Read Online The Case of the Kidnapped Collie by John R. Erickson - Free Book Online Page B

ears. “Hank, I’m sorry I was hateful to you, but I didn’t see the coyote.”
    Coyote?
    Loper gave me a scratch on the head. “Yeah, if old Hank hadn’t come charging out when he did, that coyote would have had himself a turkey dinner. Good dog, Hank.”
    Ohhhhh, the coyote. Yes, of course, the, uh, sneaking murderous coyote who had tried to tamper with our precious turkey wildlifes.
    I looked around the circle of smiling faces, whapped my tail on the ground, and gave them my biggest cowdog smile.
    Just then Plato came bounding up. “By golly, Hank, that was really something, the way you took after that coyote. And he was a big rascal too. I don’t know how you did that, Hank.”
    I tried to appear humble. “Oh, it was no big deal, just part of my job. Some of us point quail and some of us beat up coyotes.”
    â€œNo kidding? You beat him up? I wasn’t close enough to see the whole thing.”
    â€œOh yeah, we had quite a scuffle.” I pointed to the scratch on my nose. “He landed a few lucky punches but I pretty well thrashed him. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”
    â€œWhat a guy! And I guess you weren’t even scared, huh?”
    I couldn’t help chuckling. “Scared, of one huge enormous coyote? Nah. It was just a routine call.”
    â€œWow.”
    Just then, I noticed that the conversation above me had stopped. Billy had turned around and was looking off toward the creek.
    â€œShe’s not in the pickup. I don’t know where she could be. Beulah! Here, gal.”
    Plato and I traded glances. Then Slim said, “You don’t reckon she went down to the creek to get a drink, do you?”
    Billy shook his head. “Boy, I hope not. She’s no fightin’ dog and that coyote . . . boys, I think we’d better find my collie.”
    â€œLet’s take these two dogs. They can pick up the scent.”
    HUH?
    Plato and I happened to be looking at each other at that very moment. I noticed that his eyes crossed and his jaw dropped several inches. Perhaps mine did too. I mean, I’d already whipped my coyotes for the day and . . .
    The men headed south toward the creek. “Come on, dogs! Out front. Get those noses to the ground. Find Beulah. Find the coyote.”
    Plato was the first to speak. “Hank, there’s something I must tell you.”
    â€œRight, and there’s something I’d like to mention to you, Plato. You see . . .”
    â€œCome on dogs, let’s go!”
    Gulp.
    It appeared that we had been summoned for active duty. I took the lead and loped out into that grassy flat just south of the house. Plato came along behind. We spread out in front of the men, put our noses to the ground, and worked our way down toward the creek bottom.
    I could hear Plato talking as he sniffed for scent. “There’s quail. There’s rabbit. Cow. Raccoon. How about it, Hank, are you coming up with anything? Hank, I must tell you that my nose is very specific to quail, very specific, and I’m not sure that it will pick up a coyote.”
    â€œQuit yapping. That might help.”
    â€œHank, I’m serious about this. I just don’t think my equipment will work on coyotes, I really don’t, so what I’m saying is that you might need to . . .” All at once he came to a dead stop. “Oh my gosh, Hank, here it is!”
    I trotted over to him, put my nose to the ground, and checked it out. Sure enough, there it was: that peculiar, distinctively wild smell of a coyote. Just a whiff of it caused the hair on my back to stand up. It brought back many unpleasant memories.
    I saw a look of pure terror in Plato’s eyes. “What are we going to do, Hank?”
    I swallowed hard. “We’re going to follow it, what do you think?”
    â€œHank, I can’t do this! I’m a bird dog and coyotes just . . . I don’t have any experience with . . .