Let Sleeping Dogs Lie. John R. Erickson
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Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
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 Maverick Books, Inc. 1986,
Texas Monthly Press, 1988, and Gulf Publishing Company, 1990.
Subsequently published simultaneously by Viking Children’s Books and Puffin Books, members of Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 1999.
Currently published by Maverick Books, Inc., 2011
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © John R. Erickson, 1985, 1989
All rights reserved
library of congress cataloging-in-publication data
Erickson, John R.
[Hank the Cowdog and let sleeping dogs lie]
Let sleeping dogs lie / John R. Erickson ; illustrations by Gerald L. Holmes.
p. cm. — (Hank the Cowdog ; 6)
Previously published as: Hank the Cowdog and let sleeping dogs lie.
Summary: Hank the Cowdog, Head of Ranch Security, pursues an elusive chicken murderer.
ISBN 1-59188-106-4 (pbk.)
[1. Dogs—Fiction. 2. Humorous stories. 3. West (U.S.)—Fiction.] I. Holmes, Gerald L., ill. II. Title. III. Series: Erickson, John R. Hank the Cowdog ; 6.
[PZ7.E72556Le 1999] [Fic]—dc21 98-41853 CIP AC
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
For Jake and Audrey
Contents
Chapter One An Awful Fiendish Murder
Chapter Two The Case of the Moving Garden
Chapter Three Another Triumph over Pete
Chapter Four Terminal Rootabegga and Another Murder
Chapter Five The Mailman Gets It
Chapter Six An Unexpected Trip into Spook Canyon
Chapter Seven A Brilliant Interrogation of a Difficult Suspect
Chapter Eight On Trial in the Horse Pasture
Chapter Nine Drover Confesses
Chapter Ten A New Twist in the Case
Chapter Eleven The Sting Stings the Wrong Guy
Chapter Twelve Breakfast Is Cancelled
Chapter One: An Awful Fiendish Murder
It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. The night was dark and still, the air so heavy that I could taste it. And what I tasted was . . . MURDER!!
Drover had stumbled onto the body, what was left of it, down by the creek just before dark. He sounded the alarm and I raced to the scene. In the last light of day, I conducted my usual thorough investigation.
“Drover,” I said after sifting the clues and analyzing the facts, “this was no ordinary murder. It’s the work of some kind of fiend. And he may still be on the ranch.”
“Oh my gosh! Maybe we better hide.”
I caught him just as he was about to run for cover. “Hold on, son, I’ve got some bad news. We’re this ranch’s first line of defense. If there’s a murdering fiend on the loose, we have to catch him.”
Drover shivered and rolled his eyes. “You’re right about one thing.”
“And what would that be, Drover?”
“It’s bad news. I’m scared of murdering fiends.”
“Being scared of scary things is normal, son. But you don’t go into security work to be normal. We have to be tougher and braver than your ordinary run of mutts.”
“Could I work on that tomorrow?”
“Negative. In this business, a guy never knows if he’ll be around tomorrow.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Drover, being afraid is the major cause of fear. If you can get that under control, you’ve got it licked.” He stared at me and then licked his chops. “When I said, ‘You’ve got it licked,’ I wasn’t suggesting that you should lick your chops. Are you trying to be funny?”
“No.”
“Good, because you’re not.”
“I’m too scared.”
“Let’s move out. We’ve got a job to do.”
I sent Drover off to scout the eastern quadrant of headquarters while I gave myself the more difficult job of checking out the western quadrant, which included the saddle shed, corrals, calf shed, and feed barn.
As I groped through the inky blackness, I found myself worrying about Little Drover. What if he found the fiend? Or what if the fiend found him?
I crept through the front lot, sweeping the territory in front of me with eyes that had been trained to see what ordinary eyes were unable to see.
The wind stirred. No, the wind moaned. It moaned in the tops of the cottonwoods across the creek and cried through the pipes of the doctoring chute, and suddenly I heard a crash behind me. I leaped into the air and turned to face the attack of I-knew-not-what manner of monster . . .
. . . and realized that Slim and High Loper still hadn’t taken the time to pound two piddling galvanized nails into that dadgum piece of tin on the roof of the calf shed.
Here we have a classic case of ranch mismanagement. How many years had that piece of tin flapped in the wind? Two? Five? Ten? Every time the wind changed directions, it banged. And every time it banged, Slim would say, “We’ll have to fix that thing one of these days,” and Loper would say, “Yup, when we get caught up.”
And so it banged and flapped every time . . .
. . . THE WIND CHANGED DIRECTIONS. There was my first clue. Yes, the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. If the tin banged every time the wind changed direction, and if the tin was banging at that very moment, then it followed from simple deduction that the wind had changed directions.
Exactly what that had to do with the murder case, I wasn’t sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion that the two were