Freddy the Cowboy (11 page)

Chapter 10

Freddy felt pretty sure that Mr. Flint would have given up any idea he might have had of robbing the bank. At least he wouldn't try it when Freddy was around, for he had seen the pig do some wonderful shooting, and he wouldn't take chances with anything involving gunplay. So for a few days everything was quiet and peaceful. Freddy practised riding and roping; he was getting good enough so that he could have got a job as a cowboy if there had been any demand for them in the neighborhood. He galloped around over the farm, and he roped everything in sight. He got Mrs. Wiggins to help him at first; she would run, and then he would gallop after her and lasso her. But it wasn't much fun for her. When you run and somebody ropes you, you're likely to fall down and skin your nose. After this had happened several times, the cow quit. Indeed she was so lame from falling down that she said she couldn't run once around the barnyard without yelling. She got a bottle of arnica from Mrs. Bean and a bottle of liniment from Mr. Bean and Freddy found a bottle of something Uncle Ben had had, up in the loft. She mixed them all together and rubbed them on, and then she said she felt better. She certainly smelt different.

After this had happened several times the cow quit.

Every night now the Horrible Ten were out, marching and war-dancing and singing their songs. Rabbits are mild creatures and a good many animals pick on them for that reason. The rabbits were getting their revenge on a lot of animals who had bullied them in the past. They would lie in wait until they caught some animal in the open, and then they would jump up and go through their act. It was a good act, so good that when they had scared all their enemies, they put it on for anybody they happened to run into. They claimed that they had scared one woodchuck so badly that his fur had turned white. But I don't think there was any truth in that.

Jinx liked their act so much that he wanted to join them. But they said no, that would make them the Horrible Eleven, which sounded foolish. Their real reason was that they knew that Jinx, being larger than the others, would want to be the head Horrible and run things. He said he would be a big help to them; first, because he was very good at blood-curdling screams; and second, because if they got in a fight, he could protect them. But they said that while screams would be nice, they'd got along so far without them; and as for protection, they didn't need it, because if an animal got mad and attacked them, they could always run away. And of course a rabbit can run like a streak of greased lightning.

The most successful performance was the night they put their act on for the benefit of Mrs. Wiggins and her two sisters, Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus. The cows had heard a good deal about the Horrible Ten, but as they seldom went out nights, they had never seen them in action, so they sent them an invitation to come into the cow barn some night and put on their act.

The Horrible Ten accepted, but wouldn't say when they were coming. They wanted to make it a surprise. They did all right. They came in one night during a thunderstorm and war-danced in a circle around the cows, and sang their songs, and the lightning flickered on their tin knives and their rolling eyeballs and made them appear and disappear as they stamped and shouted, and it was pretty terrifying. Mrs. Wurzburger fainted away and Mrs. Wogus got down and hid her head in the hay. Mrs. Wiggins was scared too, but she had a lot of common sense, so she could laugh even when she was scared. When Mrs. Wiggins laughed you could hear her down in Centerboro. The Beans of course heard her and thought she was having hysterics, and Mr. Bean came out with a pail of water and threw it over her. She didn't like that much, but she didn't want Mr. Bean to get mad at her, so she just thanked him and said she felt better.

The rabbits' friends, however, felt that sooner or later they were going to get into real trouble. They were getting much too bold, and some of their exploits were decidedly foolhardy. They went up in the woods and scared Mac, the wildcat, or at least tried to. Mac snarled and spit at first, but he had heard about the Horribles, and after a minute he calmed down and just grinned at them.

But when Freddy heard about it, he gave No. 23 a good talking to. “You keep this up,” he said, “and you won't be the Horrible Ten long. You'll be the Horrible Nine and then the Horrible Eight, and pretty soon the Horrible Nothing. You know perfectly well that a lot of rabbits have gone into those woods and never come out again. Why, last winter your own grandfather disappeared up there. I'm not accusing Mac of eating him. But your grandfather, if I remember correctly, was rather on the plump side. And what do you suppose happens, out in the woods, if a nice plump rabbit comes around one side of a bush and a hungry wildcat comes around the other? You think they just say ‘How-de-do?' and pass on?”

“Oh, shucks, Freddy,” said No. 23; “you know grandpa was awful slow on his feet. Us Horribles, we're all good runners.”

“Have it your own way,” said Freddy. “But if you get into trouble, I won't be able to say ‘I told you so' but I'll think of you whenever I see Mac. So long, 23; it's been nice knowing you.”

But Freddy's warning didn't have much effect.

Every day after breakfast Freddy saddled Cy and rode off, sometimes along the roads, sometimes cross country. Often it was late at night before they got home. The mice enjoyed these rides as much as Freddy did, and he usually took one or two of them along. Even Cousin Augustus, although the motion of the horse usually made him seasick, insisted on going. He groaned and complained all the time, and wasn't a very cheerful companion, but he raised such a rumpus if he was left behind that everybody begged Freddy to take him.

Freddy often met the dudes from Mr. Flint's ranch, and if neither Mr. Flint nor Jasper was along, he would sometimes ride with them a while or accept their invitation to a picnic. None of them knew that he was a pig, although they had all by this time heard of Mr. Bean's talking animals, and one evening around their campfire they started asking him questions about them. Particularly they wanted to know if he had ever seen Freddy, the famous pig detective, who was also a poet.

“Is he really as smart as they say?” someone asked. “I mean, we hear about all these disguises he wears; can he really get away with it?”

“Oh, sure!” said Freddy. “Sure! Why, that pig, he might sit right here 'mongst us—he might be any one of you folks, and there ain't anybody that would guess it. Why, he might even be me!”

They all laughed heartily at this. “Oh, come, come,” they said, “we aren't as easy to fool as that!”

That was too much for Freddy. There wasn't any reason why he should keep pretending with these people, he thought, and he snatched off his big hat. “In fact,” he said, “he is me. Or at least—I'm him!”

Well, they were all astonished. They had thought he was a pretty queer-looking cowboy, but it had certainly never occurred to them that he was a pig. They all took it pretty well, because people don't usually like to be made to look foolish, and of course you look pretty foolish if you can't tell the difference between a pig and a cowboy. They crowded round and shook hands and congratulated him on his disguise, and particularly on the way he could ride and shoot. “My gracious,” said Mrs. Balloway, “that was the most wonderful exhibition you gave us the other night. You know the rodeo is to be held next week, and I do hope you'll be entered in some of the shooting events.”

“There's one shooting event he'll be entered in, all right,” said a voice from the darkness, and Jasper rode into the firelight. “Flint's been looking for you, pig. It's just as well for you I got to you first. Because if you run into him you ain't going to get much warning. He's going to shoot on sight.”

There was a gasp from the dudes, and one of them said: “Why, he must be crazy! This man—this, er, person can shoot all around Mr. Flint.”

“That's just what Cal thinks, ma'am,” said Jasper. “That he'll shoot all around him and won't hit him. Any more than he hit them cans he was shooting at so bold and free.”

“But we saw him hit them.”

“You thought you saw him hit them. So did I, till we looked at the cans, and there weren't any bullet holes in any of 'em.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Mrs. Balloway. “Why, we saw them knocked off the posts when he fired at them.”

“I don't know how he did it—maybe with strings,” said Jasper. “But he never hit one of those cans—there ain't a hole in one of 'em.”

It hadn't occurred to Freddy that they might look at the cans. It would have been easy enough to puncture them just before putting them on the posts. The dudes were all looking at him. He jammed his hat back on his head and glared angrily at Jasper. “Nonsense!” he said. “You all saw me knock the cans off. How could I do that if I didn't hit them? By magic? Maybe the cans were so scared they jumped right off the posts. Maybe—” He was thinking hard as he talked. He had to face Jasper down on this, otherwise his reputation would be gone. He realized again that a reputation was a nuisance. Here he was, trying to live up to a reputation as a marksman, and probably a gun fighter, when he had nothing but blanks in his gun, and the only time he had ever shot at a mark, he had missed it by three feet. “I wish I'd stuck to detective work,” he thought.

“Well, whether he hit the cans or not,” said Mrs. Balloway, “Mr. Flint is talking a lot of foolishness. It may be all right out West where you come from to talk about shooting on sight, but if he tries out any such lawless notions around this part of the country, he'll wind up in jail.”

“Ma'am,” said Jasper. “If Cal was to pull a gun on a man, without even giving him due warning, I'd agree with you. But this here feller ain't a man, he's a pig. And there wouldn't be any jail sentence for shootin' a pig. Maybe he'd have to pay the pig's owner something. But I guess Cal would think it was worth it.” He grinned maliciously at Freddy.

Freddy had by this time recovered himself. He had no desire to be shot up by Mr. Flint, but Mr. Flint was not present. Of course, whatever he said about Mr. Flint would be reported to him, but nothing could make things any worse: Mr. Flint was going to shoot him on sight anyway. So he said boldly: “Jasper, yo' can tell that long-nosed pickle-faced boss of yours that he ain't going to have to hunt for me. I'll be up to the ranch, lookin' for him, and if he comes out, he'd better come out a-shooting. Not that I think he will come out—I reckon I'll have to come in and get him, which I aim to do just that, and I'll pull him out like a robin pulls a worm out of the dirt, and I'll shoot him so full of holes you can set glass in him and use him for a window.” And Freddy swung up into the saddle, struck a chord on his guitar, and as he rode off out of the circle of firelight into the darkness, he sang:

“Up to the ranch rides Cowboy Freddy;

His heart is stout and his hand is steady;

He yells: ‘Come out' but Flint is yeller

And he shakes and he shivers and he hides in the cellar.

Oh, yip, yip, yippy-doodle-dee!

When Freddy finds him he falls on his knees,

And he says, ‘Oh, mercy!' and he says, ‘Oh, please!'

But Freddy just laughs and pulls his moustache,

And he plugs old Flint in the middle of his sash.

Sing yip, yip, yippy-doodle-do.”

There was much more in the song, but there was a lot of bragging in it, and Freddy was a little ashamed of it afterwards, so it is not put down here.

Chapter 11

But Freddy didn't go home that night. He had no wish to be pulled out of his comfortable bed in the pigpen in the middle of the night by an enraged Mr. Flint, and maybe shot full of large round holes. So he rode around the end of the lake to Mr. Camphor's house. He rode up to the front door and rang the bell.