The Hen of the Baskervilles by Donna Andrews Page B

neck. Jim-Bob took a sideways step closer to Randall and lowered his head slightly, as if to suggest that he wouldn’t say no if someone offered to scratch behind his ears. Randall obliged, and Jim-Bob’s long face took on a dreamy look.
    â€œAnd they eat less for their size than horses, which is another big selling point with a small farmer,” Randall went on. “A hundred and fifty years ago, your mule was like your tractor and your pickup, all rolled into one. By 1920, there were around five million mules in the U.S., and probably hundreds of thousands of these donkeys that the mule breeders used to produce them. And then along came Henry Ford and the model T.”
    Jim-Bob pulled his head back. I wondered at first if he was objecting to Randall’s mentioning the man whose invention had led to the downfall of his breed. Then Jim-Bob stuck his head forward again at a slightly different angle, so Randall could reach the other ear.
    â€œPoor old guy,” Rob said. “I guess with nobody using mules anymore, this guy’s out of a job.” He stepped forward and began scratching the ear Randall had abandoned. Jim-Bob closed his eyes and sighed with delight.
    â€œLots of people still use mules.”
    We glanced around to see a woman with cropped gray hair, blue jeans, and a t-shirt with a picture of a mule and the words MULE PROJECT on it.
    â€œHey, Betsy,” Randall called.
    â€œThe Amish use mules.” Clearly this was Betsy’s favorite topic. “They may use horses for their buggies, but they plow and harvest with mules. And mules are popular for wilderness trekking. In fact, in parts of the world where you can’t take a car, people still use mules for daily transportation. The U.S. Army uses them in places like Afghanistan where the terrain’s too steep to drive or even land a helicopter.”
    â€œBetsy’s one of the people trying to keep the American Jack Mule breed from dying out,” Randall added. “What happens if we discover a whole lot of new uses for mules, and can’t get top-quality ones?”
    â€œShe’s protecting the strategic mule reserve,” I said. “I like that.”
    â€œAnd I aim to go home with all the mules and donkeys I came with,” Betsy said. “You hear me, Randall?”
    â€œBetsy,” Randall began. “We’re just as sick as anyone about the chicken thefts, and we’re tightening up security considerably now. I know you’re worried that someone will steal your stock, but we’re doing our best to guard the animals—”
    â€œNo, I’m not that worried about theft,” Betsy said. “My mules and donkeys pretty much guard themselves. Heaven help the poor rustler who goes after them. No, I’m talking about that blond hussy who keeps coming ’round trying to bludgeon me with her checkbook.”
    â€œGenette Sedgewick?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s her. She’s been trying to tell me she’s a big supporter of the American Mammoth when she can’t even tell a mule from a donkey,” Betsy went on. “For that matter, she can’t tell a jack from a jenny.”
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t even know what a jack or a jenny is,” Rob said.
    â€œSame as stallion and mare in horses,” Randall put in.
    â€œOkay, I think I could figure that out, now that I know the terminology,” Rob said.
    â€œYou’re allowed not to know the terminology.” Betsy’s gruff tone softened a little. “You’re not pretending to be an experienced mule and donkey owner.” She turned back to Randall. “If that woman comes around here again, I might throw her in the pen with Henry, my orneriest mule, and see which one comes out alive.”
    Randall glanced over at me.
    â€œYou think we could come up with a rule about harassing exhibitors?” he asked.
    â€œI assume by ‘we’ you mean