to the second story on an inclined conveyer belt on the north side of the factory. On the south side, pink-skinned sheared sheep exited the building, riding down the conveyer belt, which ran into a fenced-in pasture. The air was filled with their frightened bleating.

“Now what, cuz?” Louie asked over the din.

Baloo shrugged. “We get in, get the safe, an’ get out.”

“Let’s do it, man.” Louie took a step, then stopped. “Uh, how?”

“With a brilliant plan.” Baloo grinned, tapping his temple.

Louie hooted with derision.

“Hey, this plan is foolproof.”

“Then the fool should try it out. I’ll get in my own way.”

“Suit yourself,” Baloo said with a shrug.

“Let’s make a bet, fuzzy. First one to get the jewels gets Natalia.”

“Deal.” They shook on it and took off in opposite directions.

“Good luck!” Baloo called over his shoulder.

“An’ you’re gonna need it!”

A few minutes later, Baloo, in a blonde wig and pink Swiss-dotted muslin dress, knocked on the front door of the factory with his shepherd’s crook.

The door was opened by the guard. The elderly border collie squinted up at Baloo, then removed a pair of spectacles from his mustard-colored uniform. Putting them to his eyes, he wheezed in a broad Shropshearian accent, “Aye? What can I do fer ya, lassie?”

“Oh, woe is me!” Baloo wailed in a falsetto voice. “I am Little Bo Peep, and I have lost my sheep. Can you help me find them?”

Just then, Louie arrived, attired in the same costume. “I am Little Bo Peep, an’ those are my sheep that are lost.”

“Imposter!” Baloo said angrily.

“Who are you callin’ imposter, baldy?” Louie hooked Baloo’s wig with his shepherd’s crook.

While the two ‘Little Bo Peeps’ squabbled over possession of the lost sheep, the guard closed the door. Hearing it bang shut, they stopped fighting and looked with defeat and disappointment at the door.

“Now what?” Louie asked, letting go of a fistful of Baloo’s fur.

“Plan B,” Baloo said, setting Louie down. He picked up his wig from the ground and plopped it on his head crookedly, impatiently brushing one long blonde braid over his shoulder.

“Plan B?” Louie asked, dragging his shepherd’s crook in the dirt as they trekked back through the village towards the Sea Duck.

“B for Baloo,” the pilot said proudly, jerking his thumb at his chest.

Under his breath, Louie muttered, “B for big bozo, ya mean.”

Baloo bristled with indignation. “Who you callin’ bozo, chimp?”

“Who’re you callin’ chimp, chump?” Louie said heatedly, his face turning as pink as his dress.

All the way back to the seaplane, their argument echoed and re-echoed through the emerald green hills.

An Hour Later

Baloo and Louie were on the factory’s grassy roof. Shovelfuls of dirt flew in their wake as they tunneled through the turf.

“As soon...toss...as we break...toss...through this sod...toss...we’ll...toss...just swing ourselves down...toss...get...toss...the goods...toss...an’ go,” Baloo said, rhythmically throwing dirt over his shoulder between words.

“Dish the dirt faster, cuz. The natives are gettin’ too friendly.” Louie swung his shovel at the sheep flocking around them.

Baloo smirked, “You afraid of a little lamb?”

“Only without mint jelly,” Louie replied, redoubling his digging speed.

“Don’t worry, my man. We’ll have this done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Clinkwent the shovels. They had hit the hard, metallic roof that was buried under the sod.

“Uh-oh,” Baloo murmured.

“What now, smarty?”

“Take it on the lam!” Baloo shouted. He tossed his shovel aside and took off down the hill.

“Now what kind of cockamamie plan is that?” Turning, Louie saw the factory guard accompanied by a posse of shepherds armed with pitchforks. “A good one.” Like Baloo, he threw down his shovel and ran.

Catching up with the big bear, Louie gasped, “I don’t suppose you got a plan?”

“I got us into this. You get us out. What a team! What a plan!”

“But the safe’s back that way!” Louie puffed, running as fast as his short legs and long arms would allow.

“We’ll worry about the safe after we’re safe!”

Putting on a burst of speed which allowed them to elude their angry pursuers, the duo ran through the field, back to the Sea Duck.

That Night

A faraway owl’s mournful ‘whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo’ was echoed by a sleepy ‘baaaa’ when two shadowy figures cautiously crept through the chilly, foggy night up to the factory.

“This time, my plan can’t fail,” Baloo whispered, peering through the fog to make sure no one was around.

“Optimist,” Louie said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew all we had to do was wait until dark, then sneak in,” he said, slipping his fingers between the window frame and windowsill.

“So, get us in, already.”

“Can’t,” Baloo puffed, struggling to raise the window. “It’s stuck but good.”

“Heh. Wimp.”

“All right, fortune-teller,” Baloo growled. “Let’s see you work your magic.”

Louie pushed the pilot aside and spat on his palms. “Never send a bear to do an ape’s job.” After straining against the stubborn window for a few minutes, he said, “I hate to say it, cuz, but it looks like we gotta work together.”

With a collective grunt of exertion, they pushed the window up with acreak. They stood stock-still, peering through the fog for a moment, afraid that someone might have heard them.

When no one came, Louie crawled through the window. He motioned to Baloo to follow. They found themselves in a dark, silent, cavernous room filled with carding, spinning, and weaving machines, which looked like large, metallic monsters. Far above them stretched the conveyer system that sheep filed through during the day to be washed, dried, and sheared. Stray strands of wool stuck between the floorboards tickled their feet while their noses were tickled by the pungent odor of clean sheep.

“Man, where are the bleachers...mmmph!” Baloo’s question was curtailed by having a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Make with the shh!” Louie pointed to where a flashlight beam was dancing over the machinery.

Ducking behind a loom, they held their breaths as a tall, young guard in a mustard-colored uniform clomped past them, waving his flashlight all around.

Baloo waited until the guard had crossed to the other side of the room before daring to whisper, “Where did Natty’s aunties say the safe was?”

Louie shrugged. “Accordin’ to my recollection...I don’t recollect. I thought you were the detail man.”

“I thought you were. Anyhoo, findin’ a safe in this place’ll be tougher’n findin’ a needle in a haystack.”

“Mighty big haystack,” Louie agreed, his gaze roving around the room. Then he spotted a door behind them adorned with two gold nameplates: Dr. Dalton and Dr. Angus. He tapped Baloo on the shoulder and pointed to the door. “Let’s try the next haystack over.”

Baloo nodded.

Once inside, they strained their eyes to see through the darkness. They were in a small room mostly occupied by two long benches strewn with scraps of fabric, Bunsen burners, notebooks, beakers, and smelly chemicals.

They dropped to the floor when the guard’s flashlight shone through the door’s window. Both breathed a sigh of relief when the flashlight beam moved on.

“Man, that was too close,” Louie murmured, swiping a hand across his sweaty brow.

“See a safe?” Baloo whispered, crawling between the closely-spaced benches to the back of the room.

Louie impatiently swatted at the bear’s foot. “I can’t see nothin’with your size 14s in my way!”

Clang!

“Yeowch!” Baloo yelped, rubbing his sore pate. “Think I found it.”

“That’s usin’ your head,” Louie laughed.

With fumbling fingers, Baloo pulled a book of matches from his pocket and lit one. By the light of the fleeting, flickering flame, he could see that the cast iron safe was a cube, roughly fifteen inches by fifteen inches. It was black and fitted with a silver-knobbed combination lock.

“Can you crack it?” Louie whispered, getting a good look at the safe over Baloo’s shoulder just before the match burnt out.

“Hey, I’m a pilot, not a safecracker.”

“My, oh, me, wish we had some TNT.” Louie cringed when the flashlight passed by the window again. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Sure it just ain’t you?” Baloo retorted.

“Every second we stay here is another second we could get sacked. Let’s make like a nose and blow.”

“Without Natty’s safe?” Baloo said, astonished.

“No,with Natty’s safe.”

“Oh, sure,” Baloo said sarcastically. “An’ how’s it gonna get outta here? Sprout wings an’ fly?”

“You gotta be hidin’ some muscle under all that flab,” Louie said, squeezing the pilot’s biceps.

Baloo gulped. “Carry it?”

“Think of Natalia. Think of how much she’ll thank you.”

Baloo was silent for a while, a dreamy smile on his face.

“Well?”

“I’m thinkin’ about it.”

“Stop thinkin’ an’ start liftin’. The sooner we skedaddle, the safer I’ll feel.”

“Okay.” Baloo got to his feet Lifting it, he groaned, “Where’s a dolly when ya need one?” He teetered for a moment while he regained his balance. The small safe wasn’t as backbreaking as loading and unloading thirty crates of Anvilanian anvils, but, as it had no good handholds, it was just as awkward to tote. “How come you ain’t helpin’ me with this doggone thing?”

“Iam helpin’. Someone’s gotta open the doors for ya,” Louie said blithely, strolling unconcernedly to the door.

Baloo staggered behind him,

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