Secret Signs by Shelley Hrdlitschka Read Free Book Online Page B

between two strands and winced as one of the sharp barbs bit into the skin on his arm, making a checkmark-shaped cut.
    Running to catch up, Henry noticed piles of fresh manure scattered in thefield and looked around for the cow that had left those calling cards. As he passed a small stand of trees, he saw movement in the shade.
    â€œClickety Clack, watch out!” Henry yelled, but it was too late.
    With a thunderous bellow, a large black bull burst from the trees, its tail twitching like a deranged metronome.
    Clickety Clack took one look, then gestured frantically. “Come on, Hank. Mr. Bull doesn’t want company!”
    Henry didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted for the fence.
    Snorting angry gusts of fetid air, the bull lowered its massive head and turned on Henry, two sharp horns pointed directly at him like the sights of a gun.
    Clickety Clack took off his hat and waved it. “Hey, you, pick on someone your own size! Here, Bossy, Bossy, Bossy!” The huge animal’s attention veered toward him.
    The bull pawed the dirt, throwing up clouds of choking dust; then with a roar it charged the old hobo.

    Clickety Clack whirled and raced past Henry, reaching the fence in seconds. He grabbed a post with one hand, then leapt clear over the barbed wire. As he landed, his knees buckled and he rolled in the dirt.
    Henry dove under the wire and slid to safety just as the furious animal stampeded past.
    At first Henry felt relieved.
    Then he sniffed. The aroma of rotten manure was overpowering.
    He looked down and groaned. A dark brown smear ran down the full length of his shirt.
    â€œDon’t stand too close, Hank, you’re making my eyes water!” Clickety Clack fanned the air with his hat as though that would clear the horrible smell, then grimaced and reached for his ankle.
    â€œClickety Clack! Are you okay?” Forgetting his own problem, Henry rushed over to him. The tramp’s face was gray under its coating of dust, his eyes full of pain.
    â€œI think I’ve twisted my ankle.” He tried to stand. “It’s no good, I can’t put any weight on it.”
    â€œI can help.” Henry ran to a tall poplar tree near the fence. A stout branch with a fork at one end lay on the ground. Picking it up, he hurried back to Clickety Clack. “Do you have your jackknife handy?” The hobo searched in his pockets and pulled out his knife. Henry whittled the branch until he had it trimmed the way he wanted. “Wrap the fork with a piece of cloth and you can lean on it.”
    Clickety Clack took off his scarf and wrapped it around the top of the branch, then grabbed the hand Henry offered and struggled to his feet. Leaning on his makeshift crutch, he tested it out. “Works fine! Good job, Hank.” He stopped and sniffed. “No offence, but as a traveling companion, you stink!”
    Henry grinned. “Think of it as prairie perfume.”
    They looked at each other, relieved to have escaped the angry bull, and thenClickety Clack slapped Henry on the back and laughed his big-bellied laugh. “Whoo-eee! We were within a whisker of death, Hank, and that’s the truth. I thought we were goners for sure!”
    Henry felt a little giddy too. That bull must have weighed a ton. “Whoo-eee!” he crowed, trying to mimic the old man’s gleeful exclamation. “I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast. Not even when I stuck that garter snake down Constance O’Brian’s back and her two older sisters came after me with a broom.” He laughed along with the injured tramp.
    â€œCome on, Hank, we’ve got miles to go before we rest.” Clickety Clack gingerly tried a couple of steps.
    â€œGive me one minute!” Henry ran to the fence and took the red crayon out of his bag. Hastily, he drew a picture of two big horns chasing a small stick figure.
    â€œWhat in tarnation is that supposed to be?” Clickety Clack