I've watched 'em. When one finds a nice
feed he gobbles it so fast that the pieces foller down his throat like
yearlin's through a hole in the fence. It's only when he scratches up
a measly one-grain quick-lunch that he calls up the hens and stands
noble and self-sacrificin' to one side. That ain't the point, which
is, that after two months I had them long-laigs so they'd drop
everythin' and come kitin' at the HONK-HONK of that horn. It was a
purty sight to see 'em, sailin' in from all directions twenty foot at a
stride. I was proud of 'em, and named 'em the Honk-honk Breed. We
didn't have no others, for by now the coyotes and bob-cats had nailed
the straight-breds. There wasn't no wild cat or coyote could catch one
of my Honk-honks, no, sir!

We made a little on our placer--just enough to keep interested. Then
the supervisors decided to fix our road, and what's more, THEY DONE IT!
That's the only part in this yarn that's hard to believe, but, boys,
you'll have to take it on faith. They ploughed her, and crowned her,
and scraped her, and rolled her, and when they moved on we had the
fanciest highway in the State of Californy.

That noon--the day they called her a job--Tusky and I sat smokin' our
pipes as per usual, when way over the foothills we seen a cloud of dust
and faint to our ears was bore a whizzin' sound. The chickens was
gathered under the cottonwood for the heat of the day, but they didn't
pay no attention. Then faint, but clear, we heard another of them
brass horns:

"Honk! honk!" says it, and every one of them chickens woke up, and
stood at attention.

"Honk! honk!" it hollered clearer and nearer.

Then over the hill come an automobeel, blowin' vigorous at every jump.

"My God!" I yells to Tusky, kickin' over my chair, as I springs to my
feet. "Stop 'em! Stop 'em!"

But it was too late. Out the gate sprinted them poor devoted chickens,
and up the road they trailed in vain pursuit. The last we seen of 'em
was a mingling of dust and dim figgers goin' thirty mile an hour after
a disappearin' automobeel.

That was all we seen for the moment. About three o'clock the first
straggler came limpin' in, his wings hangin', his mouth open, his eyes
glazed with the heat. By sundown fourteen had returned. All the rest
had disappeared utter; we never seen 'em again. I reckon they just
naturally run themselves into a sunstroke and died on the road.

It takes a long time to learn a chicken a t