hing, but a heap longer to
unlearn him. After that two or three of these yere automobeels went by
every day, all a-blowin' of their horns, all kickin' up a hell of a
dust. And every time them fourteen Honk-honks of mine took along after
'em, just as I'd taught 'em to do, layin' to get to their corn when
they caught up. No more of 'em died, but that fourteen did get into
elegant trainin'. After a while they got plumb to enjoyin' it. When
you come right down to it, a chicken don't have many amusements and
relaxations in this life. Searchin' for worms, chasin' grasshoppers,
and wallerin' in the dust is about the limits of joys for chickens.

It was sure a fine sight to see 'em after they got well into the game.
About nine o'clock every mornin' they would saunter down to the rise of
the road where they would wait patient until a machine came along. Then
it would warm your heart to see the enthusiasm of them. With, exultant
cackles of joy they'd trail in, reachin' out like quarter-horses, their
wings half spread out, their eyes beamin' with delight. At the lower
turn they'd quit. Then, after talkin' it over excited-like for a few
minutes, they'd calm down and wait for another.

After a few months of this sort of trainin' they got purty good at it.
I had one two-year-old rooster that made fifty-four mile an hour behind
one of those sixty-horsepower Panhandles. When cars didn't come along
often enough, they'd all turn out and chase jack-rabbits. They wasn't
much fun at that. After a short, brief sprint the rabbit would crouch
down plumb terrified, while the Honk-honks pulled off triumphal dances
around his shrinkin' form.

Our ranch got to be purty well known them days among automobeelists.
The strength of their cars was horse-power, of course, but the speed of
them they got to ratin' by chicken-power. Some of them used to come
way up from Los Angeles just to try out a new car along our road with
the Honk-honks for pace-makers. We charged them a little somethin',
and then, too, we opened up the road-house and the bar, so we did purty
well. It wasn't necessary to work any longer at that bogus placer.
Evenin's we sat around outside and swapped yarns, and I bragged on my
chickens. The chickens would gather round close to listen.

They liked to hear their praises sung, all right. You bet they sabe!
The only reason a chicken, or any other critter, isn't intelligent is
because he hasn't no chance to expand.

Wh