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

“What would you do if we peed on your tires?”
    The boxer’s head came up real slow, and he turned them wicked eyes on little Drover. “What did you say?”
    â€œI said, what would you do if we peed on your tires?”
    â€œUh, Drover . . .” It made me a little uneasy, the way he was talking about we .
    The boxer sat up. “I’d tear off your legs and wring your neck.”
    â€œBut how could you do that when you’re chained up?”
    â€œDrover.”
    The boxer lifted one side of his mouth and unveiled a set of long white teeth. “I’d bust the chain.
    â€œIt looks pretty stout to me.”
    â€œ Drover. ”
    â€œIt ain’t stout enough.”
    â€œJust curious,” said Drover. Big-and-Ugly went back to sleep and I got back to them flies. One of them was big and green, also a little slow on the draw. I waited for my shot and snapped. Got the little booger! Then I had to spit him out real quick. Boy, did he taste foul.
    Seemed to me I heard water running somewhere. I glanced around and saw Big-and-Ugly’s head come up. He’d heard it too.
    Drover had just wiped out the left rear tire and was going toward the front one. Seemed to me this was poor judgment on Drover’s part.
    The boxer sprang to his feet. “Get away from that tire, runt! No two-bit cowdog is going to mess up my tires!”
    I didn’t like his tone of voice. I got up and wandered to the side of the pickup. “Say there, partner, maybe I didn’t hear you right. You weren’t suggesting that there’s any two-bit cowdogs around here, were you?”
    â€œI ain’t suggesting, Buddy, I’m saying. You’re a couple of two-bit cowdogs.”
    â€œDo you mean that as an insult or a compliment?”
    â€œCowdog don’t mean but one thing to me: sorry and two-bit.”
    I took a deep breath. “Oh dear. Drover, the dust seems kind of bad all of a sudden. Why don’t you wet down that other tire.”

    He grinned, hiked up his leg, and let ’er rip.
    The boxer went nuts when he saw that. All at once his fangs were flashing in the sunlight. He lunged against the chain and started barking—big, deep roar of a bark, so loud you could feel it bouncing off your face.
    I waited for him to shut up. “You want to take back what you said about cowdogs?” He lunged against the chain and slashed the air about six inches from the end of my nose. “Guess not.”
    I hopped down, skipped around to the right side of the boxer’s pickup, and wiped out the front and back tires. Drover and I met at the front, swapped sides, and gave each tire a second coat.
    Big-and-Ugly went berserk. He fought against the chain and roared. “Let me at ’em, I’ll kill ’em, just let me at ’em!”
    Drover and I finished the job and hopped back into the pickup bed. When the cafe door burst open, we were, ahem, fast asleep. Slim, Loper, and the boxer’s master stormed out.
    â€œWhat’s going on out here? You dogs . . .”
    â€œIt’s my dog, Loper, he’s making all the racket. Bruno, shut up! You’re disturbing the whole town.”
    I sat up and opened my eyes. Bruno was getting a good scolding from his master. He whined and wagged his stump tail and tried to explain what had happened. But his master didn’t understand. (This seems to be a common trait in masters.)
    â€œNow you lie down and be quiet. I don’t want to hear another peep out of you. You know better than that.”
    The men went back inside. I waited a minute and then gave Drover the coast-is-clear sign. We got up and went over to the edge of the pickup. Bruno was lying flat, with his eyes wide open and a couple of fangs showing beneath his lips. He was trembling with rage.
    â€œDrover, you ever seen an uglier dog than that one?”
    He giggled. “No, never did.”
    â€œMe neither. Can you