in her best pink gown. Her hand lightly caressed the solid gold banister as she looked down into the chandelier-lighted ballroom below. Suddenly, she turned and called up the stairs, “Baloo, hurry up, or we’ll be late for dinner!”

“Be right there, Becky!” A loud thundering met her ears, almost as if a herd of elephants was dancing overhead. From the top of the stairs, Baloo said, “Check out these threads, honey!”

What she saw made the bearess want to weep. The big bear was wearing a loud Hawaeean shirt as well as a straw hat. An orange life preserver was around his ample middle and he carried a set of bongos.

“Is this gonna wow the rich folks or not?” he asked loudly, making everyone in the ballroom stare at them. “It is time to party!”

“Oh, Baloo!” Rebecca exclaimed, watching helplessly as he pounded out a jazzy rhythm on the bongos. Tears of frustration and embarrassment flowed down her cheeks.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Icy cold raindrops splashed on Rebecca’s face, waking the bearess from her dream.

“Oh...of all the dumb luck!” she mumbled. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew this cabin was a bad idea.”

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A rivulet was now running down her cheek, down the pillow, making her hair wet.

“Baloo!” Rebecca hissed.

The big bear smiled in his sleep and wrapped an arm around Rebecca, hugging her closer.

“Baloo! Wake up, you dumb bear!” She pounded on his chest.

“Huh...wha...?” Baloo snorted. “Is it mornin’ already?”

“No.”

“Oh...” he yawned. “Good.” He scooted further down underneath the blankets, snoring softly.

“Baloo!” Rebecca whispered loudly, giving him a savage pinch on the arm. She was growing increasingly angry with each cold raindrop that dropped on her. A freezing rivulet was running down her back. “Help me move this bed!”

“Why?” Baloo murmured drowsily.

“Because I’m getting soaked, you idiot!” She yanked him by the ear so that his head was directly under the leak.

“Yeow! That’s cold!” He was now wide awake.

“No kidding,” she said sardonically.

“Well, ya got your shower, Becky,” Baloo said with a wan chuckle.

“Can the jokes, Baloo. We need to move the bed.” Rebecca crawled out of bed.

Yawning mightily, Baloo unwillingly got out of the nice, warm bed to stand on the cold, bare floor. “Okay, one, two, three, lift.”

They strained and struggled against the bed frame, but it was no use. The cantankerous bed wouldn’t budge.

Rebecca got down on her hands and knees. Squinting into the darkness, she could see that the bed’s legs were bolted to the floor. She let out a frustrated sob. She was tired and cold and all she wanted to do was sleep. To add insult to injury, she needed to use the bathroom.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. If we can’t move the bed, we’ll move the mattress.”

Baloo picked up the mattress, blankets and all, and set it down in front of the fireplace, the only place big enough on the floor to accommodate the mattress. “There ya go, Becky.” He immediately dropped on the mattress and resumed snoring.

“My husband, the romantic,” Rebecca said drily, hands on hips as she looked down at him. "No date, no snuggling, because, as usual, Count Casanova fell asleep right after dinner. I bet he doesn't even remember what today is."

She tiptoed to the other bed. By the dim light of the fireplace’s glowing embers, Rebecca could see that her children were sleeping soundly in the next bed - Kit hanging off one side and Molly hanging off the other side with Cassie between them. The baby, lying lengthwise across the pillows, her thumb in her mouth, was blissfully unaware that she was hogging the bed. Rebecca carefully turned the baby ninety degrees and tucked the blanket in around her.

Then, shivering, she got into her own bed. With a sigh of disappointment, she pulled the blanket up to Baloo’s chin. Here they were before a fireplace with the fire embers softly hissing. The steady pattering of raindrops on the roof made the little log cabin even cozier, but Baloo was oblivious to it all.

She was just drifting off to sleep when Baloo murmured, “Warm enough, honey?” Before she could answer, he gathered her in his arms.

Rebecca, resting her head on his chest, answered, “I am now.”

“Good.” Baloo smiled at her and tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her face.

Rebecca returned his loving smile. “Baloo, do you know what day this is?”

“Uh, I dunno.” He shrugged. “Every day feels like Saturday this week.”

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Oh, yeah...” He thought for a moment before saying, “Two years.”

“Twowonderful years,” Rebecca added, nestling against him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Baloo asked tentatively, “Do ya ever wish that you could...ya know, leave me?”

“Leave you?” Rebecca shook her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Never. Murder - now that’s a different story.”

Baloo chuckled and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

“What about you?” Rebecca asked.

“Nah. The thought never crossed my mind more’n six or seven times. Or was that ten or eleven? I dunno. Lost count.”

Rebecca playfully punched him in the stomach.

Baloo said, “Know what I learned the past two years?”

“That you have to wait until I’m asleep to raid the fridge?”

“Very funny, Becky.” He gently tweaked her nose. “I learned that bein’ tied down ain’t so bad.”

At that moment, Cassie came tumbling onto the bed, regardless of her parents.

“An’ here’s one of them little anchors now.”

“Brr!” Cassie shivered, burrowing under the blankets face first. She turned around and snuggled up next to Rebecca, clutching fistfuls of her mother’s nightgown. “Wight?”

“Not light. Dark,” Rebecca said. “It’s still night, baby.”

“Sleepy time, Cassie,” Baloo added gently. “Close your little peepers.”

In compliance, Cassie squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her nose.

“Funny little munchkin,” Baloo said, smiling at the toddler on his chest.

Rebecca sighed contentedly, hugging Cassie. She wouldn’t trade all the riches of the people lodging at the fancy hotel for the happiness she was feeling at that moment. “We’re all here, safe and warm.”

“No pirates this year,” Baloo pointed out. “No bad guys chasin’ us.”

“A nice, quiet anniversary,” Rebecca said.

“Shh!” Cassie whispered, putting her little paws over her parents’ mouths.

“My goodness, you’re bossy, Cassie,” Rebecca said in mock-consternation.

“Gee, I wonder where she gets that from?” Baloo said airily, prompting an annoyed glance from his wife.

“Lubs.” Cassie gave both of them sloppy kisses, which were readily returned. Once again, the little bearess snuggled up to her mother and quickly dropped off to sleep.

“Lub ya,” Baloo whispered, kissing his wife.

Rebecca returned his kiss. “Lub you, too.” She pulled the blanket over Cassie’s thin shoulders. “I’m glad we’re here, out of the rain. Well, sort of.”

Through a yawn, Baloo said, “Told ya my ideas were good ones.”

“You got lucky, flyboy.”

Baloo gazed deep into his wife’s big brown eyes. “Yeah, Beckers, I did.”

Somewhere in the Rock ‘n’ Roll Mountains

A certain weasel wasn’t feeling quite so lucky. As Weazel drove along the lonely mountain pass, his bloodshot eyes peered through the pouring rain in an attempt to see the slippery road. The steady squeak and thump of the windshield wipers threatened to lull him to sleep. However, he refused to allow sleep to overcome him. The mere memory of what he had been through during the past three days fired his brain into wakefulness. He was determined that on the morrow he would be the possessor of Emperor Karat’s treasure map, and he didn't care what he had to do or who he had to hurt to get it.

End of part 4

A Map Made in Heaven
part 5

Manitoo Springs, Coloradio
Cave of the Four Winds
Tuesday Morning
Day 4

Weazel sat in his car, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. While waiting for the von Bruinwalds to arrive, he flicked his beady black eyes around at his surroundings. The small parking lot contained five cars, not including his own black Fjord. His gaze shifted to the red-roofed stone building that doubled as gift shop and entrance to the cave. Rising directly behind the building were the sharp, pointed peaks of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Mountains, speckled with evergreens and scrub bushes. Finally, he looked up at the clear azure sky overhead.

All was silent save for the wind whistling through the trees.

Frowning, the weasel pushed up his sleeve to check his wristwatch. Then, he picked up the clipboard from the seat. He squinted up at the sign on the building’s roof. Spelled out in large, unmistakable red letters was “The Wonderful Cave of the Four Winds”. He was at the right place at the right time, all right. He hoped that the von Bruinwalds weren’t deviating from the schedule; that would be unacceptable.

Weazel angrily tossed the clipboard back on the seat and ranted to himself. “I’m here, the cave’s here. Why ain’t they here? Slept here in this freezing car all last night and what am I gettin’ out of it? Nothing but a stiff neck and bein’ stiffed by those dumb bears. Ah-ah-ah-choo! And a cold!” He drew out a handkerchief to blow his nose with a loud ‘honk’. “Where the heck are they?” When he saw the von Bruinwalds’ car pull into the parking lot, he said irritably, “About blinkin’ time! They’re two stinkin’ hours late!”

He scrunched down in his seat as well as his pudgy body would allow. His ears strained to hear the von Bruinwalds’ conversation through his open car window.

“Yay! We’re here!” Molly exclaimed, bounding from the backseat. She slammed the car door, then pulled on her lavender jacket.

“We would have been here sooner if someone hadn’t taken that wrong turn,” Rebecca said, shooting a pointed look at her husband over the top of the car. She buttoned Cassie’s yellow cardigan and retied her violet hair ribbons before slipping on her own coat.

“Aw, lighten up, Beckers,” Baloo said, reaching into the car for his leather flight jacket - a gift from flying legend, Rick Skye. “We gotta make at least one wrong turn per trip. Right, Li’l Britches?”

Kit grinned as he slipped on his own bomber jacket. “That’s usually the way it goes, Papa Bear.”

“‘Course it ain’t no fault of my ace navigator,” Baloo added quickly. “Kit’s never steered me wrong yet, but blamed if this ol’ pilot can’t never tell his right from his left.”

“You should, Daddy, because you got a ring on your left hand.” Molly pointed to her father’s wedding band.

Baloo patted her on the head. “Yeah, I do, Muffin, but ‘ring’ starts with ‘rrr’ just like ‘right’ an’ that makes me more ker-fuddled.” He took Cassie from Rebecca and ‘flew’ her around until the toddler giggled with glee.

“So you’re saying that you’re always ker-fuddled, Baloo? Why am I not surprised?” Rebecca said with a mischievous smile, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Hardy-har-har, Becky,” Baloo said morosely.

“Who needs to lighten up now? I was just joking,” she laughed, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Happy anniversary, darling.”

Baloo’s scowl gradually turned into a broad smile. He never could stay mad at his wife for long, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Mommy, Daddy, let’s go!” Molly called from the door of the building where she and Kit were waiting.

“We’d better hurry, or the kids will go without us.” Rebecca linked her arm through her husband’s.

“Not Daddy’s little Gingersnap,” Baloo replied, kissing the tip of Cassie’s nose. “She’ll stick with her mama an’ papa.”

“Bye-bye, Dad-dee!” Cassie said. Before Baloo knew what was happening, the toddler had squirmed out of his arms and was hurrying to join her brother and sister.

“You were saying, Baloo?” Rebecca remarked with a grin as they walked towards the building.

Baloo rubbed the back of his neck. “If that kid goes any faster, she’ll break the sound barrier.”

Rebecca laughed as she and her family entered the building.

This was the chance that Weazel had been waiting for. He got out of his car and crossed the parking lot to the Chevrolette. He peeked through the car’s window. Success! The diaper bag was on the backseat.

After flashing a wary glance at the building, Weazel quickly opened the door and snatched up the diaper bag. He zipped it open and, turning it upside down, unceremoniously dumped its contents onto the seat. He pawed through five clean cloth diapers, a tin of talcum powder, a squeaky rubber giraffe, and countless diaper pins to get to the brochures and maps. But when he had looked through everything, he discovered something: he was right back at square one. The treasure map of Emperor Karat wasn’t there.

“It’sgotta be here somewhere! A map don’t just disappear into thin air,” he muttered to himself. Weazel stuck his hand inside the diaper bag to check for secret compartments, but all he found was an open diaper pin, which pricked his thumb. “Ouch!” he cried, sticking his throbbing thumb in his mouth. “Son of a hamster!” he swore, slamming the car door. “Those thievin’ bears must have it on ‘em. How dare they steal my stolen property?”

Fuming inwardly, the fed-up weasel drew his revolver from his jacket pocket and checked to make sure that it was loaded. It was. He snapped the barrel back into place, spun it, and put the gun back in his pocket. “It’s bear-hunting season,” he said sinisterly, stalking towards the cave.

Inside, Weazel found himself on the outskirts of a crowd of approximately twenty-five people of all ages and species. The von Bruinwalds were in the middle of the huddle, near the tour guide.

The tour guide was a vociferous grey wolf wearing a khaki shirt; a flashlight protruded from his shirt pocket. “Gather ‘round, people. Don’t be shy. I’m Gord, your terrific tour guide who’s gonna lead you wonderful tourists through the wonders of the Wonderful Cave of the Four Winds. Whew! Try to say that five times fast. Before we get started, I would like to point out the gift shop over yonder. For the next five minutes, all flashlights are on sale. Batteries not included. Kids, bug your parents for one. It’s really dark in the cave.”

He paused for a reaction, but all he got were blank stares. “Just kidding. The path that we’re taking is well-lighted with 25,000 little twinkle lights. Okay, maybe not quite that many. The tour’s about 45 minutes long, so if you need to use the bathroom, now would be a good time. The owners frown on people using the cave for a toilet and, boy, can they frown! All year round, it’s a cool 54 degrees Fahrenheit in the cave.” He grinned at the ten-year-old twin hyenas right in front of him. “That’s pretty cool, huh, guys?”

The boys nodded.

Gord continued, “There’s lots of animals in the cave, including snakes and bats, but the biggest animal is yours truly.” He proudly jerked a thumb at himself. “Just ask my girlfriend. Aoooooooooo!” The guide let out a howl, which prompted a few polite smiles as well as a few eye rolls from the tourists.

Weazel cringed. Bats! He hated bats!

“Question, question, who’s got a question?” Gord asked, scanning the crowd. “No one? Okey-dokey, artichokey. Let’s have some pun.” He opened a door that led into the cave, allowing cool, damp air to seep out. “Watch your step and your heads, folks. Now stop me if you’ve heard this one. Why did the cave get into trouble? It had a big mouth. Get it?”

Twenty Minutes Later

Weazel, sandwiched between a giraffe and an alligator, trudged along as the tourists walked, single file, through a narrow, winding passageway. He kept shooting furtive glances up at the cave’s ceiling, on the lookout for bats. All he wanted to do was get the map and get out of the bat-infested cave, but the von Bruinwalds were at the head of the procession while he was near the rear.

He could barely hear Gord say, “Around this narrow bend, called Fat Man’s Folly, is the largest room in the cave - The Cathedral. In 1872, miners looking for gold came down here, but, boy, were they fooled. All they found was pyrite or fool’s gold. Ba-dum-dum-ching!”

Receiving no laughs, no chuckles, not even a smile for his lame wordplay, Gord added, “These are the jokes, folks.”

“Is that what he calls ‘em?” Baloo gasped, struggling to squeeze through the narrow crevice.

“Suck it in, Papa Bear,” Kit whispered. He pushed on one side while Molly pulled from the other.

“I am!” the big bear wheezed.

“You’re going on a diet, Baloo,” Rebecca said sternly.

“I’m already on a diet - the see food diet.” Baloo popped through. He ruefully rubbed his sore abdomen. “I see food an’ I eat it.”

“That’s not the kind of diet I meant.”

Catching this aside, Gord said, “Speaking of diets, what’s a vampire bat’s favorite sweet? A sucker!”

Molly whispered to Kit, “His jokes are worse than Daddy’s.”

When everyone in the tour group had entered the large room dubbed The Cathedral, Gord said, “If you look closely at the ceiling, you might see some bats.” He focused his flashlight beam on a tiny blob of brown fur nestled next to a stalactite. “There’s Batty Davis, star of stage, screen, and cave. She’s soaking up the spotlight. And speaking of bats, did ya ever hear the one where two bats were hanging from the roof of a cave when they saw a group of people walking towards them? One bat turned to the other and said, ‘How come the blood doesn't rush to their feet?’ Huh? Huh?”

It was quiet enough to hear a stalagmite grow.

“Tough audience. How about this one? Why did the bat brush his teeth?”

The hyena twins yelled out the punch line simultaneously. “Because he had bat breath!”

At that, everyone chuckled, making the room reverberate with laughter. Weazel took advantage of the distraction to start inching towards the von Bruinwalds, his fingers folded around the revolver concealed in his pocket.

When the laughter had died down, Gord said good-naturedly, “Oh, sure,that you find funny. However, the miners didn’t find this place so funny. They came down here through that hole way up there.” He directed his flashlight beam to a small opening in the roof of the cave, several hundred feet above their heads. “Using ropes, they lowered themselves down here and when they found what they thought was real gold, they got real excited and scrambled all the way back up their ropes to get their equipment.”

Weazel, who was right behind Rebecca, slowly reached out a hand for her purse. He swiftly drew his hand back, leaning casually against an old wooden cart, when Gord said, “This is what they left when they found out it was fool’s gold.”

The guide pointed out the dilapidated wooden cart resting on rusty railroad tracks. The tracks disappeared down a dark tunnel. “Anybody want to take a ride on that roller coaster? Me, neither. Anyway, when the miners came down here through that hole in the ceiling on ropes they were equipped with only lanterns and candles. No nice electric-lighted path for them. Now, we’ll see what it was like for those miners.”

Gord flicked a switch on the wall beside him, plunging them into utter darkness.

When the lights went out, Cassie cried, “Uh-oh!” inciting a few amused chuckles.

Weazel whipped out his revolver and crept up on bears, intending to search their pockets. But before he could reach them, something swooped near his cheek. Gasping with fright, he backpedaled backwards, tripped over a railroad tie, and tumbled into the cart, breaking the brake in the process. The cart started down the tracks and disappeared into the tunnel.

A split second later, the lights came back on. “Dark, huh? I know what will scare the beejeebies out of you - a good joke. How did the female bat attract the male? By batting her eyelids! This way, folks. Follow the brown rock path.”

Meanwhile, the cart went bumpity-bump, clickety-clack down, down, down the tunnel, gaining momentum. The track was so rough that Weazel felt as if his teeth were going to be rattled out of his head. When he finally struggled to his knees, his eyes strained to see through the darkness. He wanted to get off this crazy ride, but he couldn’t even see the end of his nose and he preferred to look before he leapt. Then, he remembered that he had a book of matches in his pocket.

While fumbling for them, the cart flew through a wall-to-wall spider web. “Yeeuck!” he exclaimed, wiping the sticky web from his face. “The housekeeper’s slackin’ off.” With trembling hands, he swatted at a spider that was crawling on the back of his neck. “This place needs an exterminator,” he said with a shudder.

“Whoooaaaa!” Weazel yelled as the cart rounded a sharp bend on two wheels. It then slammed back onto the tracks with bone-jarring ‘thud’, causing sparks to fly.

“Glad that’s glub...” Weazel spluttered as the cart splashed through a waterfall.

Then, his stomach dropped out from under him, as did the ground. The cart had fallen into a chasm, a veritable bottomless pit.

“Heeellllppp!” Weazel screamed, holding onto the sides of the cart with a death grip.

Help came from an unlikely source. A geyser boosted the cart upwards. Before Weazel had a chance to throw up, the cart was thrown onto the tracks on the opposite side of the chasm.

“Whew! That was close!” Weazel said as the cart rumbled through the tunnel. But he had spoken too soon. Bats, peeved that their peaceful slumber had been disturbed, swooped down on him, squeaking and screeching.

Weazel drew out his revolver. “Take that, you bats!” he shouted, firing randomly towards the ceiling. “And that! And even that!”

One bullet ricocheted off a stalactite. The icicle-shaped cylinder of calcium carbonate shuddered, swayed, and smashed to the ground, landing in the middle of the tracks.

When the cart crashed into the stalactite and tipped over, Weazel was thrown out. He hurtled through the tunnel. Up ahead, he saw a light in the distance. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought, This is the end.

It was. The end of the tour, that is.

Weazel landed in a heap behind the tour group.

Gord was saying, “And that concludes this tour of the Cave of the Four Winds, not to be confused with the Cave of the Passing Wind. That’s near Flushing. Be-de-ba-be-de-ba-be-de-ba- bats all, folks!”

The tour group groaned collectively before dispersing.

“That was fun, but it needed more excitement,” Kit said as he and his family traipsed through the gift shop where the tourists had been funneled.

Weazel, wet, muddy and exhausted, crawled out of the cave. “Speak for yourself, kid. This ain’t over ‘til the fat bear sings!” he whispered before collapsing.

Mike’s Peak
A Half Hour Later

“We’ll be comin’ around the mountain when we come,” Baloo sang at the top of his lungs. “We’ll be comin’ around the mountain when we come. We’ll be comin’ around the mountain, we’ll be comin’ around the mountain, we’ll be comin’ around the mountain when we come.” The big bear drove the car up the steep, winding path to the top of one of the tallest mountains in the Rock ‘n Roll range - Mike’s Peak. Oh, so slowly, they went up, up, up and around, around, around, twisting around the mountain itself.

“Twee, twee, twee, twee, twee,” Cassie said happily, announcing the appearance of every single coniferous tree there was. The dark green pine trees crowded close to the narrow, twisty road.

“It smells like Christmas,” Molly stated from the backseat. She took a deep breath of the brisk, pine-scented air.

“Twee, twee, twee...”

The trees thinned out as they climbed into the tundra region of the mountain. The lush forest was replaced by thin greenish-brownish grass, rocky soil, and patches of snow.

“Twee?” Cassie turned big, wondering eyes towards her mother.

“No twees, er, I mean, trees up here, Cassie. It’s too cold.”

“Speakin’ Cassie-talk there, Becky?” Baloo chuckled.

After shooting a glare at her husband, Rebecca suggested, “Look at the snow, baby.”

“Oooo!” the toddler squealed in delight. “Snow, snow, snow, snow...”

Baloo groaned, “How do ya turn her off?”

Rebecca giggled. “Sorry, Baloo, but we didn’t get the model with a shut-off switch. You were the one who couldn’t wait for her to talk.”

“Yeah, I wanted her ta say ‘daddy’ an’ that was it. This ‘twee’ business is drivin’ me batty!”

Kit handed Cassie’s rubber giraffe to his mother. The little girl stuck it in her mouth.

“Ah, the sound of silence!” Baloo sighed in relief. “Thanks, kiddo.” He flashed a grateful smile at Kit in the rearview mirror.

“There’s the top!” Molly shouted excitedly.

“‘Bout time,” Baloo murmured under his breath. Maneuvering the car around the tight hairpin turns was trickier than doing a Baloo Corkscrew. The car wasn’t as responsive as the Sea Duck.

They pulled into another parking lot in front of another gift shop.

“Man, these gift shops grow everywhere,” Baloo commented wryly.

Upon entering the gift shop/observatory, a wonderful aroma, a chocolate-y aroma, assailed Baloo’s nose. It overpowered the mingled scent of spices, flowers, leather, and new clothes. He drifted like a man possessed to the fudge counter. Baloo eyed the squares of delectable fudge, his salivary glands working overtime.

“Yeeeeeee-eeeeeees?” said the salesman, traversing down and up the entire musical scale with just that one word. The hippo looked suspiciously like the salesman from Hayseeds ‘R’ Us. “May I help you, sir?”

“You sure can!” Baloo said, nose pressed to the display case glass.

The salesman, seeing a potentially large client, er, sale, offered the big bear a minuscule chunk of fudge just to get him hooked. Baloo placed the chocolate chip-sized piece on his tongue where he let it melt. “Mmm...baby! That makes drivin’ all the way up here worth it!”

Smiling, the salesman got the jumbo-sized box ready. “How much do you wish, sir?”

Five minutes later...

“An’ a piece of the Rocky Road, a piece of the chocolate mint, one square of the raspberry creme, one with the pecans on it, and, I can’t forget one of them with the walnuts. Ooooo! You even got chocolate-chocolate-chocolate! Definitely one, no, make that two of ‘em.”

“Will that be all, sir?” the salesman said, holding up the bulging box.

“Did I get some of every kind?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, yep, that’s it.” Baloo took out his wallet while the salesman weighed the box of fudge.

“Five-and-a-half pounds at $3.50 per pound comes out to be $19.25.”

Baloo peered at the meager contents of his wallet - two cents, a french fry, his pilot’s license, his driver’s license, and a few snapshots of his family. “Uh, I seem to be a little short,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Don’t let that fudge go anywheres. I’ll be right back with the moolah.”

The desperate bear sped through the crowded gift shop to track down Kit, who was looking at table full of snow globes. “Hey, kid, how much money do ya have on ya?” he murmured casually. His eyes flitted around the gift shop in search of his wife. He wanted to keep this matter strictly hush-hush.

“Why?” Kit asked suspiciously, recalling the last time that Baloo had borrowed money; they had ended up being chased all over the world by Trader Moe and his goons. He reflexively slipped his hand in his pocket.

Before Baloo could answer, Molly tugged on her father’s shirt. She held up a snow globe containing a miniature Mike’s Peak. “Can we get this for Wildcat?”

“Sure, sure, Button-nose,” Baloo said absently. “I’m in a real sticky situation here, Li’l Britches. I need twenty smackers to buy some fudge. You know what your mama would do if she found out I’d bought candy.”

Kit nodded. “She’d confiscate it.”

“Yeah, and then she’d take it away from me. So whattaya say?”

“Fine,” Kit said with a resigned sigh. He knew Baloo wouldn’t stop pestering him until he gave him the money. He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket.

“Thanks, Kit.” Baloo took the bills his son offered him. “I owe ya one.”

“You owe me twenty, Papa Bear,” Kit retorted.

“You won’t tell, will ya?”

Kit shook his head whereas Molly said slyly, “Oh, I won’t tell, Daddy, as long as you let me have some fudge.”

Just then, Rebecca joined them, Cassie in her arms. She gently removed the sleeve of a pink, toddler-sized T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Mike’s Peak’ out of the baby’s mouth. “Did you guys find anything you wanted to buy?”

“I wanna get this for Wildcat,” Molly said, showing her mother the snow globe.

“That’s very thoughtful, Pumpkin. He’ll like that.” Rebecca turned to her husband. Seeing him wearing the expression that he usually had when proposing a screwball scheme, she said, “What about you, Baloo? You look guilty about something.”

Busted by the food police, Baloo thought miserably. Looking to the cubs for help, he mumbled, “Uh, I found the greatest souvenir in the world. Right, kids?”

“What is it?” Rebecca said with real interest.

“Well, it’s, uh...uh...” Baloo stammered, removing his cap and crushing it in his paws.

“Fudge,” Molly supplied with a grin.

Baloo sobered his daughter with a stern look. “Not just any fudge, Becky. It’s gore-met fudge.”

“I should have known,” Rebecca said with an amused smile. “How much?”

Baloo gulped. “Twenty bucks.”

Rebecca blinked once, twice in stunned amazement. “Twenty dollars worth offudge?”

“Not quite.” Baloo chuckled nervously. “It’s only $19.25.”

Quicker than a flash, Rebecca handed Cassie to Kit, tweaked her husband’s ear, and towed him through the gift shop to the rear exit.

“If Mom yells too loud, she’ll start an avalanche,” Kit remarked with a rueful shake of his head. He was glad that nobody he knew was there to witness his parents’ argument.

Meanwhile, Weazel had just arrived at the pinnacle of Mike’s Peak. After what he had been through earlier today, he was inclined to shoot first and ask questions about the map later. That was the mood he was in when he got out of his car and approached the gift shop/observatory. His ears perked up at a familiar sound; he’d know those annoying, arguing voices anywhere. Hand enfolded around the revolver in his pocket, he rounded the building on the icy sidewalk, following the sound of the voices.

Ankle deep in snow, Rebecca paced back and forth in front of her husband. “Baloo Augustus von Bruinwald, do you ever think about anythingbesides your stomach?”

“‘Course I do, Becky. I thought fudge would be nice for all of us, not just me.”

“Nice? Nice?” Rebecca was really ticked now. She poked her finger at his chest with every syllable. “We’re on a budget, mister! How are we supposed to get home if you spend all of our money on candy?”

“Notall of it. Just $19.25.” Sotto voce, Baloo added, “Technically, it wasn’t our money. It’s Kit’s.”

“And that’s another thing. How on earth did you manage to spend that much on fudge?”

“How was I s’posed ta know a little piece of every flavor was gonna be so heavy?”

“Speaking of heavy...” Rebecca poked a finger at his stomach. "Where are your manners, Baloo?"

"I don't want manners. I want chocolate." Before she could spit out a snappy comeback, Baloo wrapped an arm around Rebecca’s waist and spun her around to look over the fantastic view of the scenery. “Fix your brown eyes on that, sweetheart. Ain’t it worth $19.25?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Baloo! We’re not buying the scenery.” Rebecca shivered, gazing over the frozen, snow-topped landscape. The cold, thin air took her breath away. It also cooled her temper. She was glad for Baloo’s warm arm around her. It was freezing up on that ledge. She gazed down into the valley. In a verdant vale far below was a flock of grazing sheep. They looked like tiny white specks from their vantage. Relaxing against her husband, she reluctantly admitted to herself that Baloo had a point. She hated it when he was right! What was twenty dollars in the grand scheme of life? Why couldn’t they splurge a little on vacation? And a little fudge wouldn’t kill him. But five-and-a-half pounds!

Rebecca shrugged, saying testily, “It’s beautiful.”

“So are you, Beckers,” Baloo whispered into her ear, causing her heart to melt.

“Are you trying to butter me up?” Rebecca said as sternly as she could. Why did he have to insert compliments into their arguments?

“Is it workin’?”

Grudgingly, she admitted, “Maybe a little, Baloo.” She sighed, “You know, you can be the most exasperating bear sometimes!”

Baloo beamed with pleasure. “Thanks, Becky. You’re exasperatin’, too.”

Rebecca’s frown transformed into a smile; then a little giggle escaped from her. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it fondly. “Let’s go pay for your $19.25 fudge, but I want at least a taste of it.”

“All right. One taste.” He chuckled at her indignant frown. “Okay, two tastes. Call it my anniversary gift from me to you.”

Seeing the couple turning to go inside, Weazel knew that it was now or never. Shaking with fury, he drew out his revolver, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

“What the heck?” Weazel said angrily, pounding the gun against his palm. He aimed at the bears and tried the trigger again.

Click, click, click, click, click!

The revolver was empty, because Weazel had forgotten to reload it after shooting at the bats.

Baloo and Rebecca entered the observatory, unscathed.

“No! No! No!” Weazel shouted. Hearing a low, loud rumbling, he looked up. Before he could react, an avalanche of snow slid from the building’s roof and plopped on him with a dull thud.

Buried under a heavy blanket of cold, wet snow, Weazel moaned, “I gotta find a new job. Ah-ah-ah-ah-choo!"

End of part 5

A Map Made in Heaven
part 6

On the Road to Ester’s Park
Wednesday Morning
Day 5

Long lanes of sunlight pierced through the pine trees and sprawled across the road that the von Bruinwalds’ car was traversing as it made its way north. The bears’ bad tempers were running almost as high as the alpine highway itself.

“Ouch!” Baloo winced as his head slammed against the car roof. “This road’s got more bounce to the ounce than a trampoline. Do ya hafta hit every dang pothole there is, Becky?”

“I’m not trying to, Baloo,” Rebecca snapped. She nervously glanced in the rearview mirror at the large truck that had been riding their bumper for the past three miles. Because traffic was so heavy, it couldn’t pass.

Baloo crossed his arms and glowered at the scenery. “Seems like ya are.”

“I am not!”

“You are, too!”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!” The car hit another dip, sending Baloo soaring upwards. “Yeowch!” He rubbed his sore pate. “Maybe you should get more in the middle of the road.”

“And risk running into an oncoming car?” Rebecca scoffed. “That’snot a good driving practice.”

“Runnin’ into a car would do less hurt to my head,” Baloo snarled.

“But not to the car!”

Baloo turned to look at his son in the backseat; Kit was catacorner to him. “Why’d ya pick this rough ol’ road, partner?”

Kit, weary of his parents’ incessant bickering, replied, “Because this highway was the shortest route to Ester’s Park.” But it’s not short enough for me.

“They should call it Pothole Road. Hope they got a good hospital in Ester’s Park,” the pilot murmured none-too-quietly.

“Keep up the backseat driving, flyboy, and you will need a hospital!”

“Mom, can we go to Wild Will Hiccup’s Wild West Town?” Molly asked, perusing a bright brochure that had a picture of Wild Will himself on the front. “They got real horses and cowboys and shootouts and...”

“We’ll see, Molly,” Rebecca interrupted impatiently. “Mommy’s driving.”

“Is that what you call it?” Baloo said snidely.

“Ooo! Just...just stay out of this, Baloo! I’ll drive; youride.” Her angry reply was muffled by the blare of the truck’s horn behind them.

Just then, Cassie started to cry, because she needed to be changed. Wailing, the toddler climbed onto Kit’s knees and latched onto her mother’s neck from behind.

Startled by the sudden air restriction, Rebecca gasped out, “Cassie, don’t...gah!...choke Mommy, honey. Do something, Baloo!”

“Iam doin’ somethin’. I’m stayin’ out of this like you told me to.” The big bear’s devious smirk turned to one of agonizing pain when his head once again made contact with the car roof. “Ow!”

“Are you sure we’re going the right way, Mom?” Molly asked, pitching her voice so that it could be heard over Cassie’s crying. “I saw a sign that said the turn off to Ester’s Park was back there.”

Rebecca flashed a questioning look at Kit in the rearview mirror.

“Of course we’re going the right way,” Kit said peevishly. He frowned at his nine-year-old sister. “Molly probably misread the sign.”

“I did not! I know how to read. Let me see the map, Kit!” Molly grabbed onto the road map that Kit held in his hands. A fierce tug-of-war ensued.

“Molly!” Kit yelped when the map ripped in two. The teenager held up his crumpled half. “Now look what you did.”

“You tore it, too,” Molly retorted, tossing her half of the map at him.

“Are ya one-hundred percent, posi-tutely sure we’re goin’ the right way, kid?” Baloo asked, holding Woobie to the top of his head in hopes that the teddy bear would serve as a cushion between his head and the car roof.

“Yes, we’re going the right way!” Kit said irritably. “I’ve only been the navigator since forever. Doesn’t anybody trust me? Jeepers!” He glared out the window, wishing that he was home, alone in his quiet room, away from his annoying family.

At her wit's end, Rebecca impulsively pulled off the road into a scenic overlook area. “Out!” she commanded. “Everyone out now!”

Baloo, Kit, and Molly stared dumbly at her. Cassie’s sobs subsided to ragged whimpers.

“And that’s an order!”

“You ain’t gonna drive off an’ leave us, are ya, Rebecca?” Baloo asked, hand on the door latch.

That tempting thought flashed through Rebecca’s mind. Instead, she sighed in exasperation as she turned off the ignition. “No. We need a break from each other and this car, that’s all. C’mon, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Meanwhile, Weazel, who happened to be driving by at a breakneck speed, saw the von Bruinwalds at the scenic overlook. At risk to life, limb and car, he stomped on the brakes, backed up, and pulled into the overlook. Engine idling, he rolled down window and put his binoculars to eyes, pretending to be a bird watcher.

The von Bruinwalds went about their business, unaware that anyone was spying on them. Rebecca changed Cassie in the backseat of the Chevrolette. Molly collected pine cones. Kit leaned against the railing, staring balefully out over the misty mountains. When Baloo put a paw on the teenager’s shoulder, he shrugged him off and took two steps away.

“Sure is purdy, ain’t it?” Baloo said tentatively.

Kit refused to answer. He continued to glare at the scenery.

Baloo looked at Kit for a long moment, not knowing what to say. Kit rarely got angry at him. Rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, the pilot stammered, “Um...I...uh...forget what I said back there. It was all them bumps on the head talkin’. You’re still the best navigator there is, in the sky or on land, an’ I’m real proud of ya, Kit. Forgive your ol’ Papa Bear?” He held out his hand.

After that heartfelt apology, Kit smiled half-heartedly and took the proffered hand.

Father and son were talking like best friends when Rebecca approached them with Cassie in tow; the toddler was munching on a graham cracker. She tossed the car keys to Baloo. “Let’s see how you do on Pothole Road, hotshot. If you hit one, single pothole...”

“You’ll have my tail section in a sling,” Baloo concluded with a grin. “Too bad we don’t have chips to go along with all them dips.”

The five bears piled into the car and soon were on the road again with Weazel’s black Fjord following at a discreet distance.

In the Chevrolette’s backseat, Molly opened her book bag and dumped her newly-acquired pine cones in. Then, a stunned expression settled on her face. She haphazardly removed everything from her bag, from the pine cones to the melted crayons. She became more agitated with each item.

Kit picked up the crumpled piece of yellowed paper that Molly had tossed on his lap. He smoothed the musty parchment out and looked it over, his eyes widening as they flitted over the Babbleonanonian pictographs. Then he gently traced the large ‘X’ on the left side of the map with his index finger. It appeared to be a genuine treasure map, but surely it couldn’t be. Why would there be a treasure map in their car? It had to be a cleverly-produced facsimile.

He was about to say, “Molly, where did you get this map?” when she shrieked, “Stop, Daddy! Stop the car!”

With a squeal of brakes, the car bumped over a pothole and lurched onto the shoulder. A passing truck driver honked at them angrily.

“What’s wrong?” Baloo and Rebecca cried simultaneously, spinning in their seats to look at their daughter.

But Molly was already out the door. She said frantically, “Open the trunk, Daddy! I gotta look in the trunk!”

Baloo shared a look with Rebecca, who shrugged in response. Everyone slid out, and Baloo unlocked the trunk.

Molly unlatched her suitcase and rifled through it.

“What are you looking for, sis?” Kit inquired, watching as she tossed clothes from her suitcase. A blue hair ribbon landed on his nose.

“Lucy. She’s not here!” Big tears welled up in her eyes and her chin quivered as she wailed, “She’s lost! She’s lost, and...and... I’ll never see her agaaaaaain!”

Rebecca knelt down and gathered her daughter in her arms. “We’ll find her, honey. Shh...don’t cry, Pumpkin.”

Cassie also wrapped her arms around her big sister, gazing up at her with questioning eyes.

While Molly mourned her lost toy, Baloo and Kit diligently searched through the other bags, but to no avail. No brown-haired, brown-eyed doll in a blue dress was to be found.

Baloo shook his head sadly when Rebecca mouthed, “Find her?”

“We’ll just retrace our steps until we find Lucy.” She gave her husband a pointed look. “Won’t we, darling?”

Baloo nodded. Patting Molly’s golden hair, he said, “Yeah, Button-nose, we’ll go rescue Lucy.” He put a hand to his aching head. “Wish we didn’t hafta go back over that bouncy and jouncy road again. Dunno if my noggin can take it.”

Kit spread the two halves of the Coloradio map out on the closed trunk lid. “Who says we have to? About five miles back, there was a side road. We’ll take that over to this other road, which will lead right into Manitoo Springs. Of course, it’s not one of the speedier routes.”

“Who cares?” Baloo said as they slid back into the car. “Gettin’ there an’ gettin’ Lucy’s the important thing.”

One minute later...

“Wrong way! You’re goin’ the wrong way, you stupids! Ester’s Park is the other way!” Weazel yelled when the von Bruinwalds passed him, going in the opposite direction. “They must be tryin’ to throw me off the trail. Ha! I’m too smart for that old routine. Two can play that game. I’ll double-cross the double-crossers.”

With a squeal of brakes, he spun the steering wheel, making a tight U-turn in the middle of the road.

Dizzily, the weasel said, “When I catch up to those bears, they are going to be in real trouble, or my name’s not Weasel...er, Weazel.”

Weazel took off, tires smoking.

Ester’s Park
Three Hours Later

“Where’s the park?” Molly exclaimed. She held Lucy up to the window so that the doll could see the city. “All I see is stores, stores, houses, and more stores.”

Rebecca smiled over at her daughter. She and Cassie were sitting in the backseat to give Molly moral support. “Ester’s Park is the name of the town, Molly.”

“More gift shops,” Baloo grumbled under his breath, “means more shoppin’, an’ you know what that means, Li’l Britches.”

“More sacks to carry?” Kit said helpfully.

Baloo nodded glumly. “Yep. More sacks to carry. Shoppin’ with your mama is,” he caught Rebecca’s frown in the rearview mirror and swiftly changed his tune; “a whole lotta fun?”

Laughing, Rebecca squeezed his shoulder. “Sure, Baloo.” She knew how much he despised shopping.

“There’sa park!” Molly crowed, pointing over Kit’s shoulder to a large expanse of green lawn dotted with shelter houses and playground equipment.

“The ‘Big Guy’s’ gettin’ hungry. What say we enjoy some of Mother Nature’s green before spendin’ all of our green on stuff?”

After their picnic lunch, Rebecca said, “I haven’t gotten a picture of you kids in Ester’s Park yet.”

“‘Yet’ bein’ the key phrase,” Baloo murmured to Kit. “Becky’s probably taken ten rolls of film already.”

“Nine, if you must know, Baloo,” Rebecca said, catching him in a candid shot; he was cramming a piece of fudge into his mouth. “Why don’t you kids go sit at the top of the slide?”

Meanwhile, Weazel lurked behind a nearby oak tree. He watched as Molly clambered up the slide’s ladder.

“Got her, sis?” Kit asked, handing Cassie up to Molly.

“Yep.” Molly firmly grasped the toddler around the waist and swung her onto her lap.

“Hang on to her,” Kit said. “I’m coming up.”

As the cubs posed at the top of the slide, Weazel drew out his trusty revolver. “What a sweet family moment,” he sneered. “Too bad it has to end.”

“Say ‘taffy’!” Rebecca said brightly, focusing the camera.

“No, say ‘bye-bye’,” Weazel said sinisterly. He closed one eye and carefully aimed his revolver at Baloo, who was sitting at the picnic table. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he felt something tug on the hem of his trousers. He looked down just in time to see a chipmunk scurry up his leg and disappear into his jacket pocket.

“What the hey?” Weazel reached into his pocket. “Ow!” he cried, sticking his bitten finger in his mouth. “Stupid furball!”

The chipmunk climbed out of the pocket with a piece of folded-up paper chomped between its teeth. It ran down Weazel’s leg, scampered up the oak tree, and concealed the paper in a hole in the tree.

“Give that back! Without that schedule, I won’t know where those bears are going. If I don’t get that map, Heimlich’s hit-guys will getme.”

The chipmunk sat on a branch, peering down at the weasel. Its chattering sounded like mocking laughter.

“Arrrgh!” Weazel screamed. Furious, he tossed the revolver at the chipmunk. It missed the chipmunk, but hit the branch. The pistol discharged, sending the bullet flying into the tree’s trunk at the same time that Rebecca snapped the picture.

Rebecca said, “Okay, that’s it, kids.”

Molly slid down the slide with Cassie on her lap. “Whee!”

After Kit slid down, he said, “I think you need to check your camera, Mom. It didn’t sound right.”

Rebecca took a picture of Molly and Cassie, who were running around the picnic table. It went off with a quiet ‘click’. “Sounds okay to me, Kit.”

“That’s funny,” Kit murmured to himself. “I could swear that it had more of a bang to it, kind of like a...” The word ‘gun’ went unsaid; there was no need to worry his family unnecessarily. He glanced around the park. He didn’t see anything except a large family of rabbits picnicking at another shelter house and a short man in a pea green suit shouting threats and throwing acorns at a tree. Kit shook his head pityingly, thinking, Must be some kind of a nut.

Downtown Ester’s Park
One Hour Later

The von Bruinwalds were a few of the many tourists that crowded the streets of Ester’s Park. In one short hour - or one extremely long hour, depending upon who was asked - they had visited several specialty shops. But they were far from having visited them all.

They stopped in front of a store from which emanated the aroma of pine trees mingled with holly berries. In the store windows were artificial pine trees covered with decorations. A leopard wearing a Santa Claus outfit stood at the open door, offering candy canes to customers.

“A Christmas store,” Rebecca said happily. She admired the pink and white decorations on one tree in the store-front window.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...” Molly quietly sang along with the tune being played over the loudspeaker.

“Christmas? This is June! Christmas ain’t for six more months,” Baloo said, shifting sacks in his hands. His fingers were tingling from lack of blood flow.

“You can never start too early. Here, Baloo,” Rebecca placed Cassie in his already full arms, “I don’t want her to grab ornaments off of the trees. She breaks it, we buy it.”

Rebecca, Kit and Molly trooped into the shop, leaving Baloo and Cassie outside.

Meanwhile...

A frazzled Weazel hurried along the tourist-filled sidewalks of Ester’s Park. A chewed up piece of paper protruded from his pocket and his right hand was bandaged. He didn’t care that his suit was wrinkled and shabby. He didn’t care that he hadn’t had a decent meal in days. He didn’t care - much - that almost every square inch of his body ached. And he honestly didn’t care about procuring the treasure map. However, he did care what Heimlich Menudo would do to him if he returned empty-handed.

That was why he was pushing his way through the crowds of tourists leisurely promenading past the multitudes of shops. In the meantime, he tried to devise a plan to hoodwink the five bears that he had come to despise.

“Move it!” he snapped to a mother goose with her three children tagging along behind her.

“One side!” he barked to a group of laughing teenagers.

“Outta my way, gramps!” he said, tipping over an elderly bovine shuffling along with a cane. “Why do mountains gotta be so...so...mountainous?” Weazel puffed, holding his aching side. He got his second wind when he spied the bears.

Seeing the lady and two of the kids enter the Christmas store, he made his way through the alley to the unlocked back door. Hand clenched around his revolver, he walked into a dingy back room filled with boxes of new ornaments as well as discarded merchandise. When the doorknob on the door leading to the store rattled, Weazel ducked behind an old artificial tree.

“I’m going to lunch, Dolores,” said a male voice.

“All right, sweetie,” Dolores answered between gum smacks.

A short, stout leopard wearing a Santa suit entered the back room and removed his red hat and coat. He hung them up on a peg. Now, clad simply in a T-shirt emblazoned with “The Sox”, he picked up a paper sack, and exited by the back door.

When the door had closed behind the leopard, Weazel came out of hiding. He grinned at the Santa costume. The perfect disguise. With this coat and this cap, I’ll look just like good old Saint Nick, he thought.

Weazel quickly put on the coat and hat. Finding candy canes in the Santa coat, he unwrapped one and stuck it in his mouth. He then cautiously opened the door leading into the store and peered out the crack.

He saw a store crammed wall-to-wall with Christmas merchandise, sales clerks in Santa hats, and tourists. Especially tourists. Over the din, Christmas music was playing. His eyes lit up when he spotted the three bears he was searching for.

Weazel pushed up the hat that had fallen over his eyes and strolled through the store, over to where the Rebecca, Kit, and Molly were. He hid behind a Christmas tree and crunched on the candy cane.

He heard Molly say, “Where are we going after this?”

“Bhaer Lake. We’re going to take a nature hike,” Rebecca replied, turning a sterling silver bell over in her hands.

“How far is that?”

“Not far,” Kit answered. “It’s in the Rock ‘n’ Roll National Park.”

“Oh, goody! Another park to play in.”

“It’s not a ‘park’ park, Molly,” Kit said with a smile.

“Oh,” Molly said disappointedly. “You mean it’s like Ester’s Park with stores.”

“No, it’s more of a preserve.”

“Is it on the map?”

“Yeah, but Papa Bear’s got the map outside.”

Outside! The fat pilot has the map outside! the weasel thought excitedly. Yes, Weazel, there is a Santa Claus.

He rushed towards the door, bumping into Kit in the process, who politely murmured, “Excuse me.”

Kit stared at the retreating Santa. He thought, There’s something familiar about that guy. He pushed it from his mind when Rebecca said, “What ornament would Daddy like?”

Outside, Baloo, to his immense relief, had spied an empty bench. He wearily sank onto it and let the sacks fall from his aching hands. “Man, all this shoppin’ wears a guy out. Wish there was a mattress store givin’ out free trials.”

Baloo grinned down at Cassie, who was sitting on his lap, looking up at him expectantly. He glanced around quickly to ascertain if anyone was paying attention to them. No one was. “Can you say shoppin’ is bad, Bugaboo?” Bugaboo was Baloo’s special nickname for his youngest daughter, but he didn’t dare say it before anyone, especially Rebecca, for fear of being seriously mocked.

Cassie’s face split into a cute smile. “Boo!”

"Ya wanna play the bugaboo game?"

Cassie grinned at him.

"All right. Ya talked me into it." Baloo hid his eyes, saying, “Where’s my little bugaboo? Where is she?” Then he took his hand from his eyes, exclaiming, “There she is!” He lightly blew a raspberry on her round cheek, inciting a gleeful squeal from Cassie. “Bugaboo! Daddy’s little bugaboo! Yes, you’re daddy’s little buga...” Baloo coughed self-consciously when a man pushing a stroller containing seven wiggly toddlers plopped down beside him on the bench. “Bug... caught in my throat. Ahem!”

Cassie, who wanted the game to continue, whined, “Dad-dee!”

Baloo dug around in the shopping bags until he found a sack of salt water taffy. He chose an orange one, unwrapped it, pulled off a small piece of the gooey confection for Cassie and popped the rest in his mouth.

Cassie’s jaw worked up and down, up and down laboriously.

The man beside him - a skinny, haggard-looking rabbit - said wistfully to Baloo, “You only have one?”

“Three, actually,” Baloo said, snatching the taffy sack away from Cassie before she could plunge her sticky little hands in. Instead, he gave her another small ration of a pink piece of taffy, which she squished between her fingers, fascinated.

Through the chewy taffy, Baloo mumbled, “The older kids are shoppin’ with my wife. Want one?” He offered the taffy to the man.

“You’re lucky,” the rabbit said, refusing the taffy. “Only one quiet little girl to look after.”

Baloo snorted. “Cassie ain’t exactly quiet.”

As if to prove his point, the toddler wailed, “Dad-dee! Can-dee!”

Just then, the rabbit shouted, “Hey, Donnie, no, Johnnie...oh, whoever you are! How many times do I have to tell you not to hit your brother in the head with trash?”

The septuplets were in constant motion. They were up and down in their seats, hitting each other, pulling on hair, ears, and clothes and playing tug-of-war with their toys. It made Baloo dizzy just to watch them and listen to their deafening shrieks.

“Seven,” said the man dismally.

“Seven what?”

“Children. That’s Lonnie, Donnie, Ronnie, Connie, Bonnie, Johnnie, and Burt, Jr.”

“How do ya keep ‘em straight?” Baloo said in amazement.

“I don’t.”

Cassie, meanwhile, was creating her own mischief. She was now trying to cram handfuls of taffy - wrappers and all - into her little mouth.

“Give the candy to Daddy,” Baloo said patiently, holding out his paw.

Cassie said one of her favorite words. “NO!”

Baloo pried the candy from her hands, causing her to cry. “Sorry, kid, but it’s for your own good. You don’t want a tummyache later on, an’ I don’t want an earache from your mama blastin’ my ears out.”

One of the septuplets latched onto the taffy sack and ripped it. Some taffy fell to the ground, but most found its way to the little boy’s mouth.

“Oh...” moaned Burt, Sr. He took out his wallet and handed Baloo a few bills. “Sorry about that. See what I mean? That kind of thing happens all the time. If they’re not fighting, they’re breaking something.”

“Must be rough,” Baloo said sympathetically, trying to keep Cassie from squirming out of his arms. She wanted that piece of taffy on the ground.

“Rough isn’t half of it.”

A plump matronly rabbit approached them with a set of six-year-old quadruplets - two boys and two girls - tagging along. The quadruplets were arguing amongst themselves. Her haggard expression matched Burt’s. “We’re ready to go, dear.”

“You’ve got more?” Baloo exclaimed.

“Yep,” Burt Sr. sighed wearily. “Eleven in all.”

“Wow...that’s, um, wow,” was all Baloo could murmur.

Cassie, who had stopped crying, echoed, “Worw.”

Just then, Weazel approached them. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said in a deep voice. “Ho, ho, ho. Would you like a candy cane, little girl?” He handed a candy cane to Cassie.

“Say, that’s real nice of ya, Santa,” Baloo said, grinning. “Say, ‘thank you’, Cassie.”

“Tank-u,” Cassie murmured shyly, burying her face in her father’s shirt.

Weazel reached for his revolver. “Now, you can give Santa a present in exchange.”

“Huh?” Baloo said, confused. “Ain’t that backwards?”

“No, it’s a little thing I like to call revenge.”

But before Weazel could pull his revolver from his jacket, eleven little rabbits swarmed all over him, clamoring for candy.

They reached their grubby little hands into his pockets, shouting in their shrill voices:

“I wanna candy cane!”

“I wanna candy cane!”

“That’s my candy cane!”

“No, that’s my candy cane!”

Weazel, his Santa coat torn from him by the little hooligans, escaped with his life. He fled down the street, his bright red Santa cap bobbing up and down.

“Let’s go round them up, Muriel, dear,” Burt said wearily.

Baloo watched as the chaotic crowd retreated and the noise faded. “Well, that’s somethin’ ya don’t see everyday, eh, Bugaboo?”

“Boo!” Cassie said, covering her father’s eyes with her little paws.

“Where’s Daddy’s little bugaboo?” Baloo asked. When Cassie removed her paws, he gasped with mock-surprise, “There she is!” and cuddled her close.

Cassie giggled.

Baloo chuckled along with her, then his smile faded. “Wonder what Santa meant by revenge...?”

He snapped out of his reverie when Rebecca waved a bag in front of his face. “Okay, ready to pull chocks, Baloo.”

“Wanna see the ornament Mom picked out for you, Daddy?” Molly said, holding up a small box, which had a picture of the Kitty Hawk Kids’ airplane on the side.

“Yeah, that’s real nice.” Baloo grinned, then he kissed an extremely surprised Rebecca on the cheek. “Have I ever told you thanks for only havin’ three kids?”

Rebecca stared at her husband, dazed. Her eyes narrowed. “No...why? Is this a trick, Baloo?”

Baloo shook his head, stood up, gathered the sacks, and started down the street.

“Why on earth does Cassie have pink goo all over her face?” Rebecca asked. She spit on her finger and wiped the toddler’s face, causing the little girl to squirm uncomfortably. “And what happened to the taffy that I just bought? Did you eat it already? Baloo! Answer me, Baloo!”

For once, Baloo actually enjoyed the scolding. It was preferable to the din that he knew Burt, Sr. had to endure day after day. “Ah...music to my ears.”

Hiking Trail from Bhaer Lake to Faerie Lake
Two Hours Later

“If ya wanna catch a big bear, ya gotta set a big trap,” Weazel averred, throwing an armful of leaves over a mesh of sticks, thus concealing the large hole that he had dug. “There. That oughtta do it.”

“Now, for the bait.” The bait was a jar of honey. He removed the lid, tiptoed to the edge of the trap and carefully placed it in the middle. He stood back to regard his handiwork with pride. “This gives a new meaning to the phrase ‘tourist trap’.

Hearing voices approaching, Weazel whispered excitedly, “Here they come!” He quickly hid behind an aspen tree.

“Do you think real fairies live at Faerie Lake?” Kit asked as he easily trekked up the mountain path. Cassie rode on his shoulders.

Molly, who had to take three steps for each of Kit’s long strides, said incredulously, “How old do you think I am? Cassie’s age?”

“Well, you do believe in Santa Claus,” the teenager said teasingly.

“That’s different,” Molly said with an indignant toss of her head. “Isaw him.”

Kit grinned. “Sure, Short Stuff, and I’ve got the Sea Duck in my pocket.”

“Ask Mom and Daddy. They saw him, too.”

Kit stopped and looked back at Baloo and Rebecca, who were forty paces behind. “Poor Papa Bear. Walking definitely is not his favorite exercise.”

“Look, Kit,” Molly said. “Someone left a jar of honey here.”

“Huh.” Kit circled the honey as well as the pile of leaves it sat on. “What a strange thing to leave in the middle of a trail.”

“Definitely strange,” Molly murmured, watching an ant climbing up the side of the honey jar. “Wait up, Kit!”

Twenty paces behind, Baloo huffed and puffed as he laboriously made his way up the mountain trail. “Why...are we...doin’ this...Becky?”

“If there was treasure or food at the end of the trail, you wouldn’t think anything of this climb, Baloo,” Rebecca said, eyes twinkling mischievously. She, her arms around his, half-led, half-pulled him up the mountain.

“Hardy-har-har,” Baloo gasped.

She motioned to their rustic surroundings - the birds singing overhead, colorful wildflowers that nodded their heads along the trail, aspen trees whose leaves quivered in the soft, summer breeze, stately pine trees reaching towards the clear, blue sky. “We’re doing this to have a real mountain experience, to convene with nature...”

“To...find...a jar...of...honey,” Baloo panted. He stopped and clutched his aching side, unknowingly standing on the trap.

Weazel’s eyes flamed with eager anticipation. He stepped out from behind tree to witness the capture of his prey.

“A jar of honey?” Rebecca exclaimed. She, too, stood on the trap.

Weazel could hear the sticks cracking beneath their feet. “Just a few more seconds,” he whispered, rubbing his hands together.

“Whattaya suppose the honey’s doin’ here, honey?”

More popping and cracking from the sticks.

“Stayinghere. Come on, Baloo,” Rebecca said, catching hold of his hand and dragging him away from the honey before he could think of eating it. “We have to catch up with the kids.”

Both bears walked across the tiger trap safely.

When they had gone around a bend in the trail, Weazel went over to examine the trap. “What...what the heck happened? Why didn’t it work?” He stood in the middle of the trap, near the jar of honey. Nothing happened. The sticks held.

So, he started bouncing up and down - gently.

The sticks held.

He jumped up and down more forcefully.

The sticks still held.

“I must have made it too good,” Weazel murmured, scratching his head.

Just then, a chipmunk scampered across the trap and sniffed at the jar of honey.

“Oh, it’s another one of you nut-eatin’, schedule-stealin’, buck-toothed rodents. I'm gonna get you.” With a crazed laugh, Weazel sprang towards the chipmunk.

The sticks splintered and with a mighty ‘crack’, Weazel did a belly-flop into the pit. “Aaaaaahhhhh!”

Thud.

“Ow...” Weazel moaned faintly.

The chipmunk, who had run when the ground moved beneath it, stood on the edge of the pit, its stubby tail wagging cheerfully. Far below was Weazel, covered with leaves and sticks. Honey oozed out of the jar that was upside-down on his head.

The chipmunk’s chattering sounded like mocking laughter.

Weazel shook his grimy fist at the chipmunk. Bitter tears mingled with the dirt and honey on his cheeks. “Stop laughing,” he sobbed. “What am I going to do now, Heimlich?”

End of part 6

A Map Made in Heaven
part 7

Wild Will Hiccups’ Wild West Town
Greene River, Youtah
Thursday
Day 6

Wild Will Hiccups’ Wild West Town was a mockup of an1860s frontier town located in the middle of the hot desert. It was an overpriced, overdone, overwhelming tourist trap designed specifically to rustle money from unsuspecting greenhorns.

Among those greenhorns was a family of five bears. The von Bruinwalds traversed the board sidewalk bustling with both tourists as well as actors in period costumes, walking past authentic reproductions of log buildings. They stopped in front of Buttons ‘n’ Bows gift shop at the corner of Nowhere Junction and Buckboard Road to get their bearings.

“Okay, what’s next? We’ve seen the marshall’s office, the jail, the bank, the barbershop, and we’ve ridden on the stagecoach,” Kit said, pulling a map of the town from his pocket. In keeping with the western theme, the map had been printed on yellowed paper at the town’s own newspaper office.

“Not to mention Ye Olde Gift Shop,” Baloo mumbled. He was holding a large sack containing souvenirs.

Rebecca shifted Cassie to her other hip. “Molly wants to see the livery stables.”

“Me and Cassie wanna take pony rides,” Molly added, peeking over Kit’s arm at the map.

“Boo!” Cassie chirped. “Boo!”

“What’s ‘boo’, baby?” Rebecca asked with a smile.

“Boo!”

“Do you know what she means, Baloo?”

Baloo shrugged. “Nope.” When Rebecca was distracted by Kit mentioning, “Here’s the livery stables, by the blacksmith shop at the end of Gold Strike Street,” the big bear whispered in Cassie’s ear, “We’ll play later, okay, Bugaboo?”

“Boo!”

“So, what do you want to do, Baloo?” Rebecca asked, catching her husband unawares; he was blowing a raspberry on Cassie’s round cheek.

“Uh, nuthin', honey,” he stammered, blushing furiously.

From the familiar guilty look on his face, Rebecca suspected that Baloo was hiding something from her, something that had to do with 'boo'. She quirked her eyebrows with amusement. “What do you want to see here, flyboy?”

Baloo cleared his throat and winked at Kit and Molly. In a thick southern accent, he drawled, “Waaaaaallll, how’s about me an’ Kit’ll moseyin’ on over to the saloon an’ wettin’ our whistles while you women-folk frolic with the horseys.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said, taking hold of Molly’s hand. “Meet you in front of the Trading Post General Store in a half hour?”

“We’ll be there with spurns on, ma’am.” Baloo tipped his hat politely as Rebecca and the girls headed down the street.

“That’sspurs, Papa Bear,” Kit corrected with a laugh.

“C’mon, pardner,” Baloo drawled, clapping Kit on the shoulder. “Let’s go belly up to the bar.”

Father and son waited until the Bells Fargo stagecoach had thundered by, then crossed the street to the Dry Gulch Saloon.

Baloo, getting into the spirit of the place, flung the swinging doors open wide, inciting a pained “Ow!” from the man on the other side of the door.

“Sorry, pal.” Seeing who was squished behind the door, Baloo cried, “Well, jumpstart my heart! It’s you!”

It was Burt, Sr. The rabbit patriarch looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, which was probably the case. “H-hello,” he stuttered, rubbing at the large knot forming on his forehead.

“Hey, Burt, ol’ buddy,” Baloo boomed. “Are ya followin’ us?”

“Uh...no,” Burt said nervously.

Suddenly, there was a mighty crash and a smash behind him.

Burt winced and reflexively reached for his wallet. “They’re at it again.”

Bewildered, Kit stared at the chaos in the saloon. Two rabbit children were 'riding' on a saddled sawhorse and shouting “Yee-haw!” at the top of their voices. One boy was pouring peanuts down his gullet as fast as he could remove them from the shells. Three girls were doing a cancan atop the bar. Four children were playing cowboys and Indians with their popguns and whooping. The eleventh was pounding away merrily on the player piano. All wore coonskin caps.

“Oh, man! Where’s the wife?” Baloo yelled over the deafening din. Kit’s hands flew to his ears.

“What?”

“Where’s your wife?”

“Life? I don’t have a life,” Burt said in a small, defeated voice. “They’ve sucked it all out of me.”

Just then, to Burt’s relief, his wife returned. She blew a large, shrill whistle that made all of the bratty youngsters stop whatever they were doing and put their hands over their ears. “Everyone outside now!” she screamed.

Baloo, Kit, and Burt were nearly trampled by the stampede of running, hopping, skipping rabbit children. They watched as the noisy procession disappeared down the street.

“Relax, man,” Baloo said, slapping Burt on the back, startling him.

Burt murmured wearily, “I only wish I could.” He trudged slowly in the direction of his brood.

“Kinda jumpy, even for a rabbit,” Baloo remarked.

“Where’d you meet him?” Kit asked as they entered the saloon.

Baloo swept peanut shells from a bar stool and sat down; Kit did likewise. “Ester’s Park. Those kids of his scared the bejeezers and the coat off a Santy Claus.”

“I’d believe it,” Kit said.

Baloo set the shopping bag on the floor, then tapped the bald head of the barkeeper, who was crouched behind the bar. “They’re gone, Mac.”

“T-they are? Are you sure?”

“Yup. They’re solid gone.”

Warily, the canine with black handlebar mustaches stood up. He straightened his red and white striped bow tie and brushed peanut shells from his shoulders. “What’ll it be?”

“Two sarsaparillys, my good man. Uh, you got any money, Kit?”

Kit let out an exasperated sigh and reached into his pocket.

Just then, Weazel cautiously emerged from around the corner of the saloon. His eyes darted from side to side, scanning every inch of the town. Several times, he spun around to see if anyone was following him. His sanity was at the breaking point and his nerves were as raw as meat in a butcher’s window. “No chipmunks here,” he said, breathing quickly. “But I must keep a lookout. Oh, yes, I must. Chipmunks are sneaky little devils. Almost as sneaky as Jerry the Nipper and Mickie Finn. Sneak up with no warning. No map yet. Heimlich must be mad. Not mad, furious. I bet he sicced them on me. Them or the chipmunks, nasty little things. Could be anywhere.”

His left eye twitched nervously as he pressed his nose to the saloon’s large window. A crazed smile lit up his face when he saw Kit spread a yellowed piece of paper on the bar.

“The map! The map! At long last!” he said with a maniacal chuckle. “Those bears have slipped up this time. Thinking they could hide it by keeping it out in the open. Clever. Very clever, but not too clever for Weasel. Weazel. That’s me. Weazel.”

He hurried over the saloon’s swinging door, crouched down, peered in. Seeing that the saloon was free of chipmunks and Heimlich’s goons, Weazel crawled under the door. When a peanut shell crunched under his feet, he immediately stopped in his tracks. He looked down, trembling. “Nuts! Chipmunks have been here! I've gotta get outta here.” He then looked at the map, lying a few feet away on the bar. “Must get the map for Heimlich.” He glanced down. “Chipmunks.” He looked at the map. “Map.” He was truly in a quandary.

Gathering up all his courage, he ran across the saloon to the bar and scrambled onto the barstool beside Kit.

Baloo was saying, “There’s nothin’ like an ice-cold sarsparilly to quench the thirst.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Kit added, taking a sip.

Weazel reached a shaking hand over towards the map and pinched the corner between his thumb and forefinger. He quickly drew his hand back, shivering with fright, when Baloo cracked a peanut.

“We’ve gotta go, Papa Bear,” Kit said, picking up the map, “if we’re going to meet Mom and the girls.”

“All right, pardner.” He drained the bottle and set it down with a contented sigh. He picked up the shopping bag. “Thanks for the sarsparilly, mister.”

“Anytime, sir.” The barkeeper turned to Weazel, who was watching Baloo and Kit leave. “What’ll it be, sir?”

“So close! So close!” Weazel whimpered. He hopped off the barstool and chased after the bears. “Must get the map! Chipmunks everywhere!”

The barkeeper shook his head. “Odd little weasel.”

“That’s Weazel!”

Weazel trotted down the board sidewalk, simultaneously keeping the two bears in his sight while watching for chipmunks and Heimlich’s goons. All the while, he muttered to himself.

Finally, Baloo and Kit stopped in front of the general store where they met up with Rebecca, Molly, and Cassie.

“Just in time,” Rebecca said with a smile. “The show’s gonna start any minute.”

Kit asked Molly, “How were the horses?”

“They were great! The one I rode on was brown and white. What did you and Daddy do?"

Kit's reply was cut short by twangy banjo music blaring from the loudspeakers.

Weazel, who was right behind the von Bruinwalds, jumped and stared at the sky to see where the music was coming from.

Over the loudspeaker, the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, Wild Will Hiccup’s Wild West Town proudly presents the rootinest, tootinest hootenanny this side of the Pecos. Get ready for the Big Bank Stickup!”

“Jack ‘Dead-Eye’ Bowser an’ his gang are robbin’ the bank!” wheezed an elderly actor, waving his arms wildly as he ran full-tilt out of the bank. “Flee for your lives!”

Men, women, and children in period costumes ran screaming throughout the streets and barricaded themselves in stores and buildings. One woman, an elephant, even ‘fainted’ and had to be dragged off the street.

Kit laughed when the old man shook him by the shoulders and said, “Better skedaddle, young ‘un, before Dead-Eye an’ his gang turns ya inta Swiss cheese.”

His laughter turned to confusion when Weazel snatched the map from his hands. “Hey!” he cried. When he turned around, he saw the thick tail of a short man disappear into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Weazel ran behind the crowd that was riveted to the mock bank robbery, towards the parking lot.

“I’m a-callin’ you out, weasel,” the actor marshall said to Dead-Eye.

“Ah!” Weazel yelped, halting in his tracks. Wide-eyed, he scanned the area anxiously. “It’s Jerry the Nipper and Mickie Finn!” He ran around in a tight circle, saying, “Gotta hide! Gotta hide! Gotta...eek! Chipmunks!”

He had mistaken the coonskin caps that Burt’s kids wore for chipmunks. Then, the kids, who were acting out their own bank robbery, started shooting off their popguns.

“Chipmunks with guns!”

Weazel pushed his way through the crowd to get to the one person who could help him - the marshall. He latched onto the actor’s legs, trembling with fear. “You’ve gotta help me! The chipmunks are after me!”

“What?” the marshall whispered in a British accent. “Go away, man, you’re ruining the show.”

“Please! I beg of you!” Weazel whimpered. "Help!"

From inside the bank, Dead-Eye snarled, “I’ve got a present for ya, Marshall Don Dwayne.”

The marshall trained his twin six-shooters on the bank. “Oh, yeah?” he drawled, cocking the revolvers. “Come an’ get the wrappin’ paper, you lily-livered desert snake.”

Weazel screamed when the marshall and the bank robber shot blanks at each other, filling the air with gun smoke. He took off down the street and ducked into the first building he saw. He stood, panting, against the closed door. When his eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness, he saw that he was surrounded by metal bars. He was in the jail.

Babbling incoherently, he escaped the jail by running out the open back door. He stopped in the middle of the near-deserted street, doubled over, panting with fright. The map was clutched tightly in his fist.

Then, came a low rumbling. Mixed with the rumbling was a steady, metallic ‘chink-chink’. Weazel looked up when as sound grew louder.

The Bells Fargo stagecoach was headed right for him. Before the horses could stomp on his toes, he jumped out of the way and into a horse trough. A moment later, Weazel emerged, spluttering and coughing. “I’ve got the map. It’s over!” he laughed in relief. “It’s all over!”

He scooped up the map that was floating atop the scummy water, but when he fingers touched it, it disintegrated.

Pop went Weazel’s sanity.

Weazel let out a chuckle of disbelief. The chuckle turned into crazed laughter. “It’s all over for me! I killed the map. Heimlich’s gonna kill me! And I don’t care! Come and get me, you goons! I’m going to a nice, quiet sanitarium far, far away from chipmunks, maps, and those blasted bears!”

He climbed out of the horse trough. The dripping wet Weazel skipped down the street, singing lustily, “Home, home on the range. Where the weasels chase the bears all day. Where seldom is ‘round a map to be found. And I’m going nuts-y all day, hey! Just the crazy guys! Home, home on the range...”

Cape Suzette
Higher for Hire
Friday Afternoon
Day 7

It was a bright, sunny day in Cape Suzette. The von Bruinwalds had gotten back from their vacation earlier that day, and Baloo and Kit were unloading the car. Lugging suitcases and souvenirs to the house was hot work, but it was preferable to explaining to Molly why Goldie the goldfish had died because well-meaning Wildcat had fed it jellybean omelets.

While they worked, they listened to a baseball game from Kit’s portable radio sitting atop the car’s roof. The announcer was saying, “Bottom of the sixth. Two men out. The Sox lead the Cubbies three to one. Johnson checks the runners on first and third. The windup...and here’s the pitch. It’s going up, up, up, and it’s outta here! Home run for the Sox! And the crowd goes wild!"

From underneath the backseat, Kit pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment. He unfolded it and looked at the hieroglyphics, thinking,It’s the map again. Perplexed, the teenager walked around to the trunk where Baloo was picking up a suitcase in one hand and five sacks of souvenirs in the other. “Take a look at this, Papa Bear. I don’t remember picking this up anywhere.”

Baloo lifted his heavy load with a grunt of exertion. “Becky dragged us to so many gift shops, I can’t keep ‘em straight, either, kiddo.”

“But I don’t think this is a souvenir. It looks more like a treasure map.”

“Treasure map? Yeah, right. We don’t need any more junk,” Baloo said, staggering to Higher for Hire.

Newsman Dog Rather disrupted the baseball game with, “This just in. Uslandian officials have just apprehended Abdul Kazim for the theft of the ancient Babbleonanonian treasure map once belonging to Emperor Karat. There is sill no sign of the map, which was stolen from the Aridian museum by Kazim last Friday night. Dr. Myra Foxworthy, curator of Aridian’s Museum of History, has posted a two thousand dollar reward for any information about the map. Now, we return to the regularly scheduled broadcast.”

Stopping halfway from the car to the house, Baloo’s ears perked up. “Did you say ‘treasure map’, Li’l Britches?”

“You don’t suppose...?” Kit murmured, staring with amazement at the map in his hands. “B-but what would an ancient Babbleonanonian treasure map be doing in our car?”

Baloo dropped everything and snatched up the map. He smiled. “Makin’ us rich. Vacations might not be that excitin’, but they sure are profitable.” He hurried into Higher for Hire with Kit on his heels. “Hey, Becky, how's 'bout takin' a trip to Aridia?"

The End