The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog Read Online Free Page A

end of his tail, and there’s nothing in between. “Beats me, but I bet we’re going somewhere.”
    Loper drove up to the mailbox and turned left. If he had turned right, it would have meant that we were going to the pasture. A left turn meant only one thing: we were going to town. And that meant only one thing: Loper was going to be mad as thunder when he found out we’d jumped in the back and hitched a ride.
    But what the heck? You can’t be safe and cautious all the time. If you’re too timid in this life, you’ll miss out on all the fun and adventure. You’ll just stay home and snap at the flies, and when you get to be an old dog, you’ll look back on your life and think, “All these years I’ve been on this earth, and I’ve never done anything but snap at flies.”
    And you’ll regret that, when the opportunity came up, you didn’t sneak a ride into town.
    Drover curled up behind the cab and watched the scenery go by. I sat on my haunches, closed my eyes, and just let the wind flap my ears around. Felt good, restful. There for a little while I forgot all my cares and responsibilities.
    That lasted until we got to the highway. Loper pulled onto the blacktop and started picking up speed. The wind began to sting and my ears flapped a little harder than I like them to flap, and the crumbs of alfalfa hay on the pickup bed started to swirl.
    I laid down beside Drover. “Say, before I forget, I want to thank you for all the help you gave me last night with that monster.”
    He gave me a shy grin. “Oh, that’s okay. It was the least I could do.”
    â€œIt sure as heck was. If you’d done any leaster, you’d have been fighting for the other side.”
    The shy grin disappeared. “You mad about something?”
    â€œForget it.” I didn’t want to talk. Alfalfa leaves were getting into my mouth. I slept all the way to town.
    Next thing I knew, we had slowed down and were coasting down Main Street. I sat up and took in the sights: a bunch of stores and street lights, several stop signs, couple of town dogs loafing around, and a big tumbleweed rolling down the middle of the street.
    Loper drove into a parking place in front of the Waterhole Cafe, beside two or three other pickups that looked like cowboy rigs. When he got out and saw us back there, he gave us the tongue-lashing I had expected. It was no worse than usual, not bad enough to make me regret that we’d hitched a ride to town.
    He told us to sit, be good, and don’t bark.
    Then he and Slim went into the Waterhole.
    For five or ten minutes we concentrated on being good, which was a real drag. Then I heard Drover go, “Ps-s-s-st!” He jerked his head toward the pickup that was parked next to us. In the back end, fast asleep, was a big ugly boxer dog. We both moved to the side of the pickup bed and stared at him.
    He must have felt our eyes because after a bit his head came up, and he glowered at us with a wicked expression on his face.
    â€œWhat are you staring at?”
    â€œJust looking at the sights,” I said. “What’s your name?”
    â€œPuddin’ Tane, ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.”
    I guess Drover didn’t understand what that meant, so he asked, “What’s your name?”
    â€œJohn Brown, ask me again and I’ll knock you down.”
    Drover gave me a puzzled look, and I said, “How come they’ve got you chained up?” He was tied to the headache racks of the pickup with a piece of chain.
    â€œSo I won’t kill any dogs.”
    â€œYou kill dogs, no fooling?” Drover asked.
    â€œJust for drill. I prefer bigger stuff.”
    That sort of ended the conversation. Puddin’ Tane went back to sleep and I got involved with a couple of noisy flies that were bothering my ears. Took a few snaps at ’em but didn’t get anything.
    Next thing I knew, Drover said,