The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887294
isbn:
Buster nodded his head. “Yeah, we will, only I already know.”
“ONE!”
Zoom! I went to Full Flames on all engines and made a wild dash for the house.
Sure, I knew it wasn’t dignified for the Head of Ranch Security to be chased up on his own porch, but at that moment I didn’t much care about appearances and so forth.
You’ll be proud to know that I made it. I flew up on the porch, skidded to a stop, and took refuge . . . that is, I established a new command post behind . . . okay, I hid behind Slim’s legs, but the important thing is that I began firing off barks immediately, and I mean big barks, huge barks, barks that would have scared the liver out of a liverwurst sandwich.
Boy, you should have seen me. First I fired off two barks around Slim’s left leg, then shifted sides (to confuse them, don’t you know) and fired off two more barks around his right leg. Pretty impressive, huh? You bet it was.
And then—this will impress you even more—I poked my head between his legs and showered those hoodlums with a burst of Fully Automatic Barking. It stopped ’em in their tracks, I mean, those guys were so shocked and terrified, they turned and ran like the cowards they really were.
Okay, maybe it helped that Slim finally got his shotgun loaded and sent a full chorus of buckshot singing over their heads, but mainly it was my Counter Offensive of deep, manly barking that turned the tide of battle in our favor. As the cowards vanished into the distance, I crept out of my Bunker Position and went charging after them. I went all the way to the edge of the porch, if you can believe that.
“Let that be a lesson to you, you meanies! And don’t forget that your mommas are twice as ugly as you are!”
Boy, I got ’em told, huh? You bet I did. I had a feeling we’d never see those guys again. After I’d sent the rascals fleeing for their lives, I turned a sour gaze on Slim.
He grinned and shrugged. “Derned gun jammed on me.”
Great. Swell. But wasn’t there a new miracle invention called gun oil? I mean, some guys actually oiled their shotguns once or twice a year, and guess what—their shotguns didn’t jam! And their dogs didn’t get chased up on porches either.
Oh well, we’d won a huge moral victory over the stray dogs and I had saved the calves from being stampeded all over the county, and maybe I could find it in my heart to forgive Slim for being . . . whatever he was. Lazy, I guess, and just a little careless with his Head of Ranch Security.
Perhaps you’re wondering what became of Drover in all the excitement. I wondered about that myself, and it took me half an hour to solve the mystery. Actually, it was no mystery at all. It was the biggest non-surprise of the year. In the heat of battle, he had run back to the hay barn and had squeezed himself in between two bales of hay.
I discovered his hiney sticking out. We needn’t report the full extent of the tongue-lashing I gave him. It was pretty severe, but he promised never to do it again, and this time, I got the feeling that he really meant it.
And with that, we retired to the house—and yes, to the warmth and comfort of Slim’s woodburning stove.
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