He squirmed out of my grip and went padding across the pasture toward the creek. Ordinarily he would have made a dash for the nearest tree but this time he didn’t.
Well, this gave me a valuable piece of information and I began to formulate an overall strategy and plan of battle, which is one of the normal procedures we use in the security business.
One of the major advantages a cowdog has over a cat is that your ordinary run-of-the-mill cat is flighty and impulsive, while your cowdog applies mental discipline to every problem. I think most experts would back me up on this.
I mean, let’s face it: it’s a well-known fact that cats act on whim and impulse and lack the mental whatever-it-is to think in terms of a long-range strategy. Some authorities would say they’re fairly stupid animals, which is what I would say.
Pete’s behavior offered a classic example of this. Instead of staying close to the big trees around the corral, he headed down toward the creek, where the trees tended to be small and scrubby: creek willows and tamaracks instead of elms and cottonwoods.
In other words, Pete had made a crucial mistake which any dog trained in security work would never make: he had become cocky and careless and had allowed himself to be lured away from his best defensive position.
Once I had my basic strategy in mind, I followed the cat out into the pasture and down into the creek willows, keeping him in sight and waiting for my big opportunity. We call this “lulling the enemy.” As Uncle Beanie used to say, “Lull ’em to sleep and then wake ’em up in the rudest possible manner.”
I must have stalked him for a mile or more, far enough from the house so that it was unfamiliar territory. I figured that was far enough. The time had come. The bell was tolling for whom the bell was tolling for.
He was maybe five feet in front of me. I gathered all my strength, threw it into one mighty lunge, and didn’t lunge because my knees went out on me.
All at once I was so weak I couldn’t stand up. I laid down and tried to catch my breath. Felt a little fuzzy in the head.
Pete was grinning, another indication that he didn’t understand the seriousness of his situation. “Nice day for a walk, isn’t it, Hankie?”
“Give me a minute to catch my breath and I’ll show you how nice a day it is.” Sure was feeling weak.
Pete yawned and stretched. “Tell me something, Hankie. With your eyes crossed, how will you find your way back home?”
“HUH?”
“I need to get back and finish your milk and eggs. You followed me out here but you won’t be following me back. It might be hard to find the ranch.”
Hadn’t thought of it exactly in those terms. “Wait a minute, cat. You walked into my trap, so don’t be trying to . . .”
“See you around, Hankie.” He walked away, switching his tail and purring. He glanced back at me and winked. “If you need anything, just give me a call.”
“Don’t think you can bluff me, cat. Hey, come back here! Pete? Hey listen, I was only . . . let’s talk this thing over . . . ”
How the devil had I got myself in this mess?
As the afternoon wore on, I began to suspect that I was in a whole gob of trouble.
Chapter Eight: The Chopped Chicken Liver Mystery
There’s no pleasant way of describing my situation. I was in deep trouble, and with night coming on, it was getting deeper and deeper. Let’s face it: the ranch was a dangerous place even in broad daylight, but at night, when the forces of darkness came out, it was no place for the faint-hearted.
When the sun slipped over the horizon, I felt the dampness rising from the ground and a shiver of dread passed through my battered carcass. Up the creek a ways, I heard the mournful hoot of an owl, and overhead the swish of a bullbat’s wings.
And little footsteps out there in the dark—mice, packrats, lizards, frogs, snakes, a guy didn’t know what kind of creature might be creeping around out there, only I’ll have to admit that snakes don’t have feet so they don’t take footsteps, but that’s pretty creepy in itself, an animal that slithers and doesn’t have the common decency to make a sound.
Me and snakes never did get along, just don’t like ’em at all, the way they sneak and slither and slide and glide through the grass, and if I don’t quit talking about snakes I’m going to get myself worked into a scare. No more about snakes.
There were no snakes out there slithering through the grass so that was one less thing I had to worry about, although I kept hearing this slithering sound out there in the grass. Sounded a lot like snakes, but I knew in my heart that it was big worms. I ain’t scared of worms, even big ones.
I was feeling mighty small and helpless, curled up there in a ball with one ear perked up to monitor the sounds of the night, when all at once I heard a different kind of noise.
Heavy footsteps, the crackle of brush, the rumble of voices, and then . . . singing? Impossible. Nobody but a bunch of drunken coyotes would be singing at that hour of the night. I held my breath and listened.
Me just a worthless coyote, me howling at the moon.
Me like to sing and holler, me crazy as a loon.
Me not want job or duties, no church or Sunday school,
Me just a worthless coyote and me ain’t nobody’s fool.
Well, I certainly recognized that song, and I had a suspicion that I knew the guys who were singing it. Rip and Snort, the two coyote brothers.
I’d had some good times with those boys, back during my outlaw days, but I’d last seen them on the field of battle when I had single-handedly turned back an invasion of the entire coyote nation and saved the chickenhouse from a massacre.
I had some pretty fierce hand-to-hand combat with Rip and Snort, and I didn’t figger they’d be real friendly if they caught me out there all by myself, half-blind and helpless.
I held my breath, hoping they would pass by. They came closer and closer. They were so busy singing and carrying on, I thought they’d miss me.
But all at once the singing stopped. Silence. I could hear my heart thumping. A twig snapped close by. I heard them whispering.
I turned my head around and looked into the sharp-nosed, yellow-eyed face of a coyote. “Well, if it isn’t . . . I’ll be derned . . . how in the world are you doing, Snort, by George it’s great to see you boys again.”
They stared at me.
“Been a long time, hasn’t it?”
I could tell they were thinking.
“How’s the family? How’s old Scraunch getting along, just as ornery as ever, I bet.”
They were still thinking. Rip and Snort were never what you’d call rapid thinkers.
“How come Hunk out here alone?”
“Alone? Well, that’s . . . pretty obvious, isn’t it? I mean . . . maybe it’s not so obvious, huh?”
“Not so obvious.”
I had a feeling that what I said here would be crucial to my survival. That’s a lot of pressure, especially when you’re in poor health.
“Well uh . . . fellers, I could tell you what I’m doing out here but you wouldn’t believe it, I mean it’s just the wildest craziest thing you ever heard in your life. You wouldn’t believe it, would you?”
“Hear first, then decide.”
“It’ll take special powers of belief, and unless you guys think you can handle it, I’d rather not get into it.”
They sat down. “Tell story,” said Rip.
I glanced over both shoulders and lowered my voice. “Listen, I wouldn’t be out here if this wasn’t pretty derned special. I came alone because I didn’t want anybody else to know about it. And if you should happen to pry this out of me, you’ve got to promise me three things.”
They traded glances. “What promises?”
“First off, you’ve got to promise never to tell anyone about it. If news of this ever got out . . . well, it could be very
serious. You promise never to tell?”
“We promise.”
“All right, second thing is, you’ve got to follow the directions exactly and to the letter. One little mistake could cause a catastrophe.”
Rip narrowed his eyes. “What means, catastrophe?”
“It means boom! Fire, explosion, black smoke in the sky, thunder and lightning, famine and drought, dead birds falling out of trees, the whole nine yards. You sure you want to know?”
They went into a huddle and talked it over. Then Snort said, “We take the chance.”
“All right, now we’re down to the last promise. You’ve got to promise to believe everything I tell you, no matter how crazy it sounds.”
Snort shook his head. “Not work. Hear first, then decide. Snort not believe every crazy stuff that come along.”
I was real sorry to hear that because the stuff I had in mind was pretty crazy. The brothers were getting restless. Snort got to his feet and stuck his sharp nose in my face.
“Better you tell or we have big fight, oh boy.”
“All right, all right, relax. Look, Snort, you agreed to Promise Number Two, right? Promised to follow all the directions, right?”
“Right, that one okay.”
“One of the directions is that you have to believe the story.”
Snort and Rip looked at each other, and Snort said, “Uh.”
“But I’ll be reasonable about it. Since you’ve already agreed to believe the story, I’ll drop the third promise. Would that make you feel better?”
Snort sat down and scratched his ear for a minute. “Very complicated, not quite understand.”
“Yeah, but a promise is a promise. That’s simple enough. What do you say, shall we scratch Number Three?”
Snort stared at me. “Scratch ear, got fleas.”
“I mean, shall we drop Promise Number Three? That’s the best I can do.”
“We make talk.” They went into a huddle and talked it over in whispers. Then Snort said, “Okay, we make deal. Drop Promise Three, keep One and Two.”
“When it comes to driving a bargain, you guys are tough.”
“We very tough, fighting a lot and singing coyote song.”
“Well, are you ready for this?”
Their heads bobbed up and down. “We ready. “
“Then here goes. See that moon up there? Would you believe it’s made of chopped chicken liver?” They shook their heads. “But you’ve already promised to believe it.” They bobbed their heads up and down.
“Now, would you believe the moon can come down from the sky and land right here on the ground? And would you believe you can eat that chopped chicken liver until you bust?” They shook their heads. “But you already promised you’d believe it.” They bobbed their heads up and down.
“And would you believe that if you two guys stuck your heads into opposite ends of a hollow log and counted to fifty thousand by ones, it would make the moon come down?”
Rip shook his head, but Snort raised his paw. “Ha! We already promise believe!” He looked at me and grinned. “Brother not catch on yet.” And Rip nodded his head.
“Well, there you are, guys, now you know the whole story. But I hope you don’t think I’m going to let you have the first shot at the chicken liver.”
“Heh, Hunk not catch on either. Rip and Snort get whole moon, eat sick, throw up and eat some more, oh boy. Hunk good dog, sing pretty good, but not smart like coyote.”
“Hey listen!” With great effort, I pushed myself up, and with very little effort, Snort pushed me back down.
“Stay here. Maybe we bring one liver. Now we find hollow log, count to many thousand. So long, Hunk.”
“But what about . . . hey, wait . . .”
They plunged into the darkness, yipping and howling and laughing their heads off. I didn’t waste a minute. I dragged myself down to the creek, slipped into a deep pool, and swam across to the other side.
I didn’t want to be around come morning.
Chapter Nine: Invited for Breakfast
As you might have already figgered out by now, I went into the creek for two reasons: because it’s easier to swim than to walk when you’re stove up, and because you don’t leave a scent in the water. I didn’t want those two brothers following my scent.
I swam as far as I could, until the creek got too shallow, and then I climbed out and started walking. The swim must have done me some good because my aches and pains felt better when I got out. But I still had that Eye-Crosserosis problem, and I had no idea where I was going.
I walked until I came to a big cottonwood tree, and that’s where I stopped for the night. Didn’t sleep too soundly, kept having the same bad dream about getting whupped on my own ranch by a Doberman pinscher. Sounds familiar, don’t it?
What woke me up was the sound of voices, two of them, and I knew that Rip and Snort had tracked me down and were fixing to stomp a mudhole in Hank the Cowdog. I just wasn’t ready for that.
I opened my eyes and looked around. Couldn’t see anyone, not even a blurred image of anyone. But then I heard the voices again, coming from the tree above me. I’d heard those voices before. They belonged to a couple of buzzards.
“Junior, you git outa that bed and go find us some breakfast!”
“But P-Pa . . .”
“It’s shameful the way you mope around in the mornings. Why, when I was your age . . .”
“But P-Pa . . .”
“. . . I was up every morning at daylight, yes I was, out looking for food. Do you want to know what your trouble is, son?”
“N-n-n-not really, not really.”
“The trouble with you is you’re lazy and shiftless, yes sir, and you seem to think our grub’s gonna come walking up and park itself at the bottom of this tree. But life isn’t that way, son, I’ve told you and I’ve told you.”
“P-P-Pa?”
“What!”
“I th-think something w-w-walked up and p-p-p-p-parked itself at the bottom bottom bottom of this t-t-t-t-tree, tree, cause there’s something dee-dee-duh-down there.”
There was a long silence, then Wallace said, “And the other trouble with you, Junior, is that you have this smart-alecky streak. Nobody likes a smart aleck, son, what is that thang down there?”
“B-beats me, but it’s g-g-got t-two tails and a ear.”
“You mean two ears and a tail?”
“Th-that’s what I su-su-su-said.”
“You reckon it’ll eat?”
“I bu-bet it will, ’cause I’m h-hungry.”
“Follow me, son, and always remember that your elders get first dibs. I want a leg.”
I glanced up and saw Wallace spread his wings and step off the branch. He flapped as hard as he could, but he must have miscalculated because he flew right into a tangle of grape-vines that were hanging on a big tree nearby. He squawked and flapped and tried to get out, but he got a leg caught and ended up hanging upside-down.
“Dang the luck! Now look what you’ve got me into!”
Junior stepped off the branch, flapped his wings, and crashed on the ground. The impact drove his beak into the dirt and he got up spitting.
“Junior! Get me down from here! Don’t you dare take a bite, not one bite, until I get there.”
Junior ignored him. He had a crazy grin on his face and came jumping toward me. I raised up and growled and showed him some fangs. He stopped in his tracks, and you should have seen that smile disappear. It just George melted.
“Oh d-d-darn!”
“Junior!” the old man yelled. “There’s no call for cussin’. Now you just watch your language.”
Junior turned and looked up at him. “Well, you c-c-cuss all the t-time.”
“Son, there’s a time for cussin’ and a time for not cussin’, and when you get old
enough to know right from wrong, we’ll let you try it, but there’s no call for cussin’ at this particular time, git me out of this tree!”
Junior glanced at me again. I gave him another growl and he edged a few steps away. “P-pa, it’s hu-hu-hu-him again, him again, that same d-d-dog.”
“What?”
“And he he he ain’t du-dead again.”
As I said, Wallace was hanging upside-down. He stared at me and I stared at him, and for good measure I gave ’em another growl.
“Well I’ll be . . . of all the dad-danged, gosh-blamed, stinking, horrifying, son-of-a-gun pig-nosed lousy luck!”
“P-P-Pa? You’re c-cussin’.”
“You dang right I’m cussin’! When it’s time to cuss, a guy needs to do it right, and furthermore, you git me out of this tree right now, you hear me, or I’ll . . .”
“Y-you’ll wha-wha-what, Pa?”
“I’ll . . .” Just then his foot came loose and he crashed to the ground. “. . . be danged, like to of broke my neck, but you don’t care, all you ever think about is yourself because the trouble with you, son, is that you’ve got no respect for age and wisdom, is what’s wrong with you.”
“I th-thought the tr-trouble with me was that . . .”
Wallace straightened his neck and came waddling over. “You got lots of troubles, is the trouble with you.” He came over and glared down at me. “Shame on you!”
“Well, shame on you right back!”
That straightened him up. “Junior, did you hear that? Are you gonna just stand there and take that off a dog?”
Junior peeked around the old man. “M-most likely I w-will, Pa, most l-likely, cause he m-m-might b-b-bite.”
“Well, I never . . . when I was your age . . .” The old man rubbed his beak with the end of his wing and scowled. “Say there, neighbor, aren’t you the same one who give us a chicken head one time?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t reckon you got another one.”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t figger you did, sure could use one though.”
The Further Adventures of Hank the Cowdog Page 5