Freddy the Cowboy

None of Freddy’s friends in the bleachers had recognized him, so naturally the crowd thought this was all part of the show. It didn’t make much sense, but then, lots of the movies they went to in Centerboro didn’t make much sense either, so they just thought maybe they had missed something, and it would be explained later. But Jasper and Mr. Flint came back and at once started doing stunts with a bull whip, and a rope, and pretty soon the crowd forgot, although some of them wondered why, if Snake Peters was part of the show, he didn’t come back.

Bannister didn’t stay any longer. He got in his car and drove Howard back to the Bean farm. Mr. and Mrs. Bean had hitched Hank up to the buggy and gone to visit Mrs. Bean’s aunt for a few days, but all the other animals were there, and in a meeting in the cow barn Bannister told them what had happened. When he spoke of Howard’s heroic attack on Mr. Flint, they cheered until the windows rattled, and even Charles admitted that, except for himself, he knew very few animals who would have dared to perform such a brave deed.

Mrs. Wiggins said that one thing seemed plain: they would have to get rid of Mr. Flint. “If it was just the bank,” she said, “I guess we could manage. We could move all our valuables to some other place until his season at the ranch is over and he goes away. But he’s out to get Freddy, and sooner or later he’ll succeed unless something is done. I wish Freddy was here; he’s always so full of ideas.”

“I guess his idea today wasn’t so hot,” said Jinx. “A couple more like that and there’ll be a pig pen to rent.”

“I gathered,” said Bannister, “that it was the only idea he had at the time, and he thought it better to use a poor one than none at all.”

During the discussion several of the rabbits had got up and gone quietly out, and now No. 23 came back with a folded paper which he laid down in front of Howard.

“Let me open it for you,” said Bannister. So Howard got up on the butler’s shoulder, and Bannister unfolded the paper. It was a piece of a paper bag, and the writing on it had evidently been done with a very hard pencil by a very poor writer. “My word,” said Bannister, “can you read this?”

Like most field mice Howard had had no schooling and could neither read nor write, but he was ashamed to say so at a meeting of such highly educated animals, so he said: “Please read it out loud.”

“The writing is so faint,” said Bannister, “that I think it is meant to be read in a whisper. But if you say so—” And he read:

Whereas, in the endeavor to save the life of our mutual friend and comrade, Freddy, you boldly and without hesitation risked your own life by leaping into the very lion’s jaws (i. e., Mr. Flint’s shirt);

And whereas, you thus exhibited a gallantry of conduct far in excess of the line of duty; Be it therefore resolved that you be invited to join this organization, with the rank of Associate Horrible, and with all the rights and privileges thereto appertaining.

“Have to,” said Bannister. “There’s nothing to it, really. They don’t expect an oration. Just say anything that comes into your head.”

“Can’t say that, naturally,” said Bannister. “Oh, just use one of the stock openings. You know! ‘Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,’ and so on. Or: ‘You’d scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on the stage.’ Well, come on, you’ve got to say something.”

So Howard said: “Ladies and gents—I mean, animals and birds. I want to thank the Horribles for their kind invitation. I mean—well, I’ll try to be a good member and be as horrible as possible. I guess Mr. Flint thought I was horrible when I was running around over his ribs.” He hesitated a minute and then said: “Well, I guess that’s all,” and crept down into Bannister’s pocket.

Bannister had never heard of the Horrible Ten, and so No. 23 said he would show him who they were. All the rabbits went out and got their knives and tied down their ears, and then Mrs. Wiggins turned out the electric light so that the moonlight that came through the windows just showed up things dimly. And then the Horribles came in. They hopped and stamped in a circle around Bannister, and they sang:

The Horribles stopped suddenly, for from somewhere overhead a soft dark object had fallen with a plop to the floor. And then a harsh voice from a beam above them said: “Turn on the light! Quit this foolishness and look what I’ve brought you. Found it up in that pasture by Flint’s ranch.”

The light clicked on, and they all looked up to see Old Whibley perched on the beam. His feathers were ruffled and although owls always look worried, he looked much worrieder than usual.

“Look at it! Look at it!” he said crossly. “Don’t stand there gaping like a lot of astonished bullfrogs!”

“Why, it’s Freddy’s hat!”

“Look what’s in it,” said the owl.

“Well,” said Jinx, “it hasn’t got Freddy in it, so what’s all the excitement about?”

“It’s got two holes in it,” said Whibley. “And if Freddy was in it when those holes were put there, maybe you smart animals can figure out for yourselves where Freddy is now.”

Nobody said anything. They all gathered round and looked at the hat, and it was plain enough that a bullet had gone through the hat, and that if Freddy had been wearing it, the bullet had gone through Freddy. Bannister had told them how Mr. Flint and Jasper had chased Freddy up into the woods, shooting at him. And of course none of them knew how the shot Mr. Bean had fired at the side of the pigpen had really made the holes in the hat. Freddy hadn’t told them about it, and none of them had noticed the holes.

Whibley clicked his beak irritably. “Come on, come on!” he said. “What do you expect it to do—get up and dance for you?”

But the animals were so shocked that they still couldn’t do anything but stare at the hat. That their old friend, Freddy, the cleverest animal on the farm, had been shot, was news so bad that they couldn’t take it in. It was Alice, the white duck, who broke the spell. She gave a weak quack and fell over in a dead faint.

Alice had come to the meeting with her sister, Emma, and her Uncle Wesley, a pompous little fat duck whom nobody liked. In an emergency Uncle Wesley was no good at all, though he always had a great deal to say. He was cross at Alice for fainting. “Now, now, my girl,” he said; “none of that. Come, come; straighten up. At least try to act like a lady—”

“She’s fainted, uncle,” said Emma. “We must get her out into the air. Take her other wing.”

“And don’t talk like a fool, Wesley,” put in Whibley, “even though you are one. Well now,” he said when Alice had been helped out, “I’m asking again, what are you animals going to do?”

It was at times like this that Charles usually leaped up and made a speech, but for once he seemed to have nothing to say. It was Mrs. Wiggins who spoke. “There’s only one thing to do,” she said. “We’re going up and tear Flint’s place to pieces, and him with it.”

“Right!” said Charles. It was the shortest remark he had probably ever made. And there was a murmur of agreement from the others as they moved towards the door.

But Old Whibley hooted angrily at them. “Sure. That’s the thing to do! Walk right up and ask Flint to shoot you. He’s got guns. He’ll accommodate you, all right. Don’t be a set of dim-witted dodunks! Come back here and decide on something sensible.”

They stopped and turned around, and Mrs. Wiggins said: “I guess you’re right. We can’t fight him. But if he’s done anything to Freddy—”

There were threatening growls from the animals—even the rabbits tried to snarl, though rabbits haven’t anything to snarl with.

Whibley ruffled his feathers and stamped on the beam with irritation. “A plan, we want a plan,” he shouted. “We don’t want a lot of growls. You can stand there growling at Flint for the next week and how much harm will that do him? Mr. Bean’s famous talking animals!” he said sarcastically. “Sure! They can talk but they can’t think. All they can do is stand around and cackle like a lot of old hens.”

Charles got angry. He strutted out under the beam and shook out his handsome tail feathers. “Sir,” he said, “are you referring by any chance to my wife?”

But Henrietta pushed him aside. “Shut up, Charles,” she said, “I’ll take care of any personal remarks.” And she looked up at the owl. “You’re all hoot and hustle, aren’t you, old pop-eyes?” she said. “No cackle to you, is there?—just fine common sense and good judgment. Well, you’re so much smarter than we are, suppose you tell us what your plan is?”

Whibley didn’t have any more plan than the others did, but he really was smarter than they were, for he didn’t mind admitting it. “Haven’t any plan and you know it,” he said gruffly. “Didn’t intend any personal remark. Just want to get a discussion going. Maybe we can hammer out a plan.”

“Excuse me,” said Howard, “but I have an idea!”

“Who’s this little squirt?” Whibley demanded.

The owl was always offending somebody by his rough speech. Now it was Jinx who got mad. “He’s a friend of mine,” he said. “And if he’s a squirt, you’re a moth-eaten old dust mop, and I wouldn’t—”

“Now, Jinx,” said Mrs. Wiggins reprovingly. “This is just holding everything up.” She looked at the owl. “Howard is one of us,” she said, “and the only one who appears to have any ideas. Suppose we hear him.”

“Quite right,” said Whibley. “Speak up, boy, and don’t mumble.”

“I don’t know how to mumble,” said Howard, “but I only got as far as the second grade. I just wanted to say that—well, I know one thing that Flint is afraid of, and that’s knives.” And he told them about what had happened at the rodeo and what Cy had said about it. “And you notice he doesn’t wear a knife ever, or carry one.”

“That is all true,” put in Bannister. “I saw it myself. The fellow turned absolutely green.”

“H’m,” said Whibley. “His complexion is sort of green anyway. Well, young mouse, your suggestion is that we should attack Flint with knives? And what will he be doing meanwhile?”

“No, sir,” said Howard, “I was just thinking that—well, these Horribles have knives. And they don’t have to stick them into Flint, if they could just catch him alone—”

“Scare him to death, that’s an idea!” said Mrs. Wurzburger.

The owl shook his head. “Not much use scaring Flint,” he said. “Scare the dudes that are boarding there—that’s the ticket. If they leave, Flint has to close up and go away.”

“He’s shot Freddy,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “We aren’t just going to drive him away.”

“No,” said Old Whibley slowly. “We’re going to do more to him than that. But that would be a nice start. See here, you rabbits—what do you call yourselves—Horribles?—could you do a dangerous job? I mean, tackle Flint some night at a campfire, in front of his whole crowd. Of course my niece, Vera, and I would be there—swoop down and grab his guns if he pulled ’em.”

Rabbit No. 23 stepped forward. “Brother Horribles,” he said, “you have heard the proposal. What do you say?”

There was a shout of: “Yes! Yes, Your Dreadfulness!”

“Especially if Old Whibley and Vera are there,” said No. 7. “We know they’d protect us.”

“Why, h’m—ha,” said the owl, trying not to look pleased, “good of you to say so. Ha! Where was I? Well, now—”

But a loud “Psst!” from Jinx interrupted him. “Lights out! Horses coming!”

And indeed they could all hear them now, cantering down through the pasture.