Free Freddy the Cowboy by Walter R. Brooks Page A

and valuables that hunters and hikers have dropped. I know one fox who has a large cameo brooch set with diamonds, and there is a black snake down on the flats who owns two wrist watches which he wears when he goes to parties. Alice and Emma, the two ducks, have some very handsome jewelry which they found when rummaging around for food in the mud at the bottom of their pond. And a lot of money rolls behind baseboards and is found by mice. Many mice have piggy banks.
    Naturally the animals were worried, and they demanded to know what precautions Freddy had taken to safeguard their property.
    â€œI’ve put on extra guards at the bank,” he said, “and I’m keeping an eye on things. Don’t you worry; your stuff is safe.”
    â€œThat’s what you say,” said Bill, the goat. “I’ve got a dozen pairs of fine old well-aged boots down in your bank vaults. I’ve been saving them for when my folks come to visit, so we can have a real high-class banquet. It took me two years to get that lot together, and I’m not going to lose them now just because you want to spend your time galloping around in a monkey suit yelling ‘Yippee!’ instead of tending to your business.”
    There was a murmur of agreement from the other animals, and Mrs. Wiggins said, “You can’t blame Bill, Freddy. All of us have got valuables in the bank, and you’re responsible for them. That Flint is no better than a bandit, and until he’s out of this country, nothing will be safe.”
    â€œAll right, all right,” said Freddy irritably. “I’ll do something—I promise I’ll do something about him.”
    â€œYeah?” said Bill. “When?”
    Freddy of course had no idea what he could do, much less when he could do it. But he knew that he had to act as if he was doing something. Otherwise the animals would take all their valuables back into their own keeping, and the First Animal Bank would have to close its doors and go out of business. So he put a look of great determination on his face, got up, jammed his ten-gallon hat down over his ears and buckled on his gun belt, which he had laid aside during the meeting; and then he said: “Come on Cy, we’ll settle this,” and followed by the pony, went out into the night. It came near being one of the worst mistakes of his entire career.
    Freddy stopped at the pig pen to saddle Cy, then rode up through the pasture towards the woods. Cy said, “You can’t shoot Flint with nothing but blanks in your gun.”
    â€œWho said I was going to shoot Flint?” Freddy asked.
    â€œThat’s where your friends think you’re going,” said the pony. “The way you said you’d settle things. They think you’re going up to challenge him to a pistol fight. And if I’m not mistaken—” He stopped and looked back. “Yes, they’re coming after you. They’re coming to back you up, Freddy.”
    The moon was just rising, and by its light Freddy could see several figures moving across the barnyard; yes, they were following. “Oh, my goodness!” he said. “What’ll we do, Cy? When I said we’d settle things, I didn’t mean I was going to fight Mr. Flint; I just meant—well, I don’t know what I did mean. I guess I was just putting up a bluff. I figured maybe I’d think of something before we got to the ranch.”
    â€œIn that case,” the pony said, “the best thing to do is go back and tell them it was just a bluff. Or no, you can’t do that—that’ll ruin you. Tell ’em—lemme see—tell ’em you’ve been thinking it over and you don’t think it would be right to shoot Mr. Flint, because after all, he hasn’t really robbed the bank yet.”
    â€œI wish I’d never got into this cowboy business,” said Freddy. “If you’re going to be a cowboy, you can’t back