About noon they stopped, the animals badly in need of rest and food, for they had brought no grain with them.

Sheila said, “I’m making a fire this time.”

“No fire!”

“A tiny fire under a big tree. Don’t be so nervous, Dude — they’ll never come this far. Their worries are out east.”

He fumed but gave in. “Where are the two fools? They should have caught up when we were stopped by those bully-boys.”

“Don’t know and don’t care.”

“If they’re not here I’ll leave without them, and you won’t talk me out of it.”

“No skin off my nose,” she shrugged. “But forget about riding off — these critters have to rest.”

“The devil they do.”

“Can’t break them down or we’ll be hiking. You’d like that, I bet!”

“Hurry up with the broth."

“No problem, master, but it’s going to cost you.”

He glared without speaking.

She held out her hand. “Cross my palm with silver, Brix — eleven pound worth.”

“Don’t worry — I’ll hold it safe for you.”

“We’ll both hold onto it.” Her voice hardened. “I’ll have it now, Brix, or you’ll go on alone.”

“As if I’d bloody care! What have you done to earn it?”

“I haven’t slaughtered my buddy, that’s for sure. But if you remember, Grimy and I were the only ones who did anything useful at the hall.”

“Why, because someone bleated inside? You didn’t hit anybody — just startled him.”

“Maybe so, but it’s more than you did — and he behaved for quite awhile afterwards. So, you heard me — cash on the barrelhead, or you’re on your own. I swear I won’t stir.”

Life is never simple.

Received a phonecall the other day from Thomas Harrigan of the DEA, badge #849361, who needed to talk to my wife. No, he couldn't explain to me--it was a confidential matter. Any contact with a government agency can be threatening, but I advised my wife it was probably an attempt to pin something on one of her doctors regarding improper prescription of narcotics, and I suggested she simply give them the facts.

But no. My wife, Harrigan explained to her, was in big trouble, as was her drug provider, RightSource. She must immediately fork over $1800--within the hour--or face the possibility of jail. He had an arrest order from the Secretary of State. (I dunno, possibly the Attorney General was busy, and the federal courts tied up.) But since she was in hospital at the time he reduced it to $900, and also told her that once they had successfully prosecuted RightSource the money would be returned. He also made it easy by letting her deposit the money locally rather than go to a DEA office. Decent fellow.

She referred the matter to me. Had to be a scam, of course, but having run into previous government errors--a mistaken tax lien on our property, for instance--I checked with our lawyer just to be certain. Obtaining his confirmation, I set about playing Mr Harrigan, phone 240-949-2585, posing as a thoroughly cowed doofus. His English, by the way, was perfect except for a curiously staccato delivery. His male phone-receptionist, however, had a slight Latino accent.

Again being helpful, Harrigan arranged for me to go to a local location, a grocery store with a Western Union terminal, where I was to pay the nine-hundred dollars plus a ninety dollar fee via an International Money Transfer, then call him with the confirmation number. Payment was to be made to Logan Rodriguez, the attorney handling the RightSource case, at 33 Kennedy Avenue in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. Harrigan neglected to clarify whether Rodriguez was on vacation or overseas following a foreign lead.

He insisted I take a cell phone with me, apparently so he could monitor my movements at all times. "But I don't have a cell," I pleaded, so he let me off. After a suitable period I called Harrigan with the ten-digit confirmation number, but he insisted it couldn't be correct. Not too surprising, for I had pulled it out of the air. He demanded I read from the receipt.

"Receipt? What receipt."

"You didn't get a receipt!"

Since I was a doofus he had to let it pass. But after checking, he informed me the payment hadn't come through.

I assured him I'd done everything correctly, but no go. I would have to call Western Union, he told me, and straighten out the matter. Sensing a growing suspicion, I now sang the Harrigan song to him: "H-A, double R-I, G-A-N spells Harrigan." I hadn't reached the second A before the line went dead.

So what's with all the scams?

First, of course, Americans are rich--and Nigerians, South Africans, Dominicans and what-have-you need our money worse than we do.

Second, email and cell phones make long-distance fraud convenient and relatively safe. Our law enforcement agencies don't so much as bother to take reports on these scams.

Third, Americans are used to honesty. We're trusting souls, and when someone contacts us on an emergency matter we tend to believe him. Not so in other countries, where the first response will be skepticism.

This one was easy to deal with. But think of the call when your son or daughter vacationing in Westofnowherestan has been hit by a car and taken to a clinic, and the doctors need five-thousand dollars or they won't operate!

How clearly will you be thinking when that call comes through?

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