The Case of the Mysterious Voice
The Case of the Mysterious Voice
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 Viking Children’s Books and Puffin Books, members of Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 2010.
Currently published by Maverick Books, Inc., 2011
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © John R. Erickson, 2011
All rights reserved
Maverick Books, Inc. Paperback ISBN: 978-1-59188-158-2
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
Dedicated to the memory of Soren Dahlstrom.
Contents
Chapter One Sally May Plans a Picnic
Chapter Two Alfred’s Great Idea
Chapter Three Bathing the Cat
Chapter Four The Police Arrive
Chapter Five Loper’s Present
Chapter Six A Voice in the Night
Chapter Seven We Bark at the Moon
Chapter Eight A Victory for Science
Chapter Nine Sally May and I Patch Things Up
Chapter Ten I Give Pete a Crushing Defeat
Chapter Eleven Company Arrives
Chapter Twelve The Villain Is Exposed
Chapter One: Sally May Plans a Picnic
It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. The mystery began on a Friday morning in May, as I recall. Yes, I’m sure it was May, because we’d finished branding our spring calves and were enjoying a period of quiet before hay season started.
Loper and Slim were sitting in lawn chairs in the backyard, drinking coffee and enjoying the cool of the morning. It was something they didn’t do very often. Drover and I had finished our morning patrol and had assembled at the yard gate. There, we watched and listened.
Loper said, “It sure is peaceful out here.”
“Yep.”
“Every once in a while, a man needs to slow down and notice the wonders of God’s creation.”
“Yep. When do you reckon that’ll start?”
Loper gave him a stern look. “Right now. That’s what we’re doing. We had a hard week getting the branding done, and now we can relax a little bit.”
Slim took a slurp of coffee. “Okay with me.”
Loper filled his lungs with fresh air and looked up at the sky. “For the next two days, I’m going to stick around the house—help Sally May with the yard work and take care of those little fix-up jobs that always seem to get put off. I might even take Alfred fishing.”
Slim flashed a grin. “I’ve heard this before.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you just watch. A man needs to stop and smell the roses.”
“Loper, you wouldn’t know a rose from a dandelion . . . and speaking of dandelions, you’ve got a bunch of ’em growing in your yard. I’ll loan you my pocketknife if you want to start digging ’em up right now.”
“Thanks. I’ve got my own knife, and I’ll put dandelions on my list of things to do.”
“That’s just what I figured.”
Loper shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “Slim, do you know what your biggest problem is?”
“Poverty.”
“No. You have a sour attitude about your fellow man.”
“Not all of ’em, just the ones I know.”
“Five bucks says that I spend the next two days doing chores around the house.”
“I hate to take money from a fool.”
Loper snapped his fingers. “Step up, son. We know you’ve got the mouth. Do you have five dollars to back it up?”
Slim dug out his wallet and peeked inside. “Yes, I do, and I think I’m fixing to double it.”
“You’re fixing to lose it, and when you do, I don’t want to hear you whine and moan. A deal’s a deal.”
Slim bobbed his head in agreement. “A deal’s a deal.”
At that very moment, the back door opened and out stepped . . . oops. Sally May. All at once, I felt . . . you know, sometimes when she shows up, I’m seized by terrible feelings of guilt. It’s as though I’ve done something naughty and she knows it.
She has these eyes that can penetrate skin and bones, don’t you know, and she can see right into the gizzardly depths of a dog’s soul. But the crazy thing was that, on that particular morning, my soul was as clean and pure as freshly fallen snow.
I hadn’t done anything wrong! I hadn’t even thought about doing anything wrong, and yet . . .
Before I even had a chance to think about it, I slipped into a program we call Leaving Town. I mean, it happened in a split second and without even thinking about it, I began creeping for the nearest exit.
But then I noticed an important detail: Sally May wore a radiant smile. If she’d picked up any Naughty Signals from me, she wouldn’t have been smiling.
I stopped slinking away and heaved a sigh of relief. “Drover, she seems to be in a good mood this morning.”
He had been staring off into space, and his eyes drifted down to me. “Oh, hi. What’s good mud?”
“Good mud? Well, when you add good moisture to common dirt, you get good mud, and good mud is good for the plants and flowers.”
“I love it when the grass is green and the wildflowers bloom.”
“Yes, and we’ve had a nice spring, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, if I could just get rid of these allergies.” He sneezed. “By dose gids stobbed ubb all the tibe.” He sneezed again. “See whud I beed?”
“Yes, I see what you mean. I’m sorry you’re having trouble.”
“Thags.”
“You’re welcome.” There was a moment of silence. “Drover, you said something about ‘good mud.’ Was there some special reason why you wanted to talk about mud this morning? I have no objections, but it seems a little odd. Have you been worrying about mud?”
He gave that some thought. “Well, mud’s always muddy.”
“That’s true, good point. Does it bother you that mud is muddy?”
“Not really. I don’t think about mud very often.”
“Yes, and that’s my whole point. Most of us go through entire weeks and months without thinking about mud, yet you brought up the subject.”
“I did?”
“You certainly did. You asked my opinion about good mud.”
His eyes blanked out. “I’ll be derned. What did you say?”
“I said . . . never mind. Why did you bring up the subject of mud in the first place?”
“Well, let me think.” He scowled and rolled his eyes around. “Wait, I just remembered. You said Sally May found some good mud.”
I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. “Drover, please pay attention. I said that Sally May appears to be in a good mood.”
“I’l
l be derned. I wonder why.”
“I was trying to listen so that I could find out, but you started blabbering about mud. Stop talking about mud.”
“Sorry.” He sneezed. “Gosh, baby I’be allergig to bud.”
“You’re not allergic to mud, but you might be losing your marbles.”
“I doed have any barbles.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
Drover does this all the time, you know. He pulls me into a conversation and all at once, I realize that nobody has any idea what we’re talking about. Sometimes I think . . . never mind.
I left him alone with his runny nose and turned my attention back to the house, just in time to hear Sally May exclaim, “I have an exciting announcement to make.”
Slim and Loper sat up and looked at her. Loper said, “Oh?”
She clapped her hands together. “I’ve invited the church choir out for a picnic tomorrow. While I go to town and shop for groceries, you boys can mow and rake and clean up the yard. Oh, and we’ve got a bunch of dandelions in the front yard.”
Sally May didn’t notice the dead silence that had fallen over the cowboy crowd, but I did. Loper’s eyes darted around for a moment, then he glanced at his watch and stood up.
“Hon, that sounds great, but I’ve got an appointment with the accountant at nine. I’d better get moving. Give Slim a list of things to do.”
Sally May went back into the house, leaving Slim and Loper alone. Slim’s face had turned to cement. “Loper, most people think you’re a low-down skunk. Not me. I think you’re worse than that.”
“Don’t take it personally. I really do need to talk to the accountant.”
“Yeah, and it’s odd that you didn’t think about it until your wife pulled out the Honey-Do List.”
Loper shrugged. “We all have our gifts and talents. You’re better at yard work than I am.”
“How would you know? The last time you did any yard work, you were in the third grade.”
Loper cackled. “You know, hardship seems to bring out your sense of humor. By this afternoon, you’ll be right up there with Mark Twain.”
Slim leaned forward and glared at him. “Hey Loper, I hired onto this outfit as a cowboy. Remember cowboys? They do things with a horse and a catch-rope.”
Loper tossed down the last swig of coffee. “Well, you were never much good at either one, so we’re trying to find little jobs to keep you out of trouble. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
Loper headed for the house. Slim’s glare followed him. “I know you will. Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Loper stopped and turned around. “What?”
Slim stuck out his hand. “Five bucks, buddy. A deal’s a deal.”
Loper came back, dug his wallet out of his hip pocket, and laid a five-dollar bill across Slim’s palm. “Slim, that’s the best five bucks I ever spent. Be happy in your work.”
Whistling a tune, Loper went into the house. Slim remained in his chair for another minute, fuming in silence.
Chapter Two: Alfred’s Great Idea
Yes, old Slim was in a bad mood, still fuming when Loper drove away in his pickup. He was in such a high snit, we dogs had to activate the Sharing of Pain. Following our procedures, we went into Mournful Eyes, Sad Ears, and Dead Tail.
It seemed to be working, and I think we had him going in the right direction, when Sally May and Baby Molly came out, dressed up for their trip to the grocery store, and Sally May gave him her list of things to do.
It was a long list, and my impression was that Slim didn’t enjoy reading it. Then Sally May said, “Oh, and I think I’ll let Alfred stay with you. There’s nothing for him to do in town, and maybe he can help.”
Slim stared at her. “Oh good.”
Alfred said, “Mom, I wanted to go to town.”
“Nevertheless,” she kissed him on the cheek, “you’ll stay and help Slim.”
Moments later, she drove away, leaving the four of us (me, Drover, Slim, and Alfred) standing in a cloud of dust and a heavy silence. The silence grew heavier by the second and, when nobody spoke, I felt the need to whap my tail on the ground.
It’s a gesture we use in awkward moments, don’t you see, and sometimes it helps to remove some of the explosive vapors from the air.
The boy had Pout written all over his face. “I don’t like working in the dumb old yard.”
Slim grumbled, “It’s genetic, son.”
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind. Come back in ten years and I’ll explain it.” He headed for the machine shed, and we followed. “For now, here’s all you need to know. At Slim’s Day Care Service, we have a short list of rules: Don’t make noise, don’t get in the way, don’t make a mess, and most of all, don’t ask a bunch of questions.”
“My mom says it’s good to ask questions.”
“Yeah, well, your mom ain’t here.”
“Is it okay if I breathe?”
“If you’re quiet, one breath every hour.”
“What if I faint?”
“You’ll get eaten up by red ants.”
“They eat little boys?”
“All the time.”
“Are you teasing?”
“Heck no. Them ants would rather eat a little boy than a bowl of ice cream.”
“Can we have some ice cream?”
“No.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Take your troubles to the Lord. I don’t care.”
We continued walking toward the machine shed. “Hey, Swim?”
“What.”
“Can I throw the cat in the stock tank?”
Slim stopped and looked down at the boy. “Now, why would you want to do that?”
Alfred shrugged. “He needs a bath. And I’m bored.”
“Bored, huh? Well, boredom’s a sure path to knowledge. Most usually, when a cat gets a bath, a boy gets an education.”
“So it’s okay?”
Slim laid a hand on his shoulder. “My advice is, find something else to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Slim trudged on down to the machine shed to fetch the lawn mower. Alfred turned to us with . . . well, you’d have to call it a wicked little grin, and whispered, “Come on, doggies, let’s give Pete a bath!”
Well, you talk about something that will brighten your day! The dark clouds just seemed to roll away and all at once, we had Sunshine Forever. What a great idea! I was surprised that I hadn’t thought of it myself. Hey, when times are hard and troubles are getting you down, happiness is just around the corner.
All you need is an annoying ranch cat and a tank full of water.
Ho ho, hee hee, ha ha.
I loved it!
We headed down to the yard, knowing exactly where we would find Mister Never Sweat: in the iris patch on the north side of the house. That’s where he spent most of his time in the summer, loafing and lounging and lurking in the shade. He came out only for special occasions, such as to mooch my supper scraps or to rub on Sally May’s ankles.
As you might recall, Sally May didn’t allow dogs in her yard, but Pete? He was her Precious Kitty, and the little fraud had free run of the whole ranch. He could go anywhere and do anything and . . .
Have I mentioned that I don’t like cats? I don’t like cats, never have, just don’t get along with ’em at all. Show me a cat and I’ll find a place to park him—up the nearest tree.
Or in the nearest stock tank. Hee hee. Boy, this was going to be great! You know about cats and water, right? They hate water! I was so excited, I was trembling all over.
At last, we arrived at the yard gate. Alfred turned to us dogs and brought a finger to his lips. “Shh. I’ll go find him. Y’all wait right here, ’cause dogs can’t come in the yard.”
Right. It was a silly
rule, but there was nothing we could do about it.
We dogs waited outside the yard, while Alfred headed for the iris patch, trying to look as innocent as an ornery little stinkpot could look.
Drover turned to me. “What are we doing now?”
“Don’t you ever listen?”
“Oh . . . sometimes. Did I miss something?”
“Yes. Alfred’s looking for the cat.”
“Oh good. Pete’s a nice kitty.”
“Yes, and we’re going to give him a nice bath.”
Drover’s eyes widened. “A bath? Cats hate water.”
“I doubt that Alfred will ask his opinion.”
“Gosh, you mean . . .” Drover thought about that for a moment, then a silly grin rippled across his mouth. “Oh, I get it now. Hee hee. We’re going to throw the cat into the stock tank?”
“That’s correct. Very good. Now hush and watch the show. This is going to be fun.”
We concentrated on the scene in the yard. Alfred walked along the side of the house, peeking into all the shrubs and flowers and searching for an unemployed cat. No luck. But then he came to the corner of the house and peeked into the iris patch.
His face bloomed into a grin. He’d located our pigeon . . . uh, the cat, let us say, right where I had predicted he would be, loafing in the shade. But then the lad made a mistake. He said, “Hi Pete, nice kitty, come here. Kitty kitty kitty.”
Did you catch his mistake? He forgot to use Backwards Logic. See, any time you want to catch a cat, you should tell him to buzz off or run away, then he’ll come scampering toward you and start rubbing on your legs. You won’t be able to run fast enough to get away from him.
But call him a “nice kitty” and tell him “come here,” and he’ll do just what Pete did, flatten his ears and start oozing away. Alfred had to chase him all the way around to the front of the house and drag him out from under a cedar bush.
But the important thing was that we got him captured, and soon we were heading down to the corrals. Alfred carried him, and I could see that Pete was beginning to smell a rat.