The Fling. John R. Erickson
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Название: The Fling

Автор: John R. Erickson

Издательство: Ingram

Жанр: Учебная литература

Серия: Hank the Cowdog

isbn: 9781591887386

isbn:

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      Chapter Two: Drover Wants to Be a Truck

      Nothing happened. Honest.

      You thought I heard a voice? Someone calling my name? It was just the, uh, call of a bird. A quail down along the creek. They chirp and twitter, you know, and make a whistling noise: “Bob-white! Bob-white!”

      Who or whom is Bob White? We don’t know that, and since it involves birds, we really don’t care. The point is that your bobwhite quails make that sound, and it sounded a whole lot like “Hank.” No kidding. And so the voice we heard . . .

      Okay, might as well admit it. It wasn’t a quail calling. It was Loper and Slim, the cowboys on this outfit, and the deal was . . .

      Had anyone notified ME that they would be rounding up the home pasture first thing in the morning, or shipping steers or driving them right through my office? I mean, I’m Head of Ranch Security. It’s my job to schedule things and direct traffic and make sure . . .

      How did they expect me to run the ranch when they planned these events without consulting me? One minute I’m catching a few moments of precious sleep, and the next thing I know, I’ve got a herd of cows running through my office.

      Steers, actually. They were steers, not cows. Your cows are adult females who deliver baby calves, while your steers are grown calves who are ready to go to market. But the crucial detail here is that nobody bothered to inform me.

      Well, I was outraged. I was furious. I had come within a gnat’s eyebrow of making a complete and utter fool of myself. I mean, they were trying to pen those steers in the corral, and I was chasing them back into the pasture, so naturally . . .

      They were pretty mad, the cowboys were. I can’t say as I blamed ’em for being mad, but by George, it was their own fault. And after Loper had chased me up to the machine shed—and I mean he was swinging his rope and yelling and everything—after he’d chased me away from the scene of their foolish follyrot, I stuck my head out of the machine shed doors and beamed Loper and Slim Glares of Righteous Anger.

      Next time, maybe they would go through the proper channels and do it right.

      Well, I was in the midst of beaming microwaves of Righteous Anger at our crew of rookie cowboys, when all at once I felt that I was being watched. I turned my head and saw . . . Drover.

      “Don’t stare at me. I’m transmitting a very important message to the careless and misguided people who caused this mess.”

      “Boy, it sure looks like a wreck. Did you do all that yourself?”

      “No, I did not. This is the result of poor planning and sloppy management. I had nothing to do with it.”

      “I’ll be derned. I thought you made ’em stampede.”

      “That conclusion is based on gossip and faulty information, Drover.”

      “Yeah, that was pretty brave. I couldn’t have done it myself. I’m scared of cows.”

      “They were steers.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      “I can’t believe you went after ’em like that. What a hero.”

      Hero? I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my gaze. His eyes were shining with . . . well, adoration and admiration. “Well, Drover, if you must know, I had the choice of running away or making a stand.”

      “Yeah, and you stood up for what was right. What a guy!”

      “Well, I . . . how can I say this without seeming to brag?” I began pacing back and forth in front of him, as I often do when my mind is plunged into deepest thought. “It was a clear case, Drover. The steers had made a forced entry into the office. They were trespassing. They had no right to be there.”

      “So you did run ’em off?”

      I paused for a moment and turned my gaze skyward. “Yes, you’re right. I didn’t want to boast about it. You know how I feel about roasting and bagging . . . bagging and broasting . . . bragging and . . . it just isn’t, well, my nature to thump my own tub, as they say, but . . . yes. I had to do what was right. I gave them fair warning, and when they didn’t leave, I thrashed them.”

      “Gosh, I wish I could do things like that.”

      “It comes with practice, son.”

      He sighed. “I think it’ll take more than practice for me.”

      I studied the runt for a moment. “Yes, I see your point. Fear seems to be a problem for you.”

      “Yeah, and I’m especially scared of cows.”

      “Those were steers, Drover, not cows.”

      “Yeah, but they all look the same to me, and they all scare me.”

      “Drover, what you need . . .” At that very moment, my lecture was cut short by a loud roaring sound. My ears shot up. “Holy smokes, what’s that?”

      Drover dived back into the machine shed. “I don’t know, but it’s loud, and loud noises scare me.”

      “Drover, the problem with you is . . .” I ventured a few steps away from the door and peered off to the east. I saw the source of the loud noise and returned to the shed. “You can come out, Drover, it’s only a truck.”

      I heard his voice coming from the far corner of the shed. “Are you sure? What kind of truck?”

      “It’s a . . . how should I know what kind of truck? The truck part is bright red, and it’s pulling a huge trailer that’s silver.”

      “I’ll be derned. It must be a cattle truck.”

      “Ha. I don’t think so. No, Slim and Loper would never . . .” I studied the truck again. “It’s a cattle truck, Drover, and do you see what this means?”

      “Yeah. It’s loud, and I can’t stand loud noises in the morning.”

      “No, that’s not what it means at all. It means that Slim and Loper ordered a cattle truck without consulting me! The guy just shows up, blaring his motor and leaving tracks on my road, and nobody bothered to tell me. This is an outroge, Draver, and something must be done about it.”

      “Well, I’m kind of busy right now. And my name’s Drover.”

      “Get yourself out here, and that’s an order. Hurry. And by the way, I know your name.” He dragged himself out of the depths of the shed and appeared at the door. “What’s wrong with you? You look sick.”

      “No, I’m scared of red trucks.”

      “See? Just as I suspected. That’s an irrational fear, Drover. Why should you be any more afraid of СКАЧАТЬ