arizona nights-第29节

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'Why；　hello；　Solomon！'〃

　　　

We　quit　the　notion　of　chickens　for　profit　right　then　and　there；

but　we　couldn't　quit　the　place。　　We　hadn't　much　money；　for　one

thing；　and　then　we；　kind　of　liked　loafin'　around　and　raisin'　a

little　garden　truck；　andoh；　well；　I　might　as　well　say　so；　we

had　a　notion　about　placers　in　the　dry　wash　back　of　the　house　you

know　how　it　is。　　So　we　stayed　on；　and　kept　a…raisin'　these

long…laigs　for　the　fun　of　it。　　I　used　to　like　to　watch　'em

projectin'　around；　and　I　fed　'em　twict　a　day　about　as　usual。

　　　

So　Tusky　and　I　lived　alone　there　together；　happy　as　ducks　in

Arizona。　　About　onc't　in　a　month　somebody'd　pike　along　the　road。　

She　wasn't　much　of　a　road；　generally　more　chuckholes　than　bumps；

though　sometimes　it　was　the　other　way　around。　　Unless　it　happened

to　be　a　man　horseback　or　maybe　a　freighter　without　the　fear　of

God　in　his　soul；　we　didn't　have　no　words　with　them；　they　was　too

busy　cussin'　the　highways　and　generally　too　mad　for　social

discourses。

　　　

One　day　early　in　the　year；　when　the　'dobe　mud　made　ruts　to　add　to

the　bumps；　one　of　these　automobeels　went　past。　　It　was　the　first

Tusky　and　me　had　seen　in　them　parts；　so　we　run　out　to　view　her。　

Owin'　to　the　high　spots　on　the　road；　she　looked　like　one　of　these

movin'　picters；　as　to　blur　and　wobble；　sounded　like　a　cyclone

mingled　with　cuss…words；　and　smelt　like　hell　on　housecleanin'

day。

　　

〃Which　them　folks　don't　seem　to　be　enjoyin'　of　the　scenery；〃　says

I　to　Tusky。　　〃Do　you　reckon　that　there　blue　trail　is　smoke　from

the　machine　or　remarks　from　the　inhabitants　thereof？〃



Tusky　raised　his　head　and　sniffed　long　and　inquirin'。



〃It's　langwidge；〃　says　he。　〃Did　you　ever　stop　to　think　that　all

the　words　in　the　dictionary　stretched　end　to　end　would　reach〃



But　at　that　minute　I　catched　sight　of　somethin'　brass　lyin'　in

the　road。　　It　proved　to　be　a　curled…up　sort　of　horn　with　a　rubber

bulb　on　the　end。　　I　squoze　the　bulb　and　jumped　twenty　foot　over

the　remark　she　made。

　　

〃Jarred　off　the　machine；〃　says　Tusky。

　　

〃Oh；　did　it？〃　says　I；　my　nerves　still　wrong。　　〃I　thought　maybe　it

had　growed　up　from　the　soil　like　a　toadstool。〃



About　this　time　we　abolished　the　wire　chicken　corrals；　because　we

needed　some　of　the　wire。　　Them　long…laigs　thereupon　scattered　all

over　the　flat　searchin'　out　their　prey。　　When　feed　time　come　I

had　to　screech　my　lungs　out　gettin'　of　'em　in；　and　then　sometimes

they　didn't　all　hear。　　It　was　plumb　discouragin'；　and　I　mighty

nigh　made　up　my　mind　to　quit　'em；　but　they　had　come　to　be　sort　of

pets；　and　I　hated　to　turn　'em　down。　　It　used　to　tickle　Tusky

almost　to　death　to　see　me　out　there　hollerin'　away　like　an　old

bull…frog。　　He　used　to　come　out　reg'lar；　with　his　pipe　lit；　just

to　enjoy　me。　　Finally　I　got　mad　and　opened　up　on　him。

　　

〃Oh；〃　he　explains；　〃it　just　plumb　amuses　me　to　see　the　dumfool

at　his　childish　work。　　Why　don't　you　teach　'em　to　come　to　that

brass　horn；　and　save　your　voice？〃

　　　　　

〃Tusky；〃　says　I；　with　feelin'；　〃sometimes　you　do　seem　to　get　a

glimmer　of　real　sense。〃

　　　

Well；　first　off　them　chickens　used　to　throw　back…sommersets　over

that　horn。　　You　have　no　idee　how　slow　chickens　is　to　learn

things。　　I　could　tell　you　things　about　chickenssay；　this　yere

bluff　about　roosters　bein'　gallant　is　all　wrong。　　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　placerjust　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　noonthe　day　they　called　her　a　jobTusky　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。

　　　

It　takes　a　long　time　to　learn　a　chicken　a　thing；　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。　



Why；　we　used　to　run　races　with　'em。　　Some　of　us　would　hold　two　or

more　chickens　back　of　a　chalk　line；　and　the　starter'd　blow　the

horn　from　a　hundred　yards　to　a　mile　away；　dependin'　on　whether　it

was　a　sprint　or　for　distance。　　We　had　pools　on　the　results；　gave

odds；　made　books；　and　kept　records。　　After　the　thing　got　knowed

we　made　money　hand　over　fist。





The　stranger　broke　off　abruptly　and　began　to　roll　a　cigarette。



〃What　did　you　quit　it　for；　then？〃　ventured　Charley；　out　of　the

hushed　silence。

　　

〃Pride；〃　replied　the　stranger　solemnly。　〃Haughtiness　of　spirit。〃

　　

〃How　so？〃　urged　C