Free The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog by John R. Erickson Page B

When we married, we happy, make bunch noise too.”
    â€œI see, yes, well, I guess we have that to look forward to, don’t we?”
    â€œWhen pup come, even more noise, oh boy.”
    â€œOh boy.”
    â€œHunk not be sad. Missy have something make Hunk feel good. We have feast, special food just for Hunk.”
    I followed her into the village. We went to her parents’ den. They were sitting out in front and the old lady was pulling cockleburs out of the chief’s tail. Missy asked her mother if she would prepare a special meal, just for me. She said she would. She left and was gone for ten, fifteen minutes.
    I tried to make conversation with the old man but it wasn’t easy. He started talking about the old days, about a time when he went a couple of rounds with a skunk. He seemed to think this story was hilarious. I thought it was moderately funny.
    The chief was still cackling at his own wonderful story when the old lady returned, dragging in some horrible stinking something or other.
    I turned to Missy. “What’s that?”
    â€œAged mutton.”
    â€œAged mutton?”
    She nodded and smiled. “Special feast make Hunk forget sadness.”
    Aged mutton. No doubt it had been buried for a while. It was green, dotted here and there with white spots which turned out to be maggots. The smell alone could have taken the paint off a corral fence. The taste of such rot was too horrible to imagine.
    The old lady dragged it up and dropped it right at my feet. When she smiled at me, she looked an awful lot like her daughter, except she had several teeth missing and some of that green stuff hanging from her lower lip.
    â€œMeat age for many month, just right for Hunk now.”
    The old man threw back his head, let out a howl, and dived into it. The old lady did the same. Missy did the same. I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and dove in too.
    Let’s don’t go into any details. It was bad. It was so bad that there are no words to describe it. I’ll say no more.

    An hour later, I was lying down, with my head over a cliff. I had emptied my body of everything but blood and a few bones. Missy stood over me, stroking my brow. She had been very nice about it. They all had been, even my future mother-in-law. She had decided that I had drunk some brackish water and that’s what had made me sick.
    â€œHunk feel better now?”
    â€œFeel better, sort of.”
    â€œHunk like coyote feast, oh boy?”
    â€œOh boy.”
    â€œNow Hunk make ready for big raid?”
    I raised up my head. “Huh?”
    That was the first I had heard about the raid. This was going to be my big chance to prove to Missy’s ma and pa that I was worthy of their daughter.
    Scraunch was putting the deal together, a raid on the ranch.

Chapter Eleven: The Attack on the Ranch

    A long about dark the coyote village came to life. Everybody was excited.
    â€œFresh chicken, fresh cat!” they shouted. “Oh boy!”
    Even the kids were excited. They chased each other around, practiced howling, and played a game called “Get the Dog.” The idea of the game was that two kids played coyotes and one played the guard dog. The coyotes lured the dog out into a fight and then jumped him.
    I had played that game myself, only when I’d played it it hadn’t been a game, and I’d been on the dog side. I’d never thought it was much fun either.
    After the sun went down, Scraunch climbed up on a pile of rocks and gave a speech to the whole village. He was a firebrand and a rubble-rouser, and he preached the kind of hot gospel them coyotes wanted to hear.
    â€œJackrabbit run too fast, make coyote tired to catch. Mouse run down hole, coyote have to dig, make tired too. But chicken  . . . chicken easy! Chicken nice and fat, sit on nest, not fight. Chicken plump and juicy. This night, everybody eat chicken!”
    A cheer went up from the crowd. I was