The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog (8 page)

“Knock it off, Drover, I don't want to hear that stuff.”

“. . . and dedicated to duty. I knew I could never be as good as you, but I wanted to try. You were my idol, Hank.”

“Cut it out, would you?”

“Come back home, Hankie. I need you. The ranch needs you. We all need you.”

That kind of struck me in the heart, hearing Drover say those things. Then Rip and Snort called for me.

“Hunk! Come, sing. We tired wait!”

“Who's that?” Drover whispered.

“Oh, some of my pals. Come on up the hill with me, Drover, and I'll show you a good time, introduce you to my friends.”

“Are they
drunk
like you?”

There was a little edge in his voice. He'd never talked to me like that before. “Well uh, maybe they are and maybe they ain't. Who cares?”

“I care. I don't associate with coyote trash.”

“Well, lah-tee-dah! Aren't we high and mighty tonight.”

Drover dried his eyes with the back of his paw. “I better get on back to the ranch. I'm on guard tonight.”

I laughed in his face. “You're on guard! Son, you're a sorry excuse for a guard dog, running for the machine shed every time you hear a sound.”

“I'm not going to run anymore, Hank. Some­body's got to protect the ranch. We can't depend on you anymore.”

“You'll run. You always have, you always will.”

“I ain't going to run.”

“Sure you will, and I can prove it.
BOO!
” He didn't run. “That don't prove a thing. When the time comes, when the chips are down, you'll run and hide.”

He looked me in the eye. “No I won't. And Hank, if you come with them, I won't run from you either.” He turned and started walking away.

“You always were a little chump.”

He stopped. “I may be a chump, Hank, but I'm not a traitor. Good-bye.”

“Go on, you little dummy, who needs you anyway! Sawed-off, stub-tailed, self-righteous little pipsqueak!”

Drover went his way and I went mine. On my way up the hill, I could hear the boys singing “Me just a Worthless Coyote” again. I took my place between Rip and Snort and started belting out the high tenor. We went on like that all night long, singing and laughing and chasing mice.

But it wasn't quite as much fun this time.

Chapter Ten: Aged Mutton

M
ust have been a couple of days later that I was sitting on the edge of the caprock, sunning myself and looking off in the distance. I'd been there most of the day, thinking about things and enjoying the quiet.

The coyote village was awful noisy. Seemed that somebody was always in the midst of a squabble. When a husband and wife had a difference of opinion, they just by George had a knock-down drag-out fight, right there in front of everybody. Nobody ever seemed to get hurt in these brawls, and I guess they managed to solve their problems, but I could never get used to the noise of it.

And the hair. After one of them family fights, the air was full of fur. A guy could hardly breathe for the hair.

And then there was the kids. There must have been ten or twelve pups in the village, and let me tell you about coyote pups.

Now, a
dog
pup is kind of cute. I'm not real fond of babies, understand, but even I have to admit that a little old cowdog pup is pretty cute. He'll be fat as a butterball and covered with silky hair, and when he looks up at you with those big soft eyes, you can't help but smile and say, “How's it going, kid?”

Coyote
pups ain't cute. They look mean, they sound mean, they act mean, and fellers, they
are
mean. They've got two jaws full of teeth that are as sharp as needles, and their idea of good clean fun is to slip up behind some unsuspecting somebody (me, for instance) and just bite the heck out of his tail.

As a rule, I'm a pretty good sport. I was a kid once myself and I got into my share of mischief, but I can't get used to people biting my tail. I mean, there's something kind of special and private about a guy's tail. If he's got any pride at all, he tries to keep it nice, and he's a little fussy about scabs and bald spots and tooth marks and slobber and all that stuff.

What I'm saying is that my tail ain't a play toy.

But these kids, they'd sneak up behind me and sink their little needle teeth into my tail. First few times, I just growled at 'em: “Here! Y'all go on, get out of here!” Didn't work. Coyotes are a little slow about taking a hint.

They came back and did it again, so I took sterner measures—cuffed one of 'em. Know what he did then? He
bit
me on the paw. Well, I wasn't going to take that off a dern kid, so I bit him on the scruff of the neck, and he somehow worked his way around and got hold of my left ear.

That got me all inflamed, don't you see, and I put the boy on the ground and was spanking some manners into him when his momma walked up.

“
You brute
, leave my junior alone!”

“Huh?”

I looked around just in time to get slapped across the mouth. “There, bully!”

I suppose I shouldn't have slapped her back. But I did.
Whop
, right across the nose. “Maybe you can teach that boy some manners.”

Whop! “Chicken dog!”

Whop! “Wild hag!”

She burst into tears and went bawling to her husband saying I was just an animal and had beat up her danged kid and called her a wild hag. Turned out she was Scraunch's woman, and here he came, all humped up and hair raised and yellow eyes aflaming.

I had taken about all I wanted off Scraunch and his family, and I was ready to go into combat, but Missy and her father jumped in between us and averted a civil war.

But the incident didn't do much to improve relations between me and Missy's brother. I had a feeling that sooner or later we were going to have a showdown.

Funny thing about all this. Them coyotes didn't mind chewing on each other. I mean, they were fighting all the time. But when I tried it, they didn't like it. Made me think that no matter how long I stayed there, they would always think of me as an outsider.

Anyway, I was sitting on the ledge, off to my­self and away from the noise, when Missy came up behind me. She nuzzled me with her nose and ran her claws down my backbone. She knew I liked that.

“Something wrong? Hunk look sad.”

“Oh, it's nothing. Just wanted to be alone, I guess.”

“Not enjoy other coyote?”

“Well . . . do you ever get tired of all the noise, all that fighting and yelling?”

She shook her head. “That happy sound. When coyote happy, make bunch noise. When we married, we happy, make bunch noise too.”

“I see, yes, well, I guess we have that to look forward to, don't we?”

“When pup come, even more noise, oh boy.”

“Oh boy.”

“Hunk not be sad. Missy have something make Hunk feel good. We have feast, special food just for Hunk.”

I followed her into the village. We went to her parents' den. They were sitting out in front and the old lady was pulling cockleburs out of the chief's tail. Missy asked her mother if she would prepare a special meal, just for me. She said she would. She left and was gone for ten, fifteen minutes.

I tried to make conversation with the old man but it wasn't easy. He started talking about the old days, about a time when he went a couple of rounds with a skunk. He seemed to think this story was hilarious. I thought it was moderately funny.

The chief was still cackling at his own wonderful story when the old lady returned, dragging in some horrible stinking something or other.

I turned to Missy. “What's that?”

“Aged mutton.”

“Aged mutton?”

She nodded and smiled. “Special feast make Hunk forget sadness.”

Aged mutton. No doubt it had been buried for a while. It was green, dotted here and there with white spots which turned out to be maggots. The smell alone could have taken the paint off a corral fence. The taste of such rot was too horrible to imagine.

The old lady dragged it up and dropped it right at my feet. When she smiled at me, she looked an awful lot like her daughter, except she had several teeth missing and some of that green stuff hanging from her lower lip.

“Meat age for many month, just right for Hunk now.”

The old man threw back his head, let out a howl, and dived into it. The old lady did the same. Missy did the same. I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and dove in too.

Let's don't go into any details. It was bad. It was so bad that there are no words to describe it. I'll say no more.

An hour later, I was lying down, with my head over a cliff. I had emptied my body of everything but blood and a few bones. Missy stood over me, stroking my brow. She had been very nice about it. They all had been, even my future mother-in-law. She had decided that I had drunk some brackish water and that's what had made me sick.

“Hunk feel better now?”

“Feel better, sort of.”

“Hunk like coyote feast, oh boy?”

“Oh boy.”

“Now Hunk make ready for big raid?”

I raised up my head. “Huh?”

That was the first I had heard about the raid. This was going to be my big chance to prove to Missy's ma and pa that I was worthy of their daughter.

Scraunch was putting the deal together, a raid on the ranch.

Chapter Eleven: The Attack on the Ranch

A
long about dark the coyote village came to life. Everybody was excited.

“Fresh chicken, fresh cat!” they shouted. “Oh boy!”

Even the kids were excited. They chased each other around, practiced howling, and played a game called “Get the Dog.” The idea of the game was that two kids played coyotes and one played the guard dog. The coyotes lured the dog out into a fight and then jumped him.

I had played that game myself, only when I'd played it it hadn't been a game, and I'd been on the dog side. I'd never thought it was much fun either.

After the sun went down, Scraunch climbed up on a pile of rocks and gave a speech to the whole village. He was a firebrand and a rubble-rouser, and he preached the kind of hot gospel them coyotes wanted to hear.

“Jackrabbit run too fast, make coyote tired to catch. Mouse run down hole, coyote have to dig, make tired too. But
chicken
 . . . chicken easy! Chicken nice and fat, sit on nest, not fight. Chicken plump and juicy. This night, everybody eat chicken!”

A cheer went up from the crowd. I was standing beside Missy, and she whooped and hollered along with the rest of them.

Scraunch waited for the cheering to die down and glanced over at me. “Ranch not have big guard dog now, only little white dog with cut-off tail. Maybe this night we kill dog too.”

Another cheer went up. Scraunch watched me with a half-smile on his face. When I didn't cheer with the rest of them, he said, “What you say, Hunk? Maybe you help kill little white dog, huh?”

“Maybe so, Scraunch, maybe so.”

Then he led the crowd in singing, “Me just a Worthless Coyote,” which was everybody's favorite song and sort of the coyote national anthem. I noticed that it brought tears to old Chief Gut's eyes. Guess it brought back memories of his younger days.

When the song started, Rip and Snort came over to where I was and wanted to harmonize, just the way we did the night we went carousing. I tried but didn't feel much like singing.

But Rip and Snort bellered and howled and had themselves a big time. They were all excited about the raid, and they got into an argument over which one was going to give Drover the worst whipping. Listening to them snarl at each other, I got a funny feeling about good old boys. They have a way of changing into
mean
old boys and pretty quick.

The singing stopped and it was time to start the raid. Scraunch led the whole village in a howl, then those of us who were going on the raid lined up in a single file. Missy came over to tell me good-bye.

“Hunk have good fight, bring back fat chicken, prove to everybody that he good coyote.”

“Thanks, Missy, I'll do my best.”

“Then we marry, have seven-eight little pup.”

“Seven or eight?”

She gave a yip and a howl. “Maybe nine-ten, oh boy!”

She nuzzled me under the chin, stepped back, and gave me a smile. Geeze, she had a pretty face, but you know what? When she smiled, I saw her mother's face and remembered that aged mutton. It derned near ruined the occasion for me.

Scraunch came down the line, checking things out and giving orders to the men. When he came to me, he gave me a hard look.

“Better not make mistake. Scraunch watch close.”

“You do that, Scraunch. You might learn something.”

He gave me a sneer and went back to the front. With the rest of the village cheering, we marched down the canyon rim in a trot.

Once we left the village, Scraunch passed the order for silence. Down in the valley we got on a cow trail and followed it south toward the creek.

I couldn't help wondering where Drover was and what he was doing right now. Had he heard the singing? Did he run to the machine shed or was he out on patrol? I hoped, for his sake, that he was in the backest corner of the shed, 'cause these coyotes were in a dangerous mood.

As we slipped along through the night, I started putting a few things together. It was pretty clear by this time that Scraunch was the one who had been responsible for the chicken murders. He'd been slipping down there by himself and killing one or two a night, and now he'd decided to launch a full-scale invasion and share the spoils of war with the rest of the coyotes.

Funny, I'd solved the case, only now I was working for the other side. Life sure does play tricks on a guy, makes it awful hard to plan for the future. Growing up, I never would have dreamed that I'd end up a chicken-killer. I was kind of glad Ma wasn't around to see it.

About two hundred yards north of the ranch, Scraunch called a halt and gave the final orders for the attack. He told Rip and Snort to circle around and come in from the south, and sent another couple of guys over to the west.

He hadn't given me any orders, and that was good. I figgered I could lay low, stay out of the way, and show up when all the dust cleared.

“
You.
”

I looked around. “Huh?”

“You go with Scraunch. We get little white dog. Find out how bad you want sister.”

“Well uh, surely I don't deserve such an honor.”

“Not talk, only fight.”

The others left, and me and Scraunch started sneaking toward the ranch. I felt sick. Things had gotten out of control. I hadn't wanted it to happen this way, me against my old buddy Drover. In his own bungling way, Drover was a nice dog. We'd had our squabbles and differences, but we'd had some good times too.

About twenty-five yards out, Scraunch stopped and dropped down into the grass. I squinted into the darkness and saw Drover standing beside the northeast corner of the machine shed. Just as you might expect, he wasn't looking in our direction. The little runt had no idea what was fixing to break loose.

A laugh growled in Scraunch's throat. “This easy. Dog stupid.”

I couldn't argue with him. Facts is facts.

We crawled forward another ten, fifteen yards. Then, off to the south, Rip and Snort raised a howl. Drover jumped up in the air and faced the south. I could see that he was shivering. Then the boys off to the west raised a howl, and Drover faced
that
direction.

Scraunch growled and Drover faced us. His head was cocked sideways and one ear stood up. That meant he still didn't see us.

But he was beginning to get the picture. The ranch was surrounded. I kept waiting for him to run, but he didn't.

Scraunch pushed himself up out of the grass. “You go first. I watch.”

“Who me? Well uh, seems to me that . . .”

The hair went up on the back of his neck and there was murder in those yellow eyes. “You go first or I cut throat right here!”

I could tell he wasn't kidding. “I just thought . . . there's no need to . . . I see what you mean, yes, I'll go first.”

I stood up. Scraunch threw back his head and let loose the bloodiest howl I ever heard (sent shivers all the way down to the end of my tail, is how frightful it was). He gave me a shove and the attack was on.

Drover heard us coming. He started yipping and jumping up and down, but he stood his ground. I could hear myself talking: “Run, Drover, while there's still time.” My voice got louder. “You got no chance, Drover, don't try to be a hero.”

Next thing I knew, I was yelling. “Drover, run for the shed! You're outnumbered, they'll kill you, run for your life!”

The little mutt was so scared he was spinning in circles and jumping up and down at the same time. But he still didn't leave his post.

By this time I could see Rip and Snort sneaking up behind him, the moonlight glinting off their teeth and eyes. They didn't look like good old boys any more. They had murder on their minds.

Behind me, Scraunch was screaming, “Kill, kill!”

All at once, something snapped inside my head. I felt wild and crazy. I headed straight for Drover. I'll never forget the look in his eyes. He was more than scared. He was bewildered, didn't know what was happening to him.

He turned to face my charge. As I flew past him and took aim for Snort, I yelled, “This is it, son, hell against Texas! Fight for your life!”

I caught Snort by surprise and sent him rolling down the hill. That gave me just enough time to catch Rip as he was making a dive for the back of Drover's neck. Hit him in midair and knocked him on his back.

By this time Scraunch had plowed Drover under and was standing on top of him, ready to tear out his throat. I lit right in the middle of his back, got a bite on his right ear, and started chewing.

That took his mind off Drover. He jumped straight up and pitched me off. I got to my feet and he got to his feet, and we faced each other.

“Call off your boys, Scraunch. Let's make it me and you, one on one.”

He grinned. “Chicken dog die for this.”

I had a little piece of his ear in my mouth, and I spit it out at his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a light come on in the house. That was my only hope. If High Loper didn't hurry and get his pants on and grab his gun, I was a dead dog.

“Seems you lost a piece of one ear, Scraunch. If you'll come a little closer, I'll work on that other one so's they'll match.”

Scraunch cut his eyes toward Rip and Snort.

“Get him.”

Rip and Snort gave me kind of a mournful look. It was decision time. They had to choose between an old drinkin' buddy and their own flesh and blood.

“
Get him!
”

They licked their lips and swallered and glanced at each other. And they chose flesh and blood. They started creeping toward me.

“Drover,” I said in a low voice, “keep 'em off my back, son, or we're finished.”

Drover squeaked. He was too scared to talk.

Rip and Snort and the other two coyotes start­ed closing in on me.

“Hunk stupid dog,” said Scraunch. “Stupid dog pay with life.”

“You could be right, Scraunch, but you've got it to do.”

We was totally surrounded and it was every man for himself. I figgered I might as well leave this old life with another piece of Scraunch's ear, so I made a dive at him.

We collided and went up on our hind legs. I boxed him across the nose and he boxed me right back. Made my eyes water. I clawed his hip and he clawed mine. I went for his ear and he went for mine. We chewed and snapped and snarled and growled.

I think old Scraunch was a little surprised that a cowdog could give him such a tussle.

I was holding my own until they jumped me from behind, two or three of 'em, didn't get a good count, but it was plenty enough to finish me off.

They wrestled me down, throwed me on my back, and pinned me to the ground. Scraunch walked up and straddled me, showing his big, sharp teeth.

“
Now you die.
”

He went for my throat and I heard Saint Peter blow his horn.