The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog. John R. Erickson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wagging his stub tail and trying to win a few points with his loyal dog routine. I walked up to him and said, out of the corner of my mouth, “Thanks for all the help this morning. I really appreciate it.”

      I think he missed the note of irony, because he said—and I mean with a straight face—he said, “That’s okay, Hankie, it wasn’t nothing.”

      Dang right it wasn’t nothing.

      Loper was kneeling over the hen, studying the signs. Sally May stood nearby, looking mighty unhappy about the dead chicken. Loper pushed his hat to the back of his head and stood up. His eyes went straight to me and Drover, only when I glanced around, I noticed that Drover had disappeared. It was just me, standing in the spotlight.

      “Hank, if you hadn’t been out barking all night, you might have prevented this. Why do you think we keep you around here?” I hung my head and tucked my tail. “Do you have any idea how much money it costs to keep you dogs around here? Seems that every time I turn around I’m having to buy another fifty-pound sack of dog food. That stuff’s expensive.”

      Maybe this ain’t the time or place to argue the point, but just for the record let me say that Co-op dog food is the cheapest you can buy. I don’t know what they make it out of, hulls, straw, sawdust, anything the pigs won’t eat, and then they throw in a little grease to give it a so-called flavor. Tastes like soap and about half the time it gives me an upset stomach.

      The point is, I wasn’t exactly eating the ranch into bankruptcy. Thought I ought to throw that in to give a more balanced view of things.

      Loper went on. “We can’t afford to keep you dogs around here if you’re going to let this sort of thing go on. Everybody has to earn his keep on the ranch. I don’t want this to happen again.”

      What did he suppose I wanted? Sometimes I just don’t understand . . . oh well.

      He picked up the dead chicken by the feet and carried it down to the trash barrel. I got to admit that I watched this with some interest, since it had occurred to me that there wasn’t much any of us could do for the dead chicken.

      The more I thought about chicken dinner, the more my mouth watered. Couldn’t get it off my mind. I like chicken about as well as any food you can name. Has a nice clean taste except for the feathers. Feathers are pretty tasteless, if you ask me, and they kind of scrape when they go down.

      Sure was hungry for chicken, but I decided against it. Wouldn’t look too good if I got caught eating the murder victim, after all the trouble I’d gotten into that day.

      I tried to concentrate on the scene of the crime. I studied it again, went over the ground and sniffed it out. Nothing, no clues, no tracks, no scent. Could have been a coyote, a coon, a skunk, a badger, even a fox.

      But there was one thing I was sure of. It wouldn’t happen again, not while I was in charge of security, not as long as I could still stand up and fight for the ranch.

      I saw Drover peek his head out of the machine shed. “Get some sleep, son,” I told him. “Tonight we throw up a double guard, and we could get ourselves into some combat.”

      We slept till dark. When the moon came up, we went out on patrol, made several laps around headquarters. Everything was quiet. Off in the distance we heard a few coyotes, but they weren’t anywhere close.

      Must have been after midnight when Drover said his feet hurt, he wanted to rest a while. I left him in front of the chickenhouse and told him to sound the alarm if he saw anything unusual. I went on down and checked things at the corral, made the circle around the place, and ended up back at the chickenhouse about half an hour later.

      Thought I’d drop in unannounced and check on Drover, make sure he was taking care of business. As I sneaked up, I could see him in the moonlight. His ears were perked. He’d take about two steps and pounce on something with his front paws. Then he’d take two more steps and pounce again.

      He wasn’t paying a lick of attention to the chickenhouse. A guy could have driven a truck in there, loaded up all the hens, and been gone before Drover ever got the news.

      I walked up behind him. “What are you doing?”

      He screeched and headed for the machine shed. I called him back. He came out, looking all around with big eyes. “Is that you, Hank?”

      “Uh-huh. What were you doing?”

      “Me? Oh nuthin’.”

      It was then that I saw the toad frog jump. “Playing with a toad frog? On guard duty? When we got a murderer running around loose?”

      He hung his head and went to wagging that stub tail of his. “I got bored, Hank.”

      “Sit down, son, me and you need to have a serious talk.” He sat down and I marched back and forth in front of him. “Drover, I’m really disappointed in you. When you came to this ranch, you said you wanted to be a cowdog. I had misgivings at the time. I mean, you didn’t look like a cowdog. But I took you on anyway and tried to teach you the business. Can you imagine how it breaks my heart to come up here and find you playing with a dad-gummed toad frog?”

      His head sank lower and lower, and he started to sniffle.

      “If you had gone into any other line of work, playing with a frog would be all right, but a cowdog is something special. You might say we’re the elite. We have to be stronger, braver, and tougher than any brand of dog in the world. It’s a special calling, Drover, it ain’t for the common run of mutts.”

      He started crying.

      “Drover, there’s only one thing that keeps you from being a good cowdog.”

      “What is it, Hank?”

      “You’re worthless.”

      “Oh no,” he squalled, “don’t say it! It hurts too much.”

      “But it’s true. I’ve tried to be patient, I’ve tried to teach you, I’ve tried to be a good example.”

      “I know.”

      “But it hasn’t worked. You’re just as worthless today as you were the first time I saw you.”

      “Oh-h-h!”

      “You’re just a chickenhearted little mutt, is what you are, and I don’t think you’ll ever make a cowdog.”

      “Yes I will, Hank, I just need some time.”

      “Nope. Duty’s duty. I got no choice but to let you go.”

      He broke down and sobbed. “Oh Hank, I got no place to go, no friends, no family. Nobody wants a chickenhearted mutt. Give me just three more chances.”

      “Can’t do it, Drover, sorry.”

      “Two more?”

      “Nope.”

      “One more?”

      I paced back and forth. It was one of the most difficult decisions of my career and I didn’t want to rush into it.

      “All СКАЧАТЬ