Lost in the Dark Unchanted Forest. John R. Erickson
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Lost in the Dark Unchanted Forest
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. 1988,
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., 2012.
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Copyright © John R. Erickson, 1988
All rights reserved
library of congress cataloging-in-publication data
Erickson, John R.
Lost in the dark unchanted forest / John R. Erickson ; illustrations by Gerald L. Holmes.
p. cm.
Originally published in series: Hank the Cowdog ; 11.
Summary: Fearless Hank the Cowdog, Head of Ranch Security, enters the “dark unchanted forest” to rescue his master’s son from Sinister the bobcat.
ISBN 0-14-130387-5 (pbk.)
[1. Dogs—Fiction. 2. West (U.S.)—Fiction. 3. Humorous stories. 4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Holmes, Gerald L., ill. II. Title. III. Series: Erickson, John R. Hank the Cowdog ; 11.
PZ7.E72556Lo 1999 [Fic]—dc21 98-41815 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.
Contents
Chapter One Mauled by a Gigantic Sniveling Cat
Chapter Two The Giant Baldheaded Lizard
Chapter Three Swimming Lessons for Pete
Chapter Four Another Triumph over the Cat
Chapter Five Running Away from Home
Chapter Six A Witch in the Forest
Chapter Seven Disorientation
Chapter Eight Working Some Hoodoo on Rip and Snort
Chapter Nine Eaten Alive by Crocodiles
Chapter Ten Rip and Snort Defend Their World Championship Title
Chapter Eleven Notch Up Another One for Hank
Chapter Twelve A Hero Again, What More Can I Say?
Chapter One: Mauled by a Gigantic Sniveling Cat
It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. It was your typical spring day, nothing out of the ordinary: calm, bright, a little on the warmish side, the air full of cotton from the cottonwood trees.
We were up around the machine shed, as I recall, basking in the sun, whiling away the afternoon, and waiting for darkness to fall, at which time we would begin our night patrol. Since Loper and Sally May had left the ranch the day before on a mysterious trip to a place called “Hospital,” I had made the decision to double up on night patrol.
Drover was over by the water well, engaged in a meaningless conversation with J. T. Cluck, the head rooster. Suddenly he called.
“Hank, come here and look at this thing and tell us what you think it is.”
I responded to the call and studied the object before him. “That’s a rooster.”
“No, I mean this down here.” He pointed his nose to the ground.
“Oh.” I looked down, sniffed it out, and studied the clues. “That’s dirt, Drover, just common ordinary dirt.”
“Yeah, I know, but is that some kind of print or track in the dirt?”
“Oh.” I ran a more thorough search this time, and that’s when I found the mysterious track. I raised up my head—slowly, so as not to alarm anyone—and glanced over both shoulders to see if we were being watched. “Where did you find this track?”
“Well, it was right there in the dirt.”
“That checks out. Who knows about it?”
“Just me and J.T., I guess.”
“Question: Has anyone or anything passed by here in the last hour?”
“Well, just me and J.T. and a fly . . . a big, noisy fly.”
“And therefore you think the fly left this track, is that what you’re saying? Nice try, Drover. I saw the alleged fly and I know he was big, but not big enough to leave tracks like this. I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I should point out that this is one of the biggest tracks I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s just what J.T. said when he found it. He thought maybe it was a bobcat track.”
I gave the runt a withering glare. “Number One, J.T. didn’t find this track. I did.”
“Now just a darn minute!” said J.T.
I snapped at him, relieved him of a few feathers, and sent him on his way. The last thing I needed was a noisy chicken around to disrupt my investigation—especially one that would try to hog some of the credit for my careful work.
I turned back to Drover. “Number Two, you should disregard anything J.T. might have said about this track, because chickens don’t know beans about tracks. Number Three, we haven’t seen a bobcat on this ranch in years. Number Four, this track was made by an exceptionally large boar coon.
“Number Five, I’m betting he’s still hiding on the ranch; and Number Six, our primary mission on tonight’s patrol will be to search him out and throw him off the place before he gets into some serious mischief.”
“You mean . . .”
“Exactly. Prepare for combat, Drover. Catch all the sleep you can between now and dark. I have a feeling we’ll need it.”
He sniffed at the track. “It sure doesn’t look like a coon track to me.”
“Stick with what you do best, son. Sleep. I’ll get you up at 2100 hours.”
At precisely 2100 hours I awakened Drover and we began what turned out to be one of the most dangerous patrols of my career. It began in a fairly routine manner, with us checking out the saddle shed, the medicine shed, the sick pen, the front lot, and the side lot.
Nothing. And yet . . .
Maybe I have a sick sense, a