The Case of the Mysterious Tracks

By Justin Stiffler

Itās me again, Hank the Cowdog.

It was mid-morninā on the ranch on another summer afternoon. I was examining some suspicious looking tracks, while Mr. Sleep Ītill Noon was laying on the ground beside the chickenhouse, wheezing in his sleep.

I always hated it when my sawed-off, stub-tailed assistant slept until noon. I booted him the right flank. "Drover, get up son and get your little fanny in gear."

He snorted and his eyes popped open. "Oh, hi Hank. What are you doinā?"

I stared at the runt. "What do you think Iām doinā, silly? Look at that ground and tell me what you see."

He looked down. "All I see is brown dirt, Hank."

I glared at him. "Are you blind or are you just trying to make me mad?"

"Iām not trying to make you mad, Hank so I must be blind! Quick, get me to a doctor!" He began running around in circles, yelling about his so-called blindness. Then he stopped and stared at me, "But if I am blind, how come I can see you, Hank?"

I glared at my honest, but insane companion. "That is because youāre not blind, you little dunce."

"But I thought you said..."

"Never mind! Look at these tracks, Drover. What or who do you think made these?"

Drover stared at the tracks. "They look like dog tracks to me Hank."

I glared at the dummy. "Drover, sometimes I think you donāt have anything in that head of yours but air. Those are bobcat tracks, son. That means that there was or still is a bobcat here on the ranch!"

Just then, Pete the Barncat came walking lazily to the chickenhouse and rubbed against my leg. I growled and moved five feet away from the cat. "Beat it, cat. Drover and I are on a private investigation. Scram!"

Pete stared at me. "If it has anything to do with those tracks, Hankie, my cousin Sinister the Bobcat came for a visit this morning. He said that since you got the two coyotes to attack him, when he sees you again, heās going to do worse to you then he did the last time he whipped you."

I bristled at that. Sinister the Bobcat was someone I didnāt want to see for a long time. Iād rather see the coyote brothers, Rip and Snort than that stupid bobcat.

Pete was still talking his usual trash. "If I were you, Hankie, I would run for my life and hide until you know for sure that he is gone."

I forced a smile. "Run and hide? I think not cat. Iām goinā to find your cousin, Sinister the Bobocat and whip the tar out of him."

Pete smiled. "I shouldnāt be telling you this, but youāll find Sinister in the horse pasture."

I started walking away. "Come on Drover. Letās go find Mr. Sinister the Bobcat. Drover? Drover!" He was nowhere in sight. "Fine! Iāll find you, you little dunce!" With that, I walked away to find Drover. Iāll need all the help I can get, fellers, even if itās from a no-good, chicken hearted little mutt.

©Maverick Books, All rights reserved.
"Hank the Cowdog" is a registered trademark of John R. Erickson Illustrations by Gerald L. Holmes