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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

"Help!" came a thin, faint voice, from beyond the start of the trees shading
the back half of Tricky's enclosure. "Help!"
"Oh boy." Hank grinned, and peered in the direction of the shouts. "This time
we got one."
Sure enough, just through the trees, he could make out the huge brown bulk of
the Tricerotops standing in what Hank recognized as a belligerent
aggression-pose. The limbs of the tree moved a little, shaking beneath the
weight of whoever Tricky had treed.
"Help!" came the faint, pathetic cry.
"Reckon he didn't read the sign," said Buford, ambling up with both their
horses, and indicating the sign posted on the fence that read, "IF YOU CROSS
THIS FIELD, DO IT IN 9.9 SECONDS; TRICKY THE TRICERATOPS DOES IT IN 10."
"Reckon not," Hank agreed, taking the reins of Smoky from his old pal and
swinging into the saddle. He looked over at the tech, who hastened to hold
open the gate for both of them. "You'd better go get Security, the cops, the
medics and the lawyers in that order," he said, and the tech nodded.
Hank looked back into the enclosure. Tricky hadn't moved.
"Reckon that'un's the lucky'un," Buford said, sending Pete through the gate at
a sedate walk.
"Oh, I dunno," Hank replied, as Smoky followed, just as eager for a good
roping and riding session as Hank wasn't. Smoky was an overachiever; best
horse Hank had ever partnered, but a definite workaholic.
"Why you say that?" Buford asked.
Hank shook his head. "Simple enough. Gettin' treed by Tricky's gonna be the
best part of his day. By the time the lawyers get done with 'im well, I reckon
he's likely to wish Gertie'd stepped on him, too. They ain't gonna leave him
anything but shredded underwear. If he thought Tricky was bad "
"Uh-huh," Buford agreed, his weathered face splitting with a malicious grin.
Both of them had been top rodeo riders before the animal-rights activists
succeeded in truncating the rodeo-circuit. They'd been lucky to get this job.
"You know, I reckon we had oughta take our time about this. Exercise'd do
Tricky some good."
Hank laughed, and held Smoky to a walk. "Buford, old pal, I reckon you're
readin' my mind. You don't suppose the damn fools hurt Tricky, do ya?"
Faint and far, came a snort; Hank could just barely make out Tricky as he
backed up a little and charged the tree. A thud carried across the enclosure,
and the tree shook. "Naw, I think Tricky's healthy as always." "Help!" came
the wail from the leaves. Hank pulled Smoky up just a little more.
And grinned fit to split his face.
This wasn't the best day of his life, but damn if it wasn't right up there. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]