The Case of the Bone-Stalking Monster Read Free Page B

pretty damaging, but I think I can explain everything. Honest. No kidding.”
    That’s as far as I got with my story. I couldn’t seem to get past the “I can explain everything” part. I would just have to wing it and hope for the best.
    I approached her with a big cowdog smile. She did not return the smile. Instead, her eyes were filled with ice and snow and cold north winds. Yikes, it appeared that I was in deep trouble.
    But you’ll never guess what she said. I was shocked. Here’s what she said, word for word.
    â€œNow, you look at his face, Alfred Leroy. You see what you caused? Poor old Hank was just minding his own business until you drew him into a fight.”
    The boy stuck out his lip. “I was only pwaying, Mom.”
    â€œI know you were playing, Alfred, but the point is that someone else paid the price for your fun.”
    â€œNuh-uh, ’cause Hank and Pete had fun too.”
    â€œMaybe they did, but they paid for it. Hank got scratched up and Pete got chased up a tree. And what about you—you who started the whole thing?”
    â€œWell . . . I got scwatched. See?” He pointed to a tiny scratch on his arm. “And it hoorts weal bad, Mom, no foolin’.”
    She shook her head. “I think you need to come inside and stand in the corner for thirty minutes.”
    â€œAw Mom!”
    â€œAnd think about being kinder to animals. God didn’t put them here for you to torment.”
    â€œAw Mom!”
    â€œIn the house. March!”
    The boy twisted his face into an angry pout and beamed a hot glare at me, of all things. “Hank, you got me in twouble and you’re a dummy.”
    Me? What . . . ?
    I stared at him in disbelief as Sally May escorted him into the house. He was calling ME a dummy and accusing ME of getting him into trouble? What a wild imagination he had!
    But that didn’t matter now, because Sally May had sniffed out the real culprit in the case and was hauling him off to jail. It served him right, the little snipe.
    Justice had been . . . although I had to admit, in the deep dark wickedness of my heart, that giving the cat his daily thrashing had been worth all the scratches. If given the opportunity to do it all over again, I would have done it all over again . . . especially if Little Alfred got blamed for it.
    Heh heh.
    Not a bad deal, in other words, especially when you considered that I had also won the Grand Prize of three juicy, delicious T-bone steak bones, speaking of which . . .
    Where were my bones?
    I sniffed the ground and located the spots where they had been—three distinking locations that still held the warm and wonderful fragrance of steak juice.
    The smell was there. The bones were not.
    They were gone.
    SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY STEAK BONES!
    I went streaking down to the gas tanks. I had supposed that I would find Drover asleep on his gunnysack bed, but I was shocked to find him awake. But that was only the first of several shocks that awaited me, as you will see.
    I came roaring up to the gas tanks, throttled down, hit Full Air Brakes, and came sliding to a stop.
    â€œDrover! I’m glad you’re awake.”
    He gave me his usual silly grin. “Thanks, Hank. I’m glad too, ’cause the awaker you are, the dayer it seems.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said . . . well, let me think here. I said, the awaker the day, the shorter the night. I think that’s what I said.”
    â€œHmmm. Well, that’s an interesting way of put­ting it, but what was your point?”
    â€œThe point. Well, let’s see here.” He rolled his eyes around. I tried to remain patient.
    Are you getting impatient? Let’s change chapters. Maybe that will help.

Chapter Four: Here’s a Fresh Chapter

    T here, we’ve changed chapters. Drover was pondering my question, if you recall. At last he gave his answer.
    â€œThe point is that if you sleep all the time, there’s not much