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 cars 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.
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