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

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      “That’s the spirit. I’m going to make the rounds again. If you see anything suspicious, give a holler.”

      I started off on my rounds and left him sitting in front of the chickenhouse door. I was down at the feed room, checking for coons, when I heard him sound the alarm.

      I turned on my incredible speed and went tearing up the hill. I have several speeds, don’t you see: slow, normal, and incredible. I save the last one back for special emergencies. When I turn on the incredible speed, I appear as a streak of color moving across the ground. Anything that gets in my way is knocked aside, often destroyed, and I’m not talking about little stuff either. I mean trees, posts, big rocks, you name it.

      As I was streaking up the hill, I met Drover.

      “Hank, I seen him, he’s up there, my gosh!”

      I had to slow down. “Give me a description.”

      “Big, Hank, and I mean BIG, huge, enormous. Black and white, gigantic tail that whishes through the air, long pointed tongue that flicks out at you, and horns growing out of his head.”

      “Good grief,” I whispered, “what is it?”

      “It’s a monster, Hank, a gen-u-wine monster!”

      I stopped to think it over. I’d never tangled with a monster before. “You think I can whip him?”

      “I don’t know, Hank. But if anybody can, it’s you.”

      “You’re right. Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll go in the first wave, make the first contact. We’ll hold you in reserve. If I holler for help, you come running, get in there with them teeth of yours and bite something. Got that?”

      “I got it.”

      I took a deep breath. “And Drover, if I don’t come back from this one, you’ll have to go on alone. Take care of the ranch and be brave.”

      It was kind of a touching moment, me and Drover standing there in the moonlight just before the big battle. I said good-bye and loped up the hill.

      I stopped and peered into the gloom. At first I couldn’t see anything, but then my eyes fell on a huge shadowy thing standing right in front of the chickenhouse door.

      Drover hadn’t exaggerated. It was a horned monster, all right, and he was fixing to bust down the door and start killing chickens. I didn’t have a moment to waste. It was now or never, him or me, glory or death. I bared my fangs and attacked.

      First contact was made only a matter of seconds after I launched the attack. The monster must have heard me coming, cause he kicked the tar out of me and sent me rolling. I leaped up and charged again but this time I made it through, sank my teeth into him and gave him a ferocious bite. He slung me around, but I hung on.

      He was big, all right, big as a house. I figgered he stood, oh, fourteen feet tall at the shoulder, had three eyes, a long forked tongue, and a tail with deadly stingers on the end of it, also horns that glowed in the dark. And tusks. Did I mention that? Big long tusks growing out of the side of his mouth, the kind that could rip a dog to shreds. Green slobber dripped out of his mouth and his eyes were red.

      It was a fight to the death. “Come on, Drover, attack!” I set up a howl to alert the house. I would need all the help I could get.

      I’ll give Drover credit. He came tearing out of the weeds, yapping at the top of his lungs, and got within three feet of the monster before he veered off and headed for the machine shed.

      The lights came on down at the house. The door slammed and I heard Loper running toward me. I hoped he had the gun. I was getting beat up and tired. I wasn’t sure I could keep up the fight much longer.

      The gun exploded, lit up the night. The monster ran and I started after him, ready to give him the coop de grass, as we say, but Loper called me back. I figgered he didn’t want to risk losing the Head of Ranch Security, which seemed pretty sensible to me.

      So I went back to him, limping on all four legs at once because they all hurt, and so did everything else. Wagging my tail, I went up to him, ready for my reward.

      I didn’t get no reward. To make a long story short, Drover had sent me into battle against the milk cow and I got cursed for it.

      I thought very seriously about terminating Drover—I mean his life, not his job—but I couldn’t find him in the machine shed. So I dragged my battered carcass down to the gas tanks and curled up on my gunnysack bed.

      I could have sworn that was a monster.

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