The Curse of the Incredible Priceless Corncob
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, 1986
All rights reserved
library of congress cataloging-in-publication data
Erickson, John R.
The curse of the incredible priceless corncob / John R. Erickson ; illustrations by Gerald L. Holmes.
p. cm.
Originally published in series: Hank the Cowdog ; 7.
Summary: While trying to outwit his arch enemy Pete the Barncat, Hank the Cowdog is duped into believing a worthless corncob will bring him fame and fortune.
ISBN 978-1-59188-107-0 (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 ; 7.
PZ7.E72556Cu 1999 [Fic]—dc21 98-41816 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
Jonye Curry Patterson
Contents
Chapter One An Astronomy Lesson for the Dunce
Chapter Two The Mystery of the Corncobs
Chapter Three Another Humiliating Defeat for the Cat
Chapter Four The Seed of Greed Takes Root in Drover’s Tiny Brain
Chapter Five The Plot Gets Thicker, So to Speak
Chapter Six Chosen for a Very Dangerous Assignment
Chapter Seven A Narrow Escape from Horned Death
Chapter Eight No Barrel of Fun
Chapter Nine I’m Rich!
Chapter Ten Early Retirement
Chapter Eleven Captured by Cannibals
Chapter Twelve A Wild but Short Romance. Also an Exciting Conclusion
Epiglottis
Chapter One: An Astronomy Lesson for the Dunce
It’s me again, Hank the Cowdog. I’m still not sure how the corncobs fit into the overall case, or for that matter what part Pete the Barncat played in the mystery, but on the morning of September 7, at approximately ten o’clock, the cowboys roared into headquarters and called me up for Special Emergency Duty.
Little did I know what danger lay in store for me or that my very life would be hanging in the balance before the day was done. But then, that’s getting the cart before the wagon.
Let’s back up and take first things first. In the security business, you can get yourself in a mess trying to take first things second or second things first. First things should always be taken first.
Okay. Let’s start with the corncobs.
On the evening of the morning before the day of which I speak . . . Let’s try that again. On the evening before the morning of the day of which . . .
Might be simpler just to say, “On the evening of September 6.” Okay, on the evening of September 6, Drover and I were down in the vicinity of the gas tanks, taking it easy and catching a few winks of sleep before we had to go out on night patrol.
As I recall the scene, I was reclined on my gunnysack bed, hovering in the twilight zone between watchfulness and more or less complete oblivion. In other words, although my more critical faculties were pretty muchly in neutral, I continued to monitor all sounds and earatory data in the Ready Room of my mind.
This is a trick of the trade, so to speak, that a guy builds up over a period of years. When you’re on call twenty-four hours a day, when the safety of the ranch and all its inhabitants depends on your ability to scramble at the first sign of danger, you learn to grab your sleep when it comes and to remain alert even while sleeping.
Hencely, even though an outside observer would have pronounced me asleep, the inner recesses of my mind continued to monitor incoming signals. A high percentage of those signals were coming from Drover, my associate, who sat nearby, staring up at the sky and composing dumb questions.
“Hank?”
My eyelids twitched but I tried to ignore him.
“Hank?”
“Um.”
“You awake, Hank?”
I cracked my left eye and snapped a visual update for my data base, but this procedure met with only partial success since my left eye was still rolling around in its sprocket. Again, I tried to ignore him.
“Hank?”
“What!”
“You awake?”
“Of course it will! If it weren’t for that, what else could it be?”
“What?”
“You heard what I said. Don’t sit there pretending . . . what did I say?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, if you’re not sure, Drover, who is?”
“You got me.”
“Then I’ve got very little. The question is, what is the meaning of this conversation?”
“I’m not sure, Hank. I just asked if you were awake.”
“And what did I say?”
“That was the part I didn’t understand.”
That did it. I had no choice but to cancel the Sleep Mode and go back on duty. I opened both eyes and sat up.
“Drover, do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”
“Not really. I was just trying to make conversation. I get bored sometimes.”
“If I had to live with that tiny brain of yours,