Free Freddy the Cowboy by Walter R. Brooks

of cowboys sitting around a campfire, and I wanted to go over and see what was going on. But no, Aunt Effie Peck lived up the road a piece, and we had to go see her. She’s another of ’em. She’s just like a radio, except she don’t even pause for station identification. So I quit. I sneaked off home. I been talked to death by relatives, Freddy. And now I’m going down to the henhouse and get some sleep before Henrietta gets back. Adventures—ha!” And he started wearily on.
    He hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards when ten little round heads popped up out of the grass in front of him, and ten little glittering knives were waved menacingly at him. They sang their song and began to do their war dance, working around behind Charles so that the startled rooster was surrounded.
    â€œHey!” he squawked. “What is this? Get out of here—let me alone!”
    They stopped their dance, and the head Horrible said: “Brother Horribles, what would you like for supper?”
    â€œWe would like rooster hash, Your Dreadfulness,” they replied.
    â€œAnd how would you go about preparing this delicious dish, Brother Horribles?”
    â€œFirst we would grab this rooster and chop him up small with our little knives, Your Dreadfulness, and then—”
    Neither Charles, cowering in the bloodthirsty circle, nor the Horrible Ten had noticed Henrietta coming down the hill. She paused for a moment, and then with an angry squawk and a flutter of wings she plunged down into them, scattering the rabbits, who squeaked in terror as her sharp beak nipped them. In half a minute every Horrible had vanished.
    Henrietta then pounced angrily on Charles. “You!” she said. “A fine one you’d be to go wandering off by yourself in search of adventure! If I leave you alone five minutes you’re in trouble. Get along home with you!” And she chased him off down to the henhouse.

Chapter 8
    The animals who had set out in search of adventure began wandering back home next day, and at a meeting in the barn that night they told their stories. With the exception of Charles they had all had a good time, and some of the stories were quite exciting. Mrs. Wiggins, who had had the foresight to take some money with her, had stopped at an antique shop along the road and bought a hand-painted fire shovel for Mrs. Bean—it had a little winter scene on the shovel part and roses on the handle, and she got a moustache cup for Mr. Bean.
    These are the cups that have a little flat sort of a china guard built into them just inside the rim, which is supposed to press against your moustache—if you have one—and keep it from getting into the coffee. Mr. Bean was very much pleased with the cup, although in spite of having such bushy whiskers he was a very neat drinker and seldom got his moustache even damp.
    The woman who kept the antique shop had tried to push Mrs. Wiggins out when she first went in, but when she saw that the cow had money she let her look around, although some other customers left rather hurriedly. But later they sat on the porch and talked and got quite friendly, and Mrs. Wiggins stayed on for a week and tended the shop every day when the owner went to visit her sick aunt in the hospital.
    When Freddy told his story and they heard that there was danger that Mr. Flint might try to rob the bank, the animals began to look worried. Many of the smaller animals—the squirrels and rabbits and mice—had their entire next winter’s supply of food in the vaults, and nearly all the animals on the farm had brought money to the bank for safekeeping. It may surprise many people to learn that animals have money since they never work for wages, and have no pockets to carry money in if they did. But animals, when they are walking along, keep their eyes on the ground more than people do, and it is surprising how many coins they find. Even the woods animals often find money