Read Online The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog by John R. Erickson - Free Book Online Page B

and sort of raise the cultural standards of the whole danged world. I mean, it was that good.
    We sang it four or five times, then all at once Snort’s ears perked up and he lifted his paw. We stopped and listened. Off in the distance, we heard yapping. There was something familiar about that yap, but for a minute I couldn’t place it. Then it occurred to me that we were sitting on a spot just a quarter mile north of ranch headquarters.
    That yapping was coming from Drover.
    I think Rip and Snort had took a notion to amble on down there and see if they could get into a fight. I had to explain that they couldn’t run fast enough to get Drover into a fight, that it would be a waste of their time.
    â€œLet me go down and talk to him,” I said. “He’s an old buddy of mine. We used to work together. Maybe he’ll come back and sing with us. We could use another guy on baritone.”
    They shrugged. Snort sat down and started scratching his ear. “More fun fight, but singing okay too. We wait.”
    So I trotted down to the ranch, weaving a little bit from side to side and humming “Me just a Worthless Coyote.” Say, that was a good song!
    When I was, oh, twenty, twenty-five yards away, I slowed to a walk. I could see Drover up ahead of me. He was peering off in the distance. The little dope hadn’t even seen me. I decided to stop and watch him for a minute.
    He was all bunched up and tense. Off in the distance he could hear Rip and Snort laughing and belching and having a good time. He’d cock his head and listen for a minute, then he’d give out a yip-yip-yip. On every yip, all four feet went off the ground. Then he’d stop and listen again.
    He never saw me, never had the slightest notion that I was sitting ten yards away from him, watching the whole show. This was my replacement, understand, the guy who had taken over my job as Head of Ranch Security. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the ranch had gone completely and absolutely to pot.
    I cleared my throat. Drover froze. “What was that? Who’s there?”
    â€œWhat’s going on, son?”
    He gave out his usual squeak and in a flash he was high-balling it for the machine shed, squalling like a turpentined cat. He’d gone maybe ten, twelve yards when he slowed to a walk, then stopped.
    â€œHank, is that you?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œIt is?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œHow can I be sure? I thought you’d left the country.”
    â€œWell, why don’t you just trot your little self over here and see.”
    He came real slow, a few steps at a time. “It . . . it sure sounds like you.”
    â€œSon of a gun.”
    â€œYou’re not fooling me, are you, Hank?”
    â€œGet over here and quit messing around.”
    â€œOkay, okay, I just . . . I want to be sure, that’s all.” He came creeping up to me. “Hank?”
    â€œBoo.”
    He screamed and jumped straight up into the air. “Hank, stop that, don’t do that to me! My nerves . . .”
    â€œDrover, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. What a pitiful excuse you are for a night watchman. I could have carried off half the chickenhouse and you never would have gotten the news.”
    He hung his head. “I know it. I’m a failure. Every morning I wake up and say, ‘Here’s another day for you to mess up, Drover.’ And I do, every one of them. It hasn’t been the same since you left, Hank.”
    â€œI knew it wouldn’t. I tried to tell ’em but they wouldn’t listen. I mean, you can’t treat a good dog like a dog and expect to keep him.”
    â€œGosh, I wish you’d come back.”
    I laughed. “You can forget that, son, cause it’ll never happen. I’ve found a better life.”
    He looked me over real careful. “What’s come over you, Hank? You look different. You smell