The Further Adventures of Hank the Cowdog

by John R. Erickson

  “Hank?”

  I turned to the little noise-maker. “What?”

  “You got the wrong pickup, Hank.”

  “HUH?”

  “They’re down at the corral.”

  I moved closer, sniffed the tires, checked out the signs, gave it a thorough going over. “This is the wrong pickup, Drover, and since you’re in charge of eyes now, I’ll have to hold you responsible. I’m afraid this will go on your record. “

  “But Hank . . .”

  “Drover, there’s only two kinds of pickups in this world: right ones and wrong ones. This is a wrong one. Study it carefully and memorize the signs. Next time, I’ll expect better information.”

  “But Hank . . .”

  “You think you can find the right pickup now?”

  “I guess so.”

  “All right, let’s move out. You can go first, take the scout position, but don’t forget who’s running the show.”

  “Okay, Hank, just follow me.”

  And with that, we marched down to the corral to attend the funeral of a certain spotted bird dog.

  Chapter Four: Surprised, or You Might Even Say Shocked

  We went ripping down to the corral, Drover in the lead and me coming along behind. I wasn’t used to taking second place, and when we got close enough so’s I could kind of make out the shape of the pickup, I moved up to my proper place.

  “What about Plato? Is he trembling yet?”

  Drover slowed to a walk. “No, he’s not, Hank. As a matter of fact . . . are you sure Plato’s a bird dog?”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  “He’s got pointed ears.”

  “When I get done with him, he’s liable not to have any ears.”

  “And big teeth.”

  “Big, but not big enough, Drover. It’s common knowledge that bird dog teeth are dull.”

  “They sure look sharp.”

  “Looks are deceiving, son. In this business you learn to trust your instincts.”

  I reached the pickup, and right away I caught Beulah’s scent. A train-load of flowers couldn’t have smelled sweeter. There was just something about that woman . . . it’s hard to explain.

  You’d think a guy like me—hardboiled, tested in combat, just a whisker away from being a dangerous weapon—you’d think a guy like me wouldn’t respond to the softer things in this life. But the scent of Beulah did peculiar things to me.

  “Morning, ma’am, and welcome to the ranch. It’s always a pleasure . . .” I stopped and stared at her. It appeared to me that she’d put on a lot of weight, and her coat looked rough as a cob. “What’s come over you, Beulah? You’ve changed, you don’t have a healthy look about you.”

  I mean, her hair looked terrible, as coarse as straw . . .

  It was straw. I was talking to a bale of hay on the back end of the pickup bed, must have followed the wrong scent, I mean alfalfa hay smells a lot like . . . never mind.

  I kind of meandered toward the front. That eye problem was causing me entirely too much grief, and it was pretty clear that I couldn’t depend on Drover to steer me in the right direction.

  Technically speaking, Drover was second in command on the place. Another way of putting it is that he was last in command.

  Drover was hopping up and down and spinning in circles. “Hi, Beulah, gosh it’s good to have you here on the ranch!”

  “Well, thank you, Drover. It’s good to see you boys again.”

  I put a shoulder into Drover and nudged him away. “’Scuse me, son, I’ll handle the women if you don’t mind.” I looked up into her face and my old heart began to pound. Mercy! Those big brown eyes, that silky hair, those nice ears, that fine pointed nose. “Beulah, before you got here, the day was only beautiful. Now that you’re here, it’s almost unbearable.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice.” She smiled. “Thank you, Hank.”

  “On behalf of the security division, it’s my pleasure to welcome you to the ranch. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, more interesting, more exciting, or more of anything else your heart desires . . .”

  “Hank, what on earth happened to your nose?”

  “Oh, just a few routine battle scars, ma’am. We had a little tussle with a silver monster bird this morning, nothing to get alarmed about. Now, if you’d like to take a little walk down to the creek . . .

  “And your eyes . . . are they crossed?”

  Drover hopped back into the conversation. “They sure are, but look at mine, Beulah!”

  I gave him an elbow. “It’s a temporary affliction, Beulah. Now . . .” I heard a growl, didn’t sound like Beulah. “Was that you?”

  “No, Hank, it was my . . . my companion.”

  “Was, huh? Well, speaking of your companion, I mean since you brought the subject up, let me say this. Number one, he ain’t exactly welcome on this ranch. Number two, if he can lie still and keep his yap shut, I’ll try to ignore him. But, number three, if he tries that growl business again, I’m liable to feed it to him for lunch.”

  Would you believe that he growled again? How dumb can a bird dog be? Well, I couldn’t let it slide, even though I had better things to do than to clean Plato’s plow.

  “And number four, you might tell your friend to step over here and we’ll get his whipping out of the way.”

  All at once Drover was there beside me. “Hank, be careful. I don’t think you . . .”

  “I’ll handle it, son. You stand by to clean up the bird dog blood.”

  Plato pushed Beulah aside and leaned over the edge of the pickup. That kind of surprised me. I didn’t think he’d take it that far. Anyway, he leaned out and growled again.

  Turned out that Drover was right. Plato did have sharp teeth and he did have pointed ears. He’d changed since I’d seen him last.

  Drover was hopping up and down, and he whispered in my ear. “Hank, I don’t think that’s Plato.”

  “Huh?”

  “Is Plato a . . . Doberman pinscher?”

  “A Doberman pinscher!” I glanced up at Plato. It was all clear now. I’d made an error. I looked over at Beulah. She seemed a little uneasy. “Who is this imposter?”

  “His name is Rufus, and he just moved to our ranch, and be careful, Hank, because he’s very mean.”

  “What happened to Plato?”

  “He’s back at the ranch. He’s afraid to come out of the post pile because Rufus . . .”

  Rufus took over from there, had kind of a nasty deep voice. “Because I whip him on sight. It’s my ranch now, and I don’t like bird dogs. And I don’t like cowdogs with scabby noses and crossed eyes. You got anything to say about that?”

  I gave it some thought. Those teeth were awful big and awful sharp. “I figger there’s room in this world for differences of opinion. It just happens that I don’t care a whole lot for Doberman pinschers, so I guess we’re about even.”

  “I always heard that cowdogs had a yellow streak.”

  I bristled at that, and it must have worried Beulah. “Hank, don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just a bully. Don’t let him get you into a fight. That’s what he wants.”

  She had a point there. “All right, Beulah, for you I’ll let it go. Come on, Drover, we’ve got work to do.”

  Drover took off like a little rocket, heading for the feed barn. I walked away at a dignified pace. I’d gone maybe twenty steps when I heard Rufus snarl.

  “You got a big mouth, Beulah. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

  “My opinion is that you’re a brute, and I wish you’d never come to the ranch.”

  “Well, you better get used to it, honey, because I’m the main man in your life now. Here, gimme a little kiss, just to let me know that you really care.”

  I stopped.

  “Keep your p
aws off me, you you you animal!”

  “Come on, honey, just a little one.” Bam! She slapped him. “You shouldn’t have done that, Beulah, you just shouldn’t have done that.”

  I turned around. Rufus bristled up and started toward her, showing all of his teeth. “Come here, woman.”

  “Don’t you touch me!”

  I headed for the pickup. “I just changed my mind, Rufus. I don’t think I like your attitude, so why don’t you climb down here and I’ll give you a kiss you won’t forget.”

  He stopped and stared at me. And then he laughed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, cowdog.”

  “Just a fair chance to take you apart.”

  He jumped to the ground and faced me.

  “When you go against a Doberman, there ain’t no fair chance. Just bad, worse, and disastrous.”

  “That’s the kind of odds I like, Rufus. Come on.”

  “Hank, don’t do it!” Beulah called. “Run away, don’t try to be a hero.”

  I took a deep breath and looked at my lady. “It ain’t a matter of trying, Beulah. To some of us it just comes natural.”

  I faced the enemy. I was seeing double, which wasn’t so good since it was hard to judge which one to fight. I picked the one on the left, sucked in my gut, and made a dive for him.

  It was the wrong one. I took a ferocious bite out of the blue sky, and while I was in the air, Rufus got me, and I can’t finish the story.

  I’m sorry, I hate to leave things hanging but I just can’t tell the rest of it. Maybe Drover will write his memoirs one of these days and you can find out what happened.

  So go on to chapter 5 but don’t expect to find out about the fight.

  Chapter Five: Top Secret Material

  I changed my mind. Might as well go on and tell the awful truth.

  I got whupped. There it is, right out in the open, and that’s about the awfulest truth I can imagine.

  In this big land of ours, there’s a certain number of dogs that get whupped every day. But for cowdogs and heads of ranch security, it ain’t a common occurrence. In fact, to some of us getting whupped is not only unpleasant, it’s unthinkable.

  I mean, you spend your life learning the security business. You learn tactics and strategy. You learn to use your eyes and nose and ears. You learn to cut for sign. You learn the difference between good and evil and you devote your life to protecting the good.

  But fellers, it’s hard to protect the good and combat evil when any old jake-legged mutt can come onto the ranch and give you a whupping. It sort of undermines your credibility.

  Maybe I shouldn’t pass along any classified information about the fight. I mean, I’m telling this story and I can tell it any way I choose, and I just might not choose to advertise the gloomy facts. What’s to stop me from changing things around and saying that I whupped Rufus and ran him off the place, with his tail between his legs?

  Well, in the first place it’s fairly common knowledge that Doberman pinschers don’t have tails because they’ve been chopped off. Don’t ask me why, that ain’t my department, all I can say is that some dogs get their tails chopped off, and when that happens it’s not possible for them to get run off a ranch with their tail be­tween their legs because they don’t have a tail, don’t you see.

  In the second place, if I changed the story around it would be a big nasty LIE, and furthermore I get the feeling that I’m just rambling on to avoid telling about the fight which is still a very raw spot in my memory.

  All right, it’s time to get serious. I’d advise you to sit down, take a deep breath, and get a good hold on your chair, because what follows is liable to be the most electrifying, terrifying, scarifying, mortifying, disturbifying and shockifying stuff you ever read.

  One last word of warning before we go on. I’d suggest you lock the doors and winders and draw the blinds, and don’t let the kids read this. I don’t want the children to know that I got whupped.

  After you’ve read this chapter, please cut it out of the book and burn it. It’s easy to do with a pair of scissors or a knife, just . . . oh well, I guess you can figger that part out.

  All right, enough said, here we go. Get hold of something stout and hang on.

  W A R N I N G!!!

  The following information is highly classified and may prove dangerous to certain individuals with high blood pressure, low blood sugar, or poor bladder control. It should be taken in small amounts and followed with periods of sleep. If unusual symptoms occur, please consult a physician immediately. You needn’t consult a lawyer because dogs can’t be sued.

  Me and Rufus were squared off—by the way, are you sure the kids are gone and the doors are locked? Check again, just to be sure—me and Rufus squared off and faced each other.

  You’ve seen Doberman pinschers up close and you know how ugly they are—sharp, pointed ears and big teeth and them nasty little eyes, remind you of something out of a nightmare. Well, that’s what I was looking at.

  Some people claim that a cowdog never knows fear. I’ve got to dispute that. There for a second, I felt a little stab of fear, yes I did, because I wasn’t facing just one Doberman pinscher, I was facing two. Double vision.

  Up in the pickup, Beulah was saying, “No, Hank, don’t do it, run for your life, he’ll tear you apart, he’ll kill you!”

  Rufus glared at me and grinned. “You ready for this, cowdog?”

  I swallered. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You sure you want to get mauled in front of Beulah? We could go down in the bushes and do it in private.”

  “Suit yourself, Rufus.”

  He shrugged. “Well, you had your chance.” He turned to Beulah. “Pay attention, woman, this is what happens to dogs that cross Rufus.” Back to me. “Well, shall we dance?”

  I sprang into action, made a dive for the image on the left, and as you already know, it was the wrong one. I got nothing but air, otherwise I might have . . . oh well.

  Rufus caught me on the fly, when I was in midair, and put a deadly clamp on my neck. I tried to whirl around and get one of his ears but it was already too late. Once you get in the grip of a Doberman pinscher, you don’t break out real easy.

  That’s where the name of the breed comes from, don’t you see. They definitely pinch when they bite, so there you are, a little background material.

  Well, once he had me in that deadly grip he pressed his advantage, which is just the sort of cheap trick you can expect from a dog that’s bred and raised to be a professional bully. He throwed me to the ground. I leaped high in the air and we went around and around. But I still couldn’t get out of his jaws.

  Up in the pickup, Beulah was almost hysterical. “Rufus, stop it, oh please stop before someone gets hurt! Drover, do something!”

  Drover had found himself a nice quiet spot inside the feed barn, but when she called he poked his head out and yipped a few times. I think you could say that Rufus wasn’t worried.

  Well, we snarled and growled and snapped and tore up a large area of ground, but I still couldn’t get out of the pinchers. Then Rufus put me on the ground again. I was completely wore out from the struggle. I didn’t have anything left. Also, I was beginning to think the unthinkable, that I’d been whupped on my own ranch, in front of my assistant and the lady of my dreams.

  Rufus had them little eyes right down in my face. Ever notice a Doberman’s eyes? They got no pity in them, no feeling, and up close they can give you the chills.

  “Say calf-rope.”

  “Rain on you.”

  “Say that Beulah’s an ugly hag.”

  “Never.”

  “Say that you’re yella.”

  “No.”

  Beulah jumped out of the pickup. “Leave him alone, you horrible villain! Let him go!”

  He turned his head and showed her some fangs.
That gave me just enough time to wiggle out and get to my feet. We faced each other again.

  “Hank, run for your life!” Beulah cried. “Don’t be proud, run!”

  “Cowdogs don’t run, Beulah. We fight to the death.”

  Rufus took a step toward me. “That’s the spirit. I hate to kill a dog against his will.”

  He crept toward me, all bunched up in his shoulders and his teeth gleaming in the sun. He had a grin on his face, which was sort of disconcerting, if you know what I mean. Made a guy think he enjoyed this stuff.

  Well, I was still seeing double. Last time, I’d made a dive for the image on the left, so this time I went for the one on the right and it was wrong too. Don’t know how to explain that. I mean, when you try both sides and still draw a black bean, what more can you do?

  I dove at him and missed. He made a slash at my throat but got me by the scruff of the neck instead. I twisted around and managed to get one of his ears. I didn’t tear it off but I put a wrinkle in it.

  Drover came tearing out of the feed barn, slipped between two boards in the fence, and started running in circles around us, yipping as loud as he could.

  “Get him, Drover!” I yelled. “This is the fight you’ve been saving up for, son!”

  He made a dive at Rufus and nipped him on the rump. Rufus whirled around and showed him a mouthful of teeth, which just about caused the little mutt to turn inside-out. He screeched and headed for the feed barn.

  I piled into Rufus and thought I was getting the upper hand when he put a judo move on me, throwed me to the ground and landed on top of me.

  I knew I was finished. I could hear Beulah crying.

  Rufus got me by the throat, closed his jaws, and started digging in.

  Well, as you might have guessed by now, he didn’t kill me. All at once, Slim and High Loper and Billy (he lived on a ranch down the creek and always kept a bunch of mutts around, such as Plato and Rufus, and Beulah was the only good dog he’d ever owned, if you ask me), all at once, Slim and High Loper and Billy were there, yelling and trying to pull us apart.