The Case of the Deadly Ha-Ha Game by John R. Erickson

Author:John R. Erickson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: cowdog, Hank the Cowdog, John R. Erickson, John Erickson, ranching, Texas, dog, adventure, mystery, Hank, Drover, Pete, Sally May
Publisher: Maverick Books, Inc.
Published: 2015-05-06T19:38:52+00:00

They were licking their chops by this time and things were not looking good. “Rip and Snort not get potty chicken for supper, but maybe find something gooder and goodest, oh boy!”

“Listen, guys, speaking of cats, how about we work a deal on a nice fat kitty, huh? How does that sound?”

They shook their heads in unison. “Not got cat. Got two dummy ranch dogs, ho ho.”

“That’s not funny, Snort, and I must warn you that Drover has a terrible temper.” That didn’t work. Drover had already collapsed in fright. The cannibals just laughed. “Okay, singing. You guys love to sing, right? Everybody knows that, so why don’t we, well, burst into song?”

They shook their heads in unison. “Guys too hungry for burp into song.”

“Yeah, but I said burst, not burp. There’s a huge difference.”

“Coyote berry expert at burping and not give a hoot for huge different.”

“Okay, then . . .” I took a gulp of air and plunged into my very last idea. It was a little crazy, but it was my last shot. “Okay, Snort, just for that, I challenge you fleabags to a contest of courage, skill, and brute strength.”

They stopped. Their ears shot up. They ex­changed puzzled looks. “What means, brute strinks?”

“Strength, Snort. Strength, as in strong. It means the strength of a brute. Only a heartless brute could win this contest, and you guys probably aren’t tough enough to enter, much less win.”

Snort pounded himself on the chest and roared. “Coyote got plenty brute! Coyote bruter and brutest, and got bunch of strinks, too. Coyote beat up whole world with bruter strinks.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that. Drover, wake up. We’ll need you to judge this.” The runt let out a moan. I marched over and kicked him on the bohunkus. “Hey, wake up and smell the cobras.”

He lifted his head and cracked one eye. “Help, murder, Mayday, I’m scared of snakes, oh my leg!”

“Forget the leg. Wake up and pay attention. I’ve got something cooking here.”

His eyes popped open. “The chicken?”

“No, not the chicken. While you were fainting, we learned that the chicken business was just another of Pete’s famous lies. I should have known.”

“Oh drat.”

“Drover, please try to control your naughty language.”

“Oh piffle.”

“That’s better. What we have cooking here is . . .” I gave him a cunning wink of the eye, “. . . a P-L-A-N.”

He twisted his head and stared at me. “Some­thing’s wrong with your eye.”

“Drover, something’s fixing to be wrong with your . . . Think, Drover, concentrate. I have a P-L-A-N.”

His eyes went blank. “That’s not how you spell chicken. You spell chicken with a C-H.”

“I know that, you . . .” I fought to control my temper. “P-L-A-N.”

“Plane? You’ve got an airplane, and we’re going to climb in and fly away so the coyotes won’t eat us? Oh, I’m so happy!”

The air hissed out of my lungs. I shot a glance over at the brothers. They were jumping up and down, showing each other their biceps, and getting warmed up for the big contest.

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