Faded Love. John R. Erickson
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Название: Faded Love
Автор: John R. Erickson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Hank the Cowdog
isbn: 9781591887058
isbn:
“And you see them two little roosters over there?”
I looked to the right and saw them. I memorized their conformation. Actually, they looked like every other young rooster I’d ever seen: two wings, two legs, two feet, a lot of feathers, and a stupid expression. “Yes, I see them. Go on.”
“Them’s the laziest two boys that ever walked on this earth, and you know what else? They’re MY boys! Now, how do you explain something like that?”
I was having a little trouble tying this all together. “What do the boys have to do with the strange noise?”
“I’m a-gettin’ there. I remember waking up from a light sleep and saying to Elsa, ‘Elsa, did you hear a strange noise?’ And Elsa, she said she’d describe it as peculiar, not strange.”
“Hmmmm.”
“So we agreed, me and Elsa, that it was somewhere between strange and peculiar.”
“Very good. Now you’ve got to concentrate. Do you have any idea what might have caused that kind of peculiar noise?”
Again, he looked around to see if anyone was listening, then leaned forward. “I’ve got a darned good idea, but first I need to know if you’re the kind that’s going to blab this all over the ranch.”
“I didn’t become Head of Ranch Security by blabbing.”
“Okay. I just wanted to hear you say that before I gave you any more information.”
“Go on, J.T. It’s safe with me.”
“Okay, I’ll have to trust you. It was them two boys of mine. They’d been out playing around, see, and thought they could sneak back in while the old man was asleep.”
I glared at him. “Wait a minute. I came up here to solve a mystery. Where is it?”
“Well, it’s a mystery to me why their mother lets them boys get by with that kind of darned nonsense, and you always struck me as the kind of dog who cared about others and their problems, and it was kind of quiet this morning and I said to Elsa . . .”
I put my nose in his face and growled. “You’re wasting my valuable time and I don’t like that.”
His beak dropped open. “Well there’s no need to be tacky about it! If you want to know what I think . . .”
At that very moment, Drover came streaking up the hill, scattering hens and pullets in all directions. You should have seen the feathers fly! J.T. heard the commotion and started squawking.
“Help! Help! It’s a wolf, run for your life!”
That was the last I saw of J. T. Cluck that day, which was just fine with me. There are very few things I hate worse than being suckered by a dumb chicken.
Drover arrived in a nervous spasm and a cloud of dust. “Oh Hank, come quick, you won’t believe, oh my gosh, it’s awful, help, attack, the baby, save him, Hank, it’s all up to you!”
Ordinarily I would have told my assistant to calm down and give me the facts so I could build my case. I mean, there’s such a thing as blind panic, and in this business you learn that blind panic is a poor place to start.
On the other hand, when duty calls, a loyal cowdog must respond. I mean, answering the call of duty is just by George bred into us.
Did I stand around gathering facts, building my case, taking descriptions of suspects? Did I waste time asking Drover who was attacking what, where, when, and why? No sir. I lit a shuck and went streaking down the hill toward the gas tanks, scattering chickens.
“Out of the way, you fools!” You should have heard the squawking. Dumb birds.
I reached the gas tanks in a matter of seconds, stopped, set up a forward position, and waited for the enemy to show himself. He didn’t appear, so I started barking.
“Hank!” Drover was standing at the top of the hill, in front of the house. “You went the wrong way. Up here!”
It appeared that I had . . . Drover’s directions had been very vague. How was I supposed to . . .
I shot up the hill. “All right, where is he? Give me a coordinate.”
“Left!”
I went streaking off to the left and heard Drover’s voice again.
“Hank, not your left. MY left!”
I screeched to a halt, spun around, and sprinted back to Drover. “You’re going to have to work on your navigation, son. This is unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry, Hank, but I thought . . .”
“Never mind what you thought. Which way’s the enemy?”
“In the yard. But you’ll have to jump the fence.”
In spite of the dangerousness and seriousness and emergenciness of the situation, I couldn’t help smiling. “That fence means nothing to me, son. It’s just one of life’s many hurdles.”
“Really? I don’t think I can jump it.”
“That’s fine. Watch me and study your lessons.”
“Okay, Hank. I’ll work on it later.”
“You bet you will—on your own time. Here I go!”
I got a run and virtually flew over that fence. A deer couldn’t have done it better. I landed in the yard, went into my fighting crouch, set up a forward position, sniffed the air, and scouted the terrain.
The yard was Forbidden Territory, you might say. Sally May had planted grass and shrubs and flowers and other stuff, and Iron Law Number One on the ranch was that dogs weren’t allowed inside the fence.
Cats were. You could usually find Pete the Barncat lolling around the back porch—waiting for a hand-out and never mind the rest, it makes me mad just thinking about the injustice of it.
Anyway, once inside Forbidden Territory, I scouted the terrain. Some thirty feet in front of me, I saw Little Alfred, Sally May and High Loper’s baby boy. He was wearing a sailor’s suit and playing with a dump truck.
A short distance from Little Alfred, perched upon a cardboard box, was a large cake with white icing and two yellow candles.
The clues were fitting together: baby, clean clothes, cake, candles. This was some kind of ceremony. An ordinary dog, untrained in security work, would have leaped to the conclusion that this was a birthday party. But, drawing on my years of experience, I didn’t make that assumption. The facts said, “Ceremony of Some Kind,” not necessarily a birthday party.
Two questions remained unanswered. First, where was the child’s mother? And second, what monster or evil force had put Little Alfred’s life in СКАЧАТЬ