The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper

The Vampire Vacuum Sweeper

John R. Erickson

Illustrations by Gerald L. Holmes

Maverick Books, Inc.

Publication Information

MAVERICK BOOKS

Published by Maverick Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 549, Perryton, TX 79070

Phone: 806.435.7611

www.hankthecowdog.com

First published in the United States of America by Gulf Publishing Company, 1997.

Subsequently published simultaneously by Viking Children's Books and Puffin Books, members of Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 1999.

Currently published by Maverick Books, Inc., 2013

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright © John R. Erickson, 1997

All rights reserved

Maverick Books, Inc. Paperback ISBN: 978-1-59188-129-2

Hank the Cowdog® is a registered trademark of John R. Erickson.

Printed in the United States of America

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Dedication

For Gary Rinker, a good man to ride the river with.

Contents

Chapter One
Mysterious Esther Appears on the Ranch

Chapter Two
I Arrest Four Stray Dogs

Chapter Three
A Phone Call in the Night

Chapter Four
Attacked by—Something Awful . . .

Chapter Five
Okay, Maybe It Was the Vacuum Sweeper

Chapter Six
Miss Viola Comes to Visit Me

Chapter Seven
Slim Gets Trapped in the Bathroom

Chapter Eight
We Go on Stray Dog Alert

Chapter Nine
Slim's Super-Duper Burglar Alarm

Chapter Ten
The Phony Coyote Profiles

Chapter Eleven
A Slight Miscalculation, Nothing Serious

Chapter Twelve
Once Again, I Save the Ranch

Chapter One: Mysterious Esther Appears on the Ranch

I
t's me again, Hank the Cowdog. When I heard the noise, I knew we had serious problems. I'll admit that I didn't know the cause right away, and I never suspected that it might have been caused by an enemy agent named Mysterious Esther.

Nor did I have any suspicions that before the night was over, I would be attacked by a Vampire Vacuum Sweeper. All I knew was that we had us a wild stampede down at the weaning pen, and I had to stop it before the calves tore down the fence and scattered into four counties.

It was in November, as I recall, yes, because that's when we rounded up all the cattle, separated the calves from their mothers, and weaned them. The calves, that is. We weaned the calves. We don't wean the mothers because they're already weaned.

We wean the calves off their mommas' milk, don't you see, because it's time for them to get out and hustle their own grub, like the rest of us. We put 'em together in a bunch and feed 'em alfalfa hay and store-bought feed for a couple of weeks. No problem there. The problem is that they are little dummies, afraid of every little noise and shadow, and once they start running, they'll flatten fences and scatter like quail.

It's called a stampede, and that's what we had cooking. I knew it just as soon as I heard the rumble of their hooves.

We were down at Slim's place, don't you see, on the front porch. We were, uh, guarding the porch and the woodpile. Or to be perfectly accurate about it and to call a spade a shovel, I was guarding the woodpile while my assistant was in the process of sleeping his life away.

I was standing guard, see. Why? Well, we'd gotten some secret information that there was a thief in the neighborhood, some nut who went creeping around ranches and stealing their woodpiles and porches.

It's true. Several whole entire porches had been stolen, and I guess you know where I stand on the issue of porch-thieving. I don't allow it. By George, if a guy wants to steal a porch, he'd better go to the next ranch. If he tries it here, he has to deal with the Head of Ranch Security.

Anyways, that's what I was doing down at Slim's place, and when I heard the rumble of hooves, I came flying out of a deep . . . out of a deep state of, uh, concentration and thought about the problem of Porch Theft.

My ears sprang to the Alert Position. “Drover, the porkchops are cascading across the honking sassafras!”

Mister Nap-in-the-Afternoon leaped to his feet and began squeaking. “Who? Where are they? How many do you see?”

“They came out of the woodpile and they're trying to steal our porch.”

He shook the vapors out of his head and stared at me. “Oh, hi Hank. Gosh, I must have been asleep and I dreamed that a honking porkchop was trying to steal our porch.”

I raised up and blinked my eyes. There was Drover, giving me his usual empty stare. “What are you talking about?”

“Well . . . I'm not sure, but I think you said . . .”

“Never mind what I said. I was lost in thought, Drover, deepest thought, and you interrupted my deepest porkchops with your . . .” Suddenly, I heard the rumble of hooves down at the weaning trap. “Holy smokes, Drover, the calves are running. We've got to warn Slim. Where is he?”

“Well, let's see here. Before we went to sleep, I saw him walking down to the hay barn.”

“Hmmm, yes. Hay, barn, walking. It all fits the pattern. Go on.”

“Well, he said he was going down there to see Esther.”

I stared into his eyes. He had two of them. “See Esther? Who's Esther? Out with it, Drover, we haven't a moment to spare.”

“Well, I'm not sure. But that's what he said, that he was going to the hay barn to see Esther.”

“Hmmm, very strange. Okay, pardner, stand by for a rapid sprint to the hay barn. We've got to warn Slim about the stampede. Come on, let's go.”

And with that, we went to Full Flames on all engines and went streaking to the hay barn—which, by the way, wasn't much of a barn. It was a small shed, made of weathered lumber and with a tin roof on the . . . well, on the top, of course. That's where you'd expect to find a roof, right? I notice these tiny details.

I was the first to arrive. Drover limped and lolly­gagged behind me, and I had to wait for him. This gave me a few precious moments to analyze the situation. It was clear by this time that the mysterious Esther had somehow spooked our cattle and caused them to stampede. At this point we didn't know how or why, but I was pretty sure that she was our prime suspect in the case. And Slim had to be warned.

At last Drover arrived, huffing and puffing. I greeted him with stern eyes. “Well, I'm glad you could join us, Drover. I hope this isn't interfering with your social schedule. Now listen carefully. We're going in. I'll go first, you cover the rear.”

“Whose rear, mine or yours?”

“
Our rear
, Drover. We have only one rear.”

“No, we've got two and mine's the one with the stub tail, and it's the one I sit on all the time.”

I glared at the runt. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“I don't think so.”

“Good. You're not. When I say ‘our rear,' I mean our collective rear, the area behind us.”

“Yeah, but what if we're facing the other direction?”

“Everything changes, Drover. In the blink of an eye, the front can become the rear and the rear can become the front. We have to be prepared for any contagency.”

“Oh, okay. So we're not supposed to blink our eyes?”

I heaved a deep sigh. Sometimes, when I talk to Drover . . . oh well. We had work to do. “Never mind. We're going in, and you'd better cover the rear.”

“Well, all right, but I still don't understand . . .”

I didn't wait around to hear the rest. I crept up to the door, peered inside (it was dark), and then went charging in, barking in all directions. I was a little surprised that Mysterious Esther was no­where in sight. I was even more surprised—shocked, actually—when I saw Slim sprawled out on a layer of hay.

“Cover the door, Drover. We've got a man down.”

“Yeah, I guess he took a nap.”

“Are you nuts? He's
unconscious
. Mysterious Esther is obviously a spy. She clubbed Slim from behind and now she's out there stampeding our cattle. Don't you see how it all fits together?”

“Not really, and you know what else?”

“Is this important, Drover? We've got a man down and an enemy spy running loose on the ranch. This isn't a great time to be making small talk.”

“Yeah, but I just figured it out.”

I studied him with narrowed eyes. “You figured it out? Drover, you don't need to figure it out because I figured it out long ago. Don't forget who's in charge here.”

He gave me a silly grin. “Yeah, but I just figured out what Slim said. He didn't say he was going to ‘see Esther.' He said he was going to take a ‘siesta,' only he called it a ‘see-ester,' and that's why he's asleep. Pretty neat, huh?”

I held him in my glare for a long, throbbing moment. “Drover, that's the dumbest thing you've said in weeks. In the first place, we've already put out a tracer on Mysterious Esther, and we know she's a spy. In the second place, your phony explanation doesn't account for the stampede that is occurring at this very moment. I'm sorry, Drover, but your can of worms just doesn't cut bait.”

At that very moment, just as I had disposed of Drover's ridiculous theory, I heard a noise behind me. In one rapid motion, I whirled around and cut loose with a withering barrage of . . . hmm, Slim seemed to be coming out of his coma, the one brought on by a savage blow to his head.

That was good news, great news. By George, I'd been pretty worried about him. I cancelled all barks and leaped up on the hay beside his potsrate body and began giving him Emergency CPR Licks on the face. That brought him around.

He pushed me away and said, “Quit.” Then he sat up and yawned. “You birdbrains. I come down to the hay barn to take me a little nap and you show up like ants at a church picnic, barkin' your fool heads off. You got something against hired hands takin' a little see-ester?”

HUH?

I cut my eyes from side to side. Okay, maybe Drover had . . .

If he was going to take a nap, why didn't he just call it a nap? How can a dog run a ranch when people go around speaking in five different languages?

Siesta baloney.

Suddenly Slim cocked his ear and listened. “Good honk, dogs, the calves are running!” He grabbed his hat and headed for the corrals. For a moment Drover and I were alone. I beamed him a glare of purest steel. He gave me his usual silly grin.

“Drover, sometimes I think you're trying to make a mockery of my position on this ranch.”

“Yeah, but I figured it out, didn't I?”

“Even a blind hog finds a piece of baloney once in a while.”

“What does that mean?”

I didn't have time to explain the obvious. I went streaking down to the corrals, where we found . . . you'd be shocked if I told you we found Mysteri­ous Esther, wouldn't you? Well, we didn't, and for the very best of reasons. Obviously, she didn't exist. She'd come straight out of the trash heap of Drover's imagination.

No, we didn't find Mysterious Esther. We found Slim standing beside the fence, watching 146 head of insane steers and heifers running around the weaning pen. I took up a position right beside him, and together we beamed disgusted looks at the cattle.

“Stupid calves, what's got into 'em now? Uh-oh. Do you see what I'm a-seein'? Stray dogs, Hank, four of 'em, and they're chasing our little darlings. I'll go for my shotgun. You go whup the tar out of 'em.”

Yes sir!

And so the adventure began.